#oilstripe

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 32

Rustshade and Downstar see each other in a different light and have become mates.

[Image ID: Rustshade and Downstar face their living children. Under Rustshade, it says + MATE: DOWNSTAR. Under Downstar, it says + MATE: RUSTSHADE.]

“This can’t continue,” Rustshade grumbled.

“What are you talking about?” Mousepaw huffed. The pair shared a meal Rabbitjoy and Rattlepelt claimed would become a culinary staple of RippleClan some day; salted, kelp-wrapped meat. It was nothing like any of the other Clans made, and Rustshade wasn’t too sure if he liked it, despite the positive feedback from the rest of the Clan. Then again, his mind was not on food that day. Instead, his eyes were stuck on Downstar’s den.

“I didn’t mean to say that aloud,” Rustshade gulped, hiding his expression in his kelp wrap. “Just some private concerns. No need for you to worry, Mousepaw.”

“Since when do I worry about anything anyone else does?” Mousepaw scoffed. Rustshade sighed and stood, shaking sand and snow off his belly. 

“You can eat my leftovers,” Rustshade muttered, heading for the leader’s den. 

He weaved between the masses of Clanmates gathered to share their own portions of the salty new treat. He slipped into the shadows of the shipwreck and the depths of Downstar’s den. Downstar laid in her nest, quietly eating her small kelp wrap. She looked up as soon as Rustshade entered.

“Is something wrong?” Downstar asked, hurrying to her paws.

“Not with me,” Rustshade grunted, marching to Downstar’s side. He squared his jaw and said, “Downstar, as your friend, I am ordering you to leave your den.”

“You’ve never had a good sense of humor, Rustshade,” Downstar muttered, sitting back down.

“This is not a joke,” Rustshade snapped. “Your leg has been fine for over a moon. You’ve avoided half a year’s worth of Gatherings and holidays. This isn’t like you.”

“I haven’t been in a social mood, Rustshade,” Downstar growled, curling her lip. 

“The Clan is worried,” Rustshade hissed, meeting Downstar’s sneer with his own bared teeth. “You haven’t been yourself since the darkhound attacked.”

“Leave me alone, Rustshade!” Downstar snapped. “Go back to your apprentice.” Downstar flicked her tail at Rustshade and turned her back.

“You know better than to believe this is healthy,” Rustshade grunted. He stomped around and faced Downstar, despite the way her amber eyes focused on anything but him.

“What am I supposed to do?” Downstar huffed. “You’re out there, enjoying yourselves, when all I can think about is what we need to do to prepare for the next challenge StarClan will throw at us. Staying in here has been easier.” 

“I understand, I do,” Rustshade insisted. “When my kits died, I wanted to put all my energy into making sure my others thrived. I forgot that I had to thrive too for a while there.”

“You did?” Downstar asked.

“I keep it hidden better,” Rustshade sighed. He sat next to Downstar and said nothing for a while. Downstar’s quiet breaths filled the den. 

“I don’t quite know where to go from here,” Downstar admitted.

“Just know you’re not alone,” Rustshade said. His paw slipped next to Downstar’s. A little-felt spark passed through him. A moment later, Downstar rested her tail over his. Rustshade leaned into Downstar, and Downstar into him.

(Rustshade: 76, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Mousepaw: 9, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(Downstar: 91, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

James confessed his feelings to Weedfoot and they have become mates.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and James stand together, facing Oilstripe. Paleshade’s ghost stands next to Oilstripe, transparent. Oilstripe says, “Paleshade couldn’t be happier.” Under Weedfoot, it says + MATE: JAMES. Under James, it says + MATE: WEEDFOOT.]

---

Oilstripe wasn’t sure what to think of her father’s new relationship. He liked Downstar? Oilstripe knew they were close, all the founding members were to some degree, but Downstar? Didn’t she still hate Oilstripe? Her opinion seemed to have softened since Oilstripe revealed her secret sight to the Clan, but still… did she have to consider Wildclaw and her brothers as her own siblings? Did she have to call Downstar her mother? Please. She had no idea where her real mother’s spirit even was, she wasn’t going to get another mother. At least they had the good graces to quickly inform their children.

“Good for Rustshade!” Applepelt chirped. Her ghost spent a lot of time around camp, keeping an eye on Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Currently, she and Oilstipe sat by the oven, enjoying the leftover scent of Rabbitjoy’s kelp dish. “If they think they’ll be better off together, I say this is something to celebrate.”

“I’m allowed to be a little grumpy,” Oilstripe scoffed, flicking her tail through Applepelt’s transparent back leg. Applepelt’s star-speckled whiskers twitched. A shiver ran down her back.

“Oh, oh, Oilstripe!” Applepelt chirped. “Pay attention. More cats are visiting.” Star-studded cats slipped out of nearly every den in camp. Wasppaw, a bright golden tom, charged out of the apprentice’s den. Lavenderleaf, in all her soft brown glory, rubbed past Rabbitjoy as she made her way into the heart of the camp. Even more warriors whom Oilstripe almost never saw joined the more familiar faces, with everyone eagerly chatting. But it was Paleshade, emerging from behind the Shiprock, who caught Oilstripe’s attention. Her gray and cream pelt glimmered against the snow lining camp. 

“They’ll be here in a few moments, everyone!” Paleshade cheered. She caught Oilstripe’s eye and called, “Oilstripe! Join us! You will want to celebrate.”

“Applepelt, do you know why they’re here?” Oilstripe asked.

“I have no idea,” Applepelt chirped, as obnoxiously positive as ever. “The Ashes in the Water are always doing something together.” Of course, the cats Oilstripe didn’t recognize were other members of the Ashes in the Water! The old red tom laying between Burdockcreek and Clammask had to be Redcloud. The gray and brown toms were Finstrike and Sprucespring. And the fawny molly trotting around camp was Burdockstream! Everyone Weedfoot lost in AshClan was gathering in camp, eagerly waiting for… something.

Oilstripe hopped off the rocks and weaved around her living Clanmates (mostly her siblings and the Downstar litter, still discussing their parents’ announcement). Wasppaw bounced around Paleshade, straining to look over the rocky borders of camp.

“Where is she?” Wasppaw groaned. “I can’t take it!”

“Patience is a virtue, Wasppaw,” Paleshade purred. “I think I hear their pawsteps in the snow outside.”

“Who exactly are we waiting for?” Oilstripe muttered. Even though the Clan knew she saw ghosts, she still held hushed conversations when others were in ear-shot.

At that moment, Weedfoot and James strolled into camp. They walked in sync, pelts together and tails interwoven. StarClan cheered as James nuzzled Weedfoot’s cheek. 

“Are those two finally together?” Mousepaw scoffed from where she shared tongues with Shadowdrop. Her blunt question caught the attention of the living cats. RippleClan’s eyes rested on James and Weedfoot.

“A rather rude way to phrase it,” James chuckled, “but the two of us have grown closer these last few moons, and after a long discussion… yes. We are together.”

“StarClan, two in one day!” Burdockcreek groaned. The living and the dead swarmed James and Weedfoot. Rustshade and Downstar peeked out of the leader’s den and investigated the hub-bub. Oilstripe stayed outside of the crowd. To her surprise, Paleshade stayed with her.

“Shouldn’t you be congratuating your old mate?” Oilstripe asked. She winced and said, “That’s not a sore subject, is it? I don’t know how you manage having one mate in StarClan and another alive.”

“I’m overjoyed for Weedy,” Paleshade purred. “James is a charming tom. I know they’ll be happy together. I also know that I’m certain to become close friends with James once he joins our ranks.” Paleshade winked and Oilstripe couldn’t hold back a snort. “But how about you? Weedfoot is your closest friend. Congratulate her.” 

“I don’t know if that’s true anymore,” Oilstripe muttered, staring at her old mentor. Weedfoot laughed and joked with the cats around her, utterly unaware that her old friends were a part of the festivities. “I always knew other cats thought I was weird before they knew I spoke to the dead. But Weedfoot thought I was sick and said nothing. If she really cared about me, why didn’t she talk to me?”

“She thought Fennelspot was helping,” Paleshade explained. Her misty tail passed through Oilstripe’s body. “She didn’t want to overstep. She didn’t know how to approach the subject.”

“How much of our friendship was her taking pity on me?” Oilstripe gulped. “Did she even see me as an equal?” She couldn’t bear to look at Weedfoot any longer.

“The only way you can answer those questions is if you have the conversation you’ve been avoiding for moons,” Paleshade huffed. “It doesn’t take the wisdom of StarClan to know that communication is the greatest tool a friend can wield to heal a relationship. I can’t tell you how many hours Weedfoot and I spent hashing out disagreements and ideas when we were young. You’re both mature enough to work through this. Now why don’t we see her together? I believe the crowd is thinning out.” 

Paleshade waved her tail and sure enough, the Clan drifted away from the second new couple of the day. Weedfoot made eye contact with Oilstripe. Oilstripe held her breath. Weedfoot nudged James and the pair slowly approached Oilstipe.

“I’m glad you finally said something to him,” Oilstripe stammered as Paleshade’s tail phased through her own.

“Actually, James brought it up first,” Weedfoot purred, bunting her new mate. “I’m glad, though. We’ll be stronger together.” Paleshade stood tall and nodded to Oilstripe. Oilstripe steadied her nerves.

“Paleshade couldn’t be happier,” she said, barely breathing. Weedfoot stilled, blinking slowly as she processed what Oilstripe said. “She, uh… she’s really proud of you.” Weedfoot glanced around, as though hoping she could see Paleshade herself. The molly in question moved to Weedfoot’s side, purring. Weedfoot stepped away from James and got closer to Oilstripe.

“I’m sorry I upset you, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot said. “I should have told you my concerns moons ago.”

“I was scared to tell others, because I thought they wouldn’t believe me,” Oilstripe said. “I don’t want to be the odd cat out.”

“You’re the best apprentice I’ve ever had,” Weedfoot said. She pressed against Oilstripe with a deep purr. Oilstripe pressed back, burying her face in her dear friend’s warm pelt.

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

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

(Mousepaw: 9, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(James: 108, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Burdockcreek: 26, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Weedfoot: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

Fennelspot and Oilstripe have a long conversation about goals and aspirations and discover they have a lot in common.

[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe face each other.]

(Fennelspot: 89, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Weedfoot organizes a mock battle to keep RippleClan’s skills sharp.

[Image ID: Weedfoot watches a large crowd of cats, including Fennelspot, Parsley & Scrubmask, and Oilstripe, James, & Carnationspeckle.]

---

The entire camp was a part of Weedfoot’s big training exercise, even those who were never expected to fight. Wildclaw was stuck to Rattlepelt’s side, showing her some swift defensive tactics with Halibutdusk’s help. Parsley and Scrubmask practiced some basic manuvers on the rocks surrounding camp. Rustshade and Mousepaw were arguing about who to spar with, held back only by Rabbitjoy and Downstar (who had finally started participating in Clan activities again). Oilstripe’s moves were off that day, but James and Carnationspeckle both took the time to work through some kinks with her. Fennelspot and Shadowdrop were the only ones not participating; Fennelspot kept an eye out for any overeager fighters while Shadowdrop had to keep his front leg still so the bone could heal.

Weedfoot directed the practice from a comfortable spot by the oven. The Clan had some excellent fighters in their ranks! Everyone rolled and tumbled about, unaffected by the late winter chill, putting their all into showing their strength. It reminded Weedfoot of AshClan in some regards. It was the perfect distraction.

At least until Oilstripe broke off from James and Carnationspeckle and joined Weedfoot.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong today,” Oilstripe groaned. “I can’t focus on anything! Can you spar with me for a while? You always had great things to say in battle training.”

“Oh, I’m sure James and Carnationspeckle are more than enough to help you,” Weedfoot stammered, shaking her head. “I want to make sure everyone is getting their practice in. LynxClan has been stirring up such a fuss about access to our salt resources, I want everyone to be prepared if they make a move.”

“Carnationspeckle gets nervous when she pushes too hard,” Oilstripe groaned, “and James doesn’t want to push at all. You’re still the best fighter in RippleClan, paws down.”

“Thank you, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot gulped, “but I’m sure, I don’t want to spar right now.”

“Why not?” Oilstripe asked. Her curious gaze drifted over Weedfoot’s fur. “Are you not feeling well? You devoured that bass like you haven’t eaten in moons.” Weedfoot glanced at her Clanmates, but they were all focused on their own tasks or disagreements.

“Step outside with me,” Weedfoot whispered, flicking her tail to the exit. Oilstripe quietly followed her out of camp. Weedfoot led her to the thin coast south of camp, far enough away that no one could hear them. She sat where the sand met the snow-speckled grass.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Oilstripe face each other. Weedfoot says, “I don’t know if I can be a mother, Oilstripe. I only just decided to be a mate again.”]

“You aren’t the sort to be so nervous,” Oilstripe hummed. “What’s wrong?”

“Are there any ghosts listening in?” Weedfoot wondered as the fur on the back of her neck stood up.

“Weedfoot, just tell me what’s bothering you,” Oilstripe snapped.

“I can’t spar because I’m pregnant,” Weedfoot blurted. It was like the words exploded out of her. She subconsciously tucked her tail over her belly. Oilstripe’s whole pelt stood on end.

“Is this something we’re excited for?” Oilstripe gulped hesitantly, unable to tear her eyes off Weedfoot’s stomach.

“I don’t know,” Weedfoot groaned. She stared out at the ocean, which blew salty drops into her face. “I think I want these kits. James and I talked about parenthood half a moon ago. He would love to be a father. He said it would give him more excuses to stay in camp.” Weedfoot chuckled at the memory and looked back at Oilstripe, whose whole attention was stuck on her. “I don’t know if I can be a mother, Oilstripe. I only just decided to be a mate again.”

“You have a whole Clan of cats who adore you,” Oilstripe insisted. “We won’t put this all on you. We’ll drown your kits in love and attention.”

“I know,” Weedfoot purred, curling around her stiff belly. “I want these kits. That doesn’t stop me from being scared.”

“Does James know?” Oilstripe asked.

“Only Fennelspot and I,” Weedfoot admitted. “He told me this morning. I’m still overwhelmed.”

“It might make you feel better to see James lose his mind,” Oilstripe suggested, flicking her ears back toward camp. 

“I don’t want to stop the battle early,” Weedfoot said, settling down. “Could you sit with me for a while? We’ll go back soon, I promise.” Oilstripe scooted close and settled pelt-to-pelt against Weedfoot. It was hard for Weedfoot to form a complete thought as her mind fluttered through half-finished words and vague memories. As a large wave crashed onto the shore and stretched to meet Weedfoot’s paws, however, one word clarified itself like the shimmer of salt water on sand.

Wonderful.

(Weedfoot: 81, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 36, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #oilstripe #paleshade #wasppaw #rustshade #mousepaw #burdockcreek #james #fennelspot #applepelt

[we-are-not-a-clan]

THE KITTIES ARE DONE!!

Drawing all of them was honestly really fun! Especially because i got to see five different storys this cats belong to. It always fascinates me how unique everybody's approach to making their own clangen blog really is. Anyway, here are the cats!

I reeeeeeeeealy hope i did them justice 👀"

Gale tuft belongs to: @horizonclan

Currentheart belongs to: @taleofturtleclan

Scorchstar belongs to: @spotty-is-slumberous

Oilstripe belongs to: @rippleclan

Murkswoop belongs to: @ash-clans-destiny

So yeah..Thak y'all for participating! Im gona go now ones again try to finish moons 0 and 1 for my own babys

Hope to see you soon!!

#clan generator #clangen #other clans

[taleofturtleclan]

While I'm on hiatus, there are plenty of other awesome Clangen bloggers to check out! A recent favorite of mine has been @rippleclan ! Looking for fantastic worldbuilding, a more advanced Warriors society, and unique roles in Clanlife? This will be right up your ally! This is a quick drawing I did of their girl Oilstripe, a young historian who can see ghosts! Can't wait to see what happens next in her story.

#rippleclan #not turtleclan #warriorcats #warrior cats #clangen

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 36

Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle have become mates.

[Image ID: Oilstripe says to Carnationspeckle, “You’re already a hero, Carnation.” Under Oilstripe, it says + MATE: CARNATIONSPECKLE. Under Carnationspeckle, it says + MATE: OILSTRIPE. Rustshade, Rattlepelt, and Applepelt watch from afar.]

Oilstripe watched Downstar and Rustshade quietly share tongues below the Shiprock as she steadied her nerves. Would Downstar be annoyed if Oilstripe interrupted? She knew Downstar spent the most time with Rustshade when her mood was low (Duskkit kept her up one night complaining about it), was now a good time? It had to be. Oilstripe couldn’t wait much longer.

“Dad?” Oilstripe said, approaching the two founders. “Do you have a minute to talk with me?” Rustshade paused with his tongue on Downstar’s ear.

“What about?” Rustshade asked. Oilstripe hesitated as Downstar’s sharp amber eyes studied her ginger pelt.

“I can explain in private,” Oilstripe finally said. Rustshade brushed his tail against Downstar and got up. Downstar silently slunk back to her den. Duskkit’s spirit peeked out from the nursery and ran into the leader’s den. Rustshade followed Oilstripe’s gaze but could not see the star speckled kit. 

Oilstripe led Rustshade around the Shiprock and said “I’m taking Carnationspeckle out hunting, and I need you to do me a favor. Can you find Rattlepelt a few minutes after we leave and follow us?”

“Why would I do that?” Rustshade huffed.

“I’d feel bad if she didn’t get to see this,” Oilstripe admitted. “Carnation told me the reason she always asks for both of us to help her with her tasks is because she wants us to be mates. She should get to see Carnation’s reaction.” It took a moment for Rustshade’s mind to catch up with Oilstripe’s implication.

“You want to make your relationship official?” Rustshade hummed.

“I think it’s time,” Oilstripe said with a stiff nod. 

“Stars right, it's about time!” Applepelt’s shimmering spirit cheered from the top of Shiprock. Oilstripe flinched as Applepelt chanted, “My friends are becoming mates! My friends are becoming mates!”

“More ghostly advice?” Rustshade asked, glancing in Applepelt’s direction. “If StarClan is excited for you, then I’m happy for you. I’ll bring Rattlepelt. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes, Dad,” Oilstripe said as the object of Oilstripe’s affections shifted in the corner of her eye. Carnationspeckle played with the kits outside the nursery, giving James a break (the ginger tom looked like he’d been tossed through a thunderstorm and dried with a bolt of lightning). 

Palekit snuggled with James while Puddlekit and Waspkit tried to drag Carnationspeckle down. 

“If you’re sure, you’re sure,” Rustshade hummed, spotting Carnationspeckle. “Good luck, Oilstripe.” Oilstripe shook the sand out of her pelt and marched up to the nursery. She only got part way to Carnationspeckle before tiny fangs dug into her ankle. Oilstripe yelped and stumbled forward. Ripplekit giggled underneath her, batting the long strands of fur that dangled from Oilstripe’s belly.

“She’s going to be good in a fight!” Carnationspeckle giggled.

“Are you too busy?” Oilstripe asked, trying to get Ripplekit out from under her. The quick kit kept darting back under her belly.

“It’s as though they feed on each other!” Carnationspeckle laughed as Lavenderkit appeared behind her and grabbed onto her tail. “They just keep going!”

“Sleep is for kits!” Lavenderkit yowled, jaw tight around Carnationspeckle’s tail.

“But we are kits,” Puddlekit pointed out, slipping off Carnationspeckle’s head.

“I can wait until you’re finished,” Oilstripe promised as the greedy little kit in her head screamed at the injustice of it all.

“I can watch the kits.” Downstar left her den, Duskkit hovering behind her. Downstar grabbed Waspkit by the scruff and lifted him off Carnationspeckle.

“Really?” Carnationspeckle said with wide eyes. 

“I could use some time with the next generation,” Downstar chuckled. Duskkit trotted past Oilstripe with her tail held high. Oilstripe playfully flicked a paw at Duskkit while all eyes were on Downstar. Duskkit laughed and charged out of camp, vanishing with a twinkle.

“Downstar, Downstar!” Ripplekit cheered, pouncing on the tortoiseshell leader as she took Carnationspeckle’s spot outside the nursery. “Do you want to hear what Scrubmask taught me?”

“Please share,” Downstar purred. All five of Weedfoot’s kits swarmed Downstar while Carnationspeckle crept up to Oilstripe.

“Since you’re free now,” Oilstripe chuckled, licking her bitten ankle, “can we go hunting together? I found a patch of trees where the squirrels love to play.”

“Oh, alright,” Carnationspeckle purred, “but may I suggest we head to the ocean? I’d love to show you some of the diving techniques I’ve been practicing. I’m hoping to teach the kits what I can do once they’re apprenticed!”

“I don’t think I want to get wet right now,” Oilstripe admitted as Applepelt stuck their face between the pair. Their ethereal eyes sparkled as they bounced between Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle. Oilstripe tried to pretend she didn’t see her old friend and instead led Carnationspeckle toward the camp exit. As she did, however, she could see Rustshade speaking with Rattlepelt beside her tanning rack. Oilstripe forced back a purr.

It wouldn’t be long before sunhigh hit, but the dappled shade of the conifers kept Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle cool. The smell of prey blanketed the mossy floor, although large human tracks left deep prints in the warm dirt. Applepelt appeared and disappeared from between the tree, battering Oilstripe with wild rambles. Oilstripe could barely keep an eye on the prey with all of Applepelt’s cheering.

“I had a feeling you would get together,” Applepelt purred as Oilstripe stalked a pair of playful squirrels. “I don’t simply mean as long as I’ve been dead, either. I joined the Clan and saw you two together and knew you would be a wonderful pairing! Then again, I imagined I would be there to celebrate. I suppose in a way I am here, though. You’re simply the only one who can hear me celebrate!” Oilstripe pounced on one of the happy squirrels. Its partner scurried away as the unfortunate critter stopped squirming.

“I hereby bless this catch!” Applepelt laughed as Carnationspeckle trotted up.

“Applepelt, please, I can’t hear my own thoughts right now,” Oilstripe finally snapped, dropping her squirrel. “If you’re going to be here, can you watch from the side, quietly?”

“Applepelt’s here?” Carnationspeckle gasped. “Hello, Applepelt! I’ve missed you. I hope StarClan is treating you well.” Carnationspeckle guessed where Applepelt stood, but looked about a tail-length off from where the dead cat actually was.

“It is, thank you Carnationspeckle,” Applepelt purred, bowing slightly to her old friend.

“Stars, I’m sorry,” Oilstripe groaned. “It must be weird to hear me talking to the dead like this. I try not to when others are around.”

“I think it’s amazing that you can speak to StarClan as easily as you speak to me,” Carnationspeckle sighed. Applepelt’s face grew still and oddly serene as she stepped back. Copper and heather eyes glinted from the other side of the brush behind Carnationspeckle. “What do they talk to you about?”

“Well, typically they visit to check on those they’ve left behind,” Oilstripe explained, whiskers twitching. She licked drops of squirrel blood off her muzzle. “When I see them and I’m alone, I like to ask them about their lives. It’s not the sort of prophetic, supernatural knowledge they have to be careful with, so they’re happy to share their stories with me.”

“That must be wonderful, knowing what StarClan does in the territories like that,” Carnationspeckle hummed. She shifted awkwardly, glancing at where she thought Applepelt stood, and asked, “Do they talk about me at all? Do they watch over me?”

“As much as anyone else, I suppose,” Oilstripe admitted. She left her squirrel on the sun dappled grass and sat closer to Carnationspeckle.

“Do your ancestors visit you?” Carnationspeckle asked. “Rustshade’s parents, your littermates, Sunstrike?” Oilstripe rubbed a paw deeper into the grass.

“I haven’t seen Sunstrike at all,” Oilstripe muttered. “I don’t know where she is. Locustseeker and Twinekit don’t like to talk about her. I think she’s ignoring me.”

“Sometimes I feel the same way about StarClan as a whole,” Carnationspeckle sighed. Her fur drooped with her whiskers as she stared downwards. “I’ve been in RippleClan since the beginning, but I haven’t done anything amazing like you or Downstar or anyone else. I’ve just minded the camp. StarClan would rather put their efforts towards the heroes than the campbodies, I imagine.” 

Oilstripe pressed her nose into the soft fluff of Carnationspeckle’s neck. The brown molly gasped softly as Oilstripe gently groomed her fur.

“You’re already a hero, Carnation,” Oilstripe assured her. “You don’t need to speak to ghosts or come back to life to be one. I’ve never met a kinder molly, or anyone I would rather share my life or nest with. That’s enough for me.” Carnationspeckle met Oilstripe’s eyes. She didn’t breathe. 

“You want to be mates?” Carnationspeckle whispered.

“I already feel like your mate,” Oilstripe laughed, tucking her tail over Carnationspeckle’s, “so could we make it official? I want to put you first the way you put everyone else first.” Carnationspeckle nodded furiously as a soft whine built inside her.

“I would really like that,” Carnationspeckle cried. She pressed into Oilstripe as hard as she could. Oilstripe pressed back, wrapping around her new mate. Applepelt stood to the side, beaming like the brightest star in Silverpelt.

“Have fun, you two,” she chuckled. Oilstripe blinked, and all that remained of Applepelt was a shimmer of stardust dangling in the warm, still air.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Oilstripe laughed into Carnationspeckle’s ear, “but I had my father bring a witness. Come out, Rattlepelt.” 

Carnationspeckle gasped and pulled away as Rattlepelt and Rustshade stepped out of the brush. Rattlepelt wore the fox pelt covering she and Rabbitjoy had collected from Wildclaw’s unfortunate victim moons ago, but it nearly fell off as Rattlepelt ran to Carnationspeckle.

“You’re going to be so happy together,” Rattlepelt purred, rubbing against Carnationspeckle. Carnationspeckle laughed through her joyful cries and groomed Rattlepelt’s face. Oilstripe joined in, sharing tongues with both of her new family members. Their deep purrs scared away any ghostly worries that swam through Oilstripe’s mind.

(Oilstripe: 40, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Rustshade: 80, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Downstar: 95, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Duskkit: 4, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)

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

(Carnationspeckle: 38, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(James: 112, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Palekit: 2, male, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder)

(Waspkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, interested in clan history)

(Puddlekit: 2, male, kit, polite, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Ripplekit: 2, male, kit, know-it-all, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

(Lavenderkit: 2, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(Rattlepelt: 19, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Shadowdrop is happy to find his body finally pain free. Yet he watches Carnationspeckle’s celebration from afar, thinking of what could have been. Weedfoot tries to comfort him to no avail.

[Image ID: Weedfoot faces Shadowdrop, who watches a crowd surrounding Oilstripe and Carnationspeckle in the back. Under Shadowdrop, it says - CONDITION: BROKEN BONE. Under Weedfoot, it says - CONDITION: BLOOD LOSS.]

(Shadowdrop: 28, male, codekeeper, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Weedfoot: 85, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #oilstripe #weedfoot #shadowdrop #carnationspeckle #rustshade #applepelt #rattlepelt #palekit #waspkit #puddlekit #lavenderkit #ripplekit

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 38

Oilstripe purrs for a long time at one of Carnationspeckle’s lame jokes.

[Image ID: Oilstripe sits with Carnationspeckle while Shadowdrop watches in the background.]

Even though Carnationspeckle was confident that she would have a small litter, she was as exhausted as a queen with eight kits squirming inside her. As such, Oilstripe went to her in the nursery rather than have her tired mate trudge across camp for a chat. Taking a sunhigh nap in the nursery with five rambunctious kits was rather hard, but Oilstripe made do.

Oilstripe couldn’t stop purring as she left the nursery come afternoon. Carnationspeckle had a funny habit of muttering in her sleep, and by the stars, the things she muttered… how could Oilstripe not purr? Maybe Oilstripe could join the next hunting patrol to the coast and catch some fish, a special treat in exchange for the warmth Carnationspeckle unknowingly gave her.

To Oilstripe’s surprise, Puddlespeckle was in camp. He sat on the Shiprock, staring at Shadowdrop while he groomed himself. The flowers tucked into his fur did little to upset the chill in his eyes. Oilstripe stopped purring. She’d never seen a StarClan spirit look so… angry.

A border patrol passed in front of Oilstripe, blocking her line of sight. When her Clanmates got out of the way, Puddlespeckle was gone. Shadowdrop, however, was looking right at her. Oilstripe’s fur prickled.

“Is something wrong?” she called. She slowly approached Shadowdrop. The black tom’s eyes never deviated from her.

“Is Carnationspeckle feeling well?” Shadowdrop asked.

“She’s rather tired, but she’s happy,” Oilstripe assured him, taking a seat. “Downstar, Parsley, and Weedfoot keep her company when I’m out. I can’t wait to say hello to my kits.”

“They aren’t really your kits, though,” Shadowdrop muttered. Oilstripe stiffened. Shadowdrop’s green eyes burrowed under her pelt. “They have a sire lounging about in a human den somewhere in the north. They’ll grow up without a father.”

“They don’t need a father, they have me,” Oilstripe huffed. “Why would you say something like that? You grew up without a father, or did you forget?”

“It’s better to have no father at all than a second parent who's more focused on the dead than the living,” Shadowdrop growled, getting to his paws. Oilstripe’s shock shifted into fury. She sneered and stood, meeting Shadowdrop eye to eye.

“What do you have against me?” Oilstripe snapped, lips curling. “I thought we were friends. Our parents are mates now, we shouldn’t fight like this.”

“Carnationspeckle needs someone who can focus on her,” Shadowdrop growled. “I don’t think you can be that cat.” Shadowdrop stepped closer.

“Are you threatening me?” Oilstripe gasped, steadying herself, refusing to move back. “What are you doing? Where is this coming from?” 

“Oilstripe, are you alright?” Carnationspeckle peered out of the nursery. Her big blue eyes bounced between Oilstripe and Shadowdrop. The cats of RippleClan watched the pair, trying to decide if they should intervene. Shadowdrop squirmed under Carnationspeckle’s eyes.

“Treat her well,” Shadowdrop spat. He stormed into the warrior’s den. RippleClan moved around him like water moved around a swimming fish. Oilstripe slowly backed toward the nursery. The ginger molly got the distinct feeling that she was a hunter who just stole salmon from a bear.

(Carnationspeckle: 40, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Oilstripe: 42, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

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

(Shadowdrop: 30, male, codekeeper, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #oilstripe #shadowdrop #carnationspeckle #puddlespeckle

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 37

Oilstripe was seen in a very serious conversation with a kittypet, who ran away when another patrol arrived.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt, Wildclaw, and Weedfoot approach Oilstripe, who is speaking to Froggy. Under Weedfoot, it says - CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH.]

“Thank you for coming with me,” Rattlepelt sighed as Wildclaw and Weedfoot walked behind her with baskets. “Last night’s storm is sure to have produced some good clay.”

“Now that I’m not exhausted,” Weedfoot said, adjusting her basket, “this seems like a good way to stretch my legs.”

“I’m just here to keep you safe,” Wildclaw huffed, matching pace with Rattlepelt. “We don’t want any rogues attacking you.”

“They would be fools to attack a fox risen from the dead, wouldn’t you think?” Rattlepelt laughed. Her fox pelt covering included the fur of the dead beast’s head, which covered Rattlepelt’s sun sensitive head. With the way the leather pelt hid her from the burning sun, a stranger in the distance would likely think she was a very, very sick looking fox.

While clay deposits were not as fruitful as they were in SlugClan, the Great Northern River still offered its fair share of clay for RippleClan’s use. The gentle water would cool Rattlepelt as she dug up the needed clay. It would be better than roasting in camp on that particularly hot day. 

It seemed Oilstripe had a similar idea! As Rattlepelt’s patrol approached the river, the young molly spotted her mother’s new mate sitting on one of the half submerged rocks in the middle of the river. A fluffy black kittypet sat on the other side of the river, talking to Oilstripe. A newcomer to RippleClan, perhaps?

“I recognize that kittypet!” Wildclaw gasped. “That’s Froggy!”

“Your sire?” Rattlepelt asked as Wildclaw dropped her basket. Rattlepelt had heard of the wandering kittypet a few times; Carnationspeckle frequently bumped into him near AshClan. 

“Let’s see if he needs something,” Weedfoot said, setting her basket aside and taking the lead. As the group got closer, however, Froggy’s fur fluffed up. He nodded to Oilstripe with a soft meow and trotted away from the river.

“Come back!” Wildclaw yowled, but her father vanished into the shrub. She growled and clawed the wet earth of the river’s shore. 

“I think Rattlepelt’s leather scared him,” Oilstripe admitted with an awkward chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” Rattlepelt said as her ears burned.

“We were finished anyway,” Oilstripe sighed. She hopped back to dry ground and groomed her wet paws.

“Is Froggy doing well?” Weedfoot asked with one ear cocked in Froggy’s direction.

“His humans are still hunting, and he still joins them,” Oilstripe explained. “I’m glad I found him, though.”

“What do you need a kittypet for?” Wildclaw asked, squinting at Oilstripe. 

“I suppose I can tell you,” Oilstripe gulped. She kept her gaze on the ground. “Carnationspeckle and I have talked, and… we would like to be parents.”

“That’s wonderful!” Rattlepelt gasped. She shoved her face into Oilstripe’s fluff. The face of her fox pelt smacked into Oilstripe’s muzzle. The ginger molly laughed and shoved it aside to groom Rattlepelt’s head.

“You must be looking for a sire, then,” Weedfoot purred.

“I asked Froggy if he knew any ginger toms who would be willing,” Oilstripe explained. “Carnationspeckle and I don’t want a sire with Clan connections. We want to be the parents of our children, not share that with someone else.”

“Why a ginger tom?” Rattlepelt asked as she rubbed against Oilstripe.

“Carnationspeckle’s planning to carry the kits, isn’t she?” Wildclaw realized. “You want the kits to look like you.”

“Can you blame me?” Oilstripe laughed.

“I suppose we can’t,” Weedfoot purred. She touched noses with her former apprentice, tail twitching high overhead.

(Rattlepelt: 20, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Weedfoot: 86, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Wildclaw: 29, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Froggy: 106, male, kittypet, rebellious, maintains the territory, great speaker)

(Oilstripe: 41, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

Carnationspeckle announces she is expecting kits. She doesn’t believe she can effectively perform her duties while expecting kits and moves into the nursery.

[Image ID: Fennelspot speaks to Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe. Oilstripe yowls, “It worked? It really worked!”. Under Carnationspeckle, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT.]

---

“It worked? It really worked!”

The yowl snapped Shadowdrop out of his conversation. He had been sharing a meal with his littermates in the shadow of the shipwreck, tearing apart a large kelp wrap to get to the meat inside. Halibutdusk paused, about to take another bite.

“Was that Oilstripe?” Wildclaw asked, cocking her head. Shadowdrop nodded. He recognized the historian’s voice. The yowl came from the medicine den. It caught the attention of the other cats lounging around camp, enjoying a meal before sunhigh.

“What do you suppose she’s talking about?” Halibutdusk asked his littermates. Realization sparked in Wildclaw’s eyes.

“Oh!” Wildclaw gasped. “That was quick.”

“What is it?” Shadowdrop asked. As he spoke, Carnationspeckle, Oilstripe, and Fennelspot left the medicine den. Shadowdrop’s heart twinged as Carnationspeckle wove her tail with Oilstripe’s. Something twisted in Shadowdrop’s chest at the sight, and yet, he couldn’t look away.

“Downstar!” Carnationspeckle called into the leader’s den, paws dancing. “Downstar, are you still in there?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Downstar huffed, trotting outside. She spotted Oilstripe in the back. The ginger molly’s sunny disposition quivered under her leader’s gaze.

“Downstar, do you remember what I told you before the last Gathering?” Carnationspeckle purred, stepping in between her mate and former mentor. The twinge in Shadowdrop’s chest gripped him like fangs on his scruff as Carnationspeckle brushed her tail against her belly. “We picked a good sire. We just spoke with Fennelspot. He confirmed how I’ve been feeling. I’m going to have kits!” 

RippleClan flowed around Shadowdrop, moving toward the ocean that was Carnationspeckle’s unending joy, but Shadowdrop was a rock whose peak stuck out of the water. He couldn’t move with the current’s flow, even if he wanted to. Downstar touched noses with Carnationspeckle. Wildclaw slipped between them with a crude joke. Halibutdusk spoke to Oilstripe, congratulating her. He shouldn’t have been congratulating her! She shouldn’t be the second mother of Carnationspeckle’s kits! It shouldn’t have been her!

The rock pushed back against the river’s flow.

Shadowdrop slipped out of camp without a single glance his way. He should have said something to Carnationspeckle sooner. He should have made his intentions clear. Carnationspeckle should be preparing to nurse his kits! He could have been a great father! He could have had a family who chose him over all others, rather than hiding in their dens or chasing foxes or staring at the clouds.

Maybe he still could.

(Oilstripe: 41, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Shadowdrop: 29, male, codekeeper, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 29, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Wildclaw: 29, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Carnationspeckle: 39, female, caretaker compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Downstar: 96, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

Burdockcreek’s mangled tail has healed, but the injury left him scarred. He bats his injured tail for a while, entertaining himself.

[Image ID: Burdockcreek’s tail is lined in scars. Under Burdockcreek, it says - CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Burdockcreek: 31, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

Wildclaw confessed her feelings to Rattlepelt but got rejected. She immediately slipped on some rocks and dislocated her paw.

[Image ID: Wildclaw walks away from Rattlepelt. Under Wildclaw, it says + CONDITION: DISLOCATED PAW.]

---

Shadowdrop may have been unlucky in love (and grumpy, and gloomy, and strangely absent as of late) but Wildclaw would not repeat her brother’s mistakes. If she had feelings for someone, she would act on them before anyone else could. And by the stars, she had feelings.

And she had the perfect opportunity, too; Rattlepelt had a meeting planned with LynxClan and SlugClan artisans to share the latest knowledge and tricks of leather-making, and she would need an escort. Sure, technically escorting artisans like that was a warrior’s job, and Downstar initially asked Scrubmask to join the young artisan, but a bit of confidence (and a lot of begging) let Wildclaw take the lead.

Sitting through the meeting was a bit like when the fox bit into Wildclaw’s tail moons ago. Rattlepelt had no time for her caretaker escort, and instead showed a new apprentice how to properly prepare leather for future crafts. The other escorts wandered around the Gathering grounds and had decent conversation, but Wildclaw wasn’t there for small talk. She was there to secure her future, even though it meant sitting through a storm and getting soaked through her skin.

Sunset was half over by the time Wildclaw and Rattlepelt finally started for home. Rattlepelt’s fox pelt burned in the dusk light peeking through the thinning clouds, a gift from Wildclaw to the molly of her affections. Wildclaw steadied herself and cleared her throat. Rattlepelt watched Wildclaw from the corner of her eye.

“Rattlepelt,” Wildclaw began, dragging her paws along the wet grass, “there’s something I’m hoping to try with you.”

“What would that be?” Rattlepelt asked. The fox head slipped off her slick gray skin, revealing her pointy white ear.

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious,” Wildclaw said. She picked up speed as her usual confidence surged back into her voice. “I was thinking that we could start seeing each other romantically. We don’t have to call each other mates yet, I know that may be too sudden, but if you want to—”

“But I don’t want to,” Rattlepelt gulped.

“You don’t?” Wildclaw snapped, spinning to face Rattlepelt. However, as she turned around, she stepped on a slick rock at an awkward angle. Her paw flew out from under her. She fell on her shoulder. Her head smacked into the mud. When Wildclaw scrambled up and stood on her offending paw, pain shot through her leg and forced her back down.

“Oh, oh, are you alright?” Rattlepelt yelped, hurrying to Wildclaw’s side.

“My paw hurts,” Wildclaw growled. She swore she could see her paw swell already. She slipped on a rock? Really? She wasn’t an elder, for StarClan’s sake!

“Lean on me,” Rattlepelt said, nudging Wildclaw up. Ears burning, Wildclaw pressed into Rattlepelt and held her injured paw close. She couldn’t stand to look at Rattlepelt. “We’ll take the walk home slow. Fennelspot can take care of you then.” 

Wildclaw limped forward, but almost fell again. Rattlepelt slipped under her and caught her, almost losing her fox pelt in the process. Rattlepelt’s gentle, bony weight against Wildclaw’s chest was too much. She fell on her flank and forced her question out.

“Why don’t you want to see me?” Wildclaw huffed. Rattlepelt shifted awkwardly. The front of her fox pelt fell off and dangled at her side.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship right now,” Rattlepelt explained. “I’m hoping to mentor one of Weedfoot’s kits, and I need to help my mother with her pregnancy. I don’t get to be much of a sister to Mousesong, so I want to be a good sister to the new litter.” 

Oh. Of course that was it. For someone who thought she was so smart, Wildclaw could be rather mouse-brained at times. Why should she put her own feelings over the needs of her other Clanmates? Rattlepelt had important things to do, others to care for. Wildclaw would be a distraction. That wasn’t her place in the Clan.

“That’s understandable,” Wildclaw chuckled, her shoulders tense as she cradled her injured paw and wounded pride. “I didn’t mean to make a fuss back there.”

“Anyone can slip,” Rattlepelt assured her. “Let’s get back to camp.” Rattlepelt fixed her fox pelt and joined Wildclaw’s side. Wildclaw tested her paw, but it hurt to stand on it. So she leaned on Rattlepelt as they made their way back to RippleClan territory, just the same as they were when they left.

(Wildclaw: 29, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 20, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

Palekit’s snake bite has healed! But both she and Ripplekit got heat exhaustion.

[Image ID: Palekit and Ripplekit sit on screen. Under Palekit, it says - CONDITION: SNAKE BITE, + CONDITION: HEAT EXHAUSTION. Under Ripplekit, it says + CONDITION: HEAT EXHAUSTION.]

(Palekit: 3, female, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder)

(Ripplekit: 3, female, kit, know-it-all, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #oilstripe #weedfoot #rattlepelt #wildclaw #carnationspeckle #froggy #palekit #ripplekit #shadowdrop #halibutdusk #burdockcreek

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 26

The dog came back and Downstar once again bravely fought it off, breaking her back leg.

[Image ID: Downstar faces a large red dog. Under Downstar, it reads + CONDITION: BROKEN LEG.]

Fennelspot saw it in a dream, apparently; a massive dog with pointed ears and cat blood on its fangs, racing between the shadows, searching for prey. There were two clear facts in his mind; the beast was a darkhound, and it was the same one that attacked Downstar just two moons prior. Fennelspot must have taught Oilstripe about the Spirits of Shadow, as she launched into a speech on their weaknesses as soon as Downstar made the announcement at the Clan meeting. Downstar bit her tongue and let her speak. The Clan needed to know, so she could handle listening to Oilstripe’s strange knowledge for a while.

Downstar had a plan as soon as Oilstripe finished speaking. There was no killing this hunter of the Dark Forest, but it could be chased away with a few brave souls at Downstar’s side. Burdockcreek, Rustshade, and Scrubmask each rose to the challenge. Oilstripe claimed the spirits of the Dark Forest, those who spent their haunted afterlives in whatever sense of peace they could find, would lead darkhounds to churning, powerful rivers so they would be swept away. It was as good a plan as any. 

Fennelspot invoked two spirits of StarClan to protect the patrol. First, he called for Ternpath, Celestial of Dogs and Hounds, to shield the group from the darkhound’s fangs. Then he asked Beaversneeze, the unfortunate Celestial of the Great Northern River, to take the darkhound far away and leave the Clan cats where they are. As he recited his prayers, he kept glancing at Oilstripe like she could help him. Downstar tried to block the ginger molly from her mind and focus entirely on the task ahead.

Rustshade’s job was to find the darkhound. A few patrols had scented the beast in the north, not too far from where it attacked Downstar during the anniversary celebration. As a codekeeper, Rustshade knew how to track something down. Downstar trusted. Once Rustshade found the darkhound, the other three cats would spread out, heading toward the thickest waters of the Great Northern River. 

Downstar would be the one to make sure the river took the beast. She had the lives to spend, after all. She waited in the spray of the cool river under the glare of the hot midday sun. Her tail caught on the water’s edge and drifted toward the ocean. Oddly enough, she thought of little as she waited. The world simply existed around her. Her mind mixed with the churning of the water. If the darkhound took her life again, so be it. That was her duty. It was hard to feel scared when she knew what death felt like.

She heard the darkhound before she saw it. Its vicious bark spooked birds from the trees. Downstar tensed and stood, water dripping off her tail. The smell hit her just as Scrubmask burst through the trees. The pale warrior scrambled up a thick sugar maple and crouched in the leaves, just as planned. A moment later, the darkhound sprinted into the sunlight. 

It looked exactly as Downstar remembered from the sporadic flashes of her second death. It looked more like a wolf than a dog. Its stocky frame could crush Downstar underfoot. Its wild brown eyes bounced about, searching for its missing prey. Its heavy black fur was only broken by sporadic gray markings like light trying to break through thick shadow. The darkhound ran toward the sugar maple and jumped on the trunk. It barked and howled at Scrubmask, scratching up the bark.

“Over here!” Downstar yowled. The darkhound’s head snapped toward her. Its piercing bark stung Downstar’s ears. The darkhound jumped off the trunk and sprinted at Downstar like a bat through the sky. Downstar turned and jumped onto a half-submerged rock in the river. Water flowed over her paws and tried to drag her under. Deep water stretched out before her. Downstar breathed deep and dove into the deadliest portion of the Great Northern River.

Her ears hummed along to the heavy flow of the water. Her fur reached eastward with the flow of the river. Downstar’s legs burned as she swam hard and deep. Her paws touched the smooth mud and stones of the river’s bottom. She could barely see through the stinging water. The dog splashed into the river, its bark drowned by the sudden rush of water. The impact shoved Downstar aside and sent her spinning. Wild paws paddled toward her. Her chest tightened as she frantically tried to right herself.

Long fangs dug into Downstar’s back leg. She yowled, water bubbling around her muzzle as blood stained the river. But this was the darkhound’s mistake. If it wanted to hold onto her so badly, it could join her in a frantic rush to the ocean, far away from the Clan she worked so hard to build. 

The pair spun through the darkening water. Downstar wasn’t sure which way was up. Her leg and the darkhound’s muzzle smashed into a large stone that jutted from the bottom of the deep river and peeked out over the surface. The darkhound let go and tumbled further toward the ocean. Downstar’s vision blurred. She needed air. But where should she go to get it? She tried to swim, but she couldn’t move her limbs. She was so heavy…

Something grabbed Downstar’s scruff. Splashes of brown and white dragged her toward a distant light. Her senses burned as her head breached the water. She choked on the air, water rushing out of her lungs. What was happening? Had she reemerged in StarClan’s ocean? No, she wouldn’t feel so miserable if she had died. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear, it was all she could do to force air down her water-logged throat.

The first thing Downstar heard when her ears cleared was “I’ve got you, Downstar. I’ve got you.” The brown and white blobs began to take shape. Carnationspeckle stood at Downstar’s side, soaked and panting.

“Where did you come from?” Scrubmask hopped out of the sugar maple and ran toward Carnationspeckle and Downstar.

“I couldn’t let you drown yourselves,” Carnationspeckle huffed. “I followed the darkhound’s scent.”

“It could have killed you,” Scrubmask growled. “You’re nowhere near fast enough to outrun a beast like that.”

“Yes, but I can outswim anyone in this Clan,” Carnationspeckle said, wrapping her tail around Downstar. “I couldn’t let her drown.” Rustshade and Burdockcreek appeared, following the long-gone beast’s scent. 

“Scrubmask, hurry back to camp and fetch Fennelspot,” Rustshade barked, slipping beside Downstar. “Her leg is severely mangled.” Scrubmask was gone before Rustshade finished speaking, following the river toward the ocean and the shipwreck. Rustshade sighed, shaking his head, and continued studying Downstar’s leg. It was hard for the tortoiseshell leader to process everything around her, as her Clanmates were still blurry and her ears were still clogged. But she could think, and her thoughts were not pleasant.

“Carnation,” Downstar coughed, watery eyes glaring at the young caretaker, “I have nine lives. You have one. You should have let me drown.”

“Having nine lives doesn’t mean we should waste them if you don’t need to,” Carnationspeckle sighed. She licked the water dripping into Downstar’s eyes, but Downstar batted her away.

“I don’t need you to risk your life for me,” Downstar growled. Carnationspeckle stepped back, nodding softly as her ears fell back. Downstar coughed up more water as the pain of her bitten leg swam through her muscles.

If the darkhound was going to kill anyone, if anything would get one of her Clanmates killed, Downstar would be the one to die.

(Fennelspot: 83, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Oilstripe: 30, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Downstar: 85, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Burdockcreek: 20, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Rustshade: 70, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Scrubmask: 43, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Carnationspeckle: 28, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

James and Weedfoot go hunting together.

[Image ID: James and Weedfoot follow a rabbit.]

---

James was shockingly quick for a large (and Weedfoot had to be honest, lazy) former kittypet. He chased after a brown speckled rabbit, matching its pace leap for leap. There were a lot of places the rabbit could escape to in RippleClan’s more open southern territory, but James looped back and forth, scaring the rabbit away from any escape routes. In a few moments, the rabbit dangled from James’ jaws.

“Wonderful!” Weedfoot chirped, jogging down a steep slope to join her hunting partner. “I really thought it was gone when the wind shifted.”

“My humans used to hunt rabbits,” James said, resting the rabbit at his paws and licking his lips. “I am well acquainted with the need for speed when stealth fails in a rabbit hunt.”

“Once we cook this, this rabbit should feed most of the Clan,” Weedfoot purred. She glanced at the darkening sky and added, “A meal for tomorrow, however. Let’s return to camp.”

“Finally,” James purred, stretching his back. “I can sleep.”

“You’re in camp all day,” Weedfoot chuckled with a twitch of her whiskers. “I would be begging to leave camp if I were you, but you’re always itching to get back.”

“Because I like staying in camp,” James groaned. “If I could spend all my time in camp and never leave, I would be content.”

“You have to be one of the laziest cats I have ever met,” Weedfoot laughed. 

“Not lazy,” James purred, adjusting his tattered black ribbon. “I am simply not a fan of moving.” 

“Not moving sounds like a dream at the moment,” Weedfoot admitted, sheepishly ducking her head. “With Downstar resting in the medicine den, I’ve been doing both her job and mine. All I can think about is when to send out the next patrol and what we’ve already done for the day.”

“You’ve been a radiant deputy,” James said softly. He patted her on the back with his long, soft tail. “Just as I have been a wonderful caretaker since I found your humble Clan.” James puffed out his fluffy chest.

“Let’s go home before you start taking yourself seriously,” Weedfoot chuckled, headbutting James’ shoulder. The former kittypet picked up his rabbit and followed Weedfoot back to camp.

When the pair returned, RippleClan was winding down for the night. Clammask stomped out the remnants of a smoker while Oilstripe groomed herself. James rubbed against Weedfoot as he made his way to the fresh-kill pile. Oilstripe stopped grooming and trotted up to Weedfoot.

“Yum, rabbit,” Oilstripe cooed. “That will taste amazing tomorrow.”

“James is quite the hunter,” Weedfoot sighed. She watched James as he said goodnight to Scrubmask with a gentle purr and a shake of his pelt. When Weedfoot looked back at Oilstripe, however, her former apprentice had a curiously mischievous look on her face. “What are you thinking, Oilstripe?”

“You like James, don’t you,” Oilstripe said, flicking her tail at the pale ginger tom.

“He’s stepped up when he’s been needed,” Weedfoot said as her stomach suddenly tightened.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Oilstripe purred. She sat next to Weedfoot and said, “You’re in love.” 

Oh StarClan. Oilstripe was right. She did like James. She didn’t have time to pursue a mate! She had to step up for Downstar while she recovered. She was the deputy. She couldn’t be distracted! No, no, that wasn’t the worst of it. Weedfoot already had a mate. Paleshade had been the greatest companion she could have asked for. They were together every step of the way. How could she enter StarClan one day and face Paleshade if she fell in love with someone else?

“She wants you to be happy,” Oilstripe said quietly, dragging Weedfoot out of her thoughts. Oilstripe had a hazy, unnerving look in her eyes and kept glancing away from Weedfoot. What was she even looking at? A fearful itch climbed up Weedfoot’s spine.

“How did you know what I was thinking?” Weedfoot gulped.

“Uh,” Oilstripe gulped, staring at the ground, “I just know you well, is all. And I’ve heard so much about Paleshade, I feel like I know her too. And from what you’ve told me, I think she would want you to find someone who makes you happy in RippleClan.”

“Maybe,” Weedfoot muttered. An odd warmth filled her chest. “Maybe.”

(James: 102, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Weedfoot: 75, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 30, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #weedfoot #james #oilstripe #fennelspot #carnationspeckle #scrubmask #rustshade #burdockcreek

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 34

With James at her back, Weedfoot feels like she’s going to explode with love. Weak with blood loss, Weedfoot nevertheless purrs at the sight of her new tiny litter of five.

[Image ID: James and Weedfoot sit together, facing Fennelspot. Oilstripe, Downstar, and Parsley watch from the back. James says, “How can I wait a quarter moon to name my children?” Fennelspot replies, “The wait is worth it, James.” Under Weedfoot, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITIONS: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH, BLOOD LOSS.]

Oilstripe hated how the nursery smelled of blood. She hated how Fennelspot kept assuring her that a lot of the process was up to Weedfoot, that her instincts were kicking in and guiding the kitting, that all she needed was water, company, and time. She especially hated how that opinion changed when Fennelspot recruited Clammask to massage Weedfoot while he handled “a small problem.” The thing Oilstripe hated most, however?

The fact that the kitting took two days.

“How is this normal?” Oilstripe groaned, paws over her head. It was a cold start of the new year, with snow still on the ground. It was almost the dawn of the third day of kitting. Oilstripe stayed up with James, Parsley, and Downstar while Fennelspot helped Weedfoot with the last steps of the process. James sat with Oilstripe, grooming sand off his legs.

“I can’t tell if you expect an answer to that question or not,” James said, his leg over his head.

“How can she take the pain?” Oilstripe wondered, peeking between her paws at the nursery.

“Nature’s work, I suppose,” James sighed.

“Aren’t you nervous?” Oilstripe asked, turning her back to the nursery.

“Of course I am, do you take me for a rogueheart?” James scoffed, sitting up. “I also have confidence in Weedfoot’s strength.

“Shush, you two!” Parsley snapped. “I hear another kit.” Oilstripe cocked her ear back. Sure enough, a loud mew rippled out of the den. Not long after, Fennelspot left the den with blood on his muzzle and paws.

“That’s more than normal,” Downstar gulped from her perch on the Shiprock. All four waiting cats scurried up to Fennelspot.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” Fennelspot insisted. “There was more blood than I wanted, but Weedfoot will be alright. She’s weak, though, so don’t overwhelm her. Go inside, James. You have two daughters and three sons.” James squirmed past Fennelspot and slipped into the shadows of the nursery. Oilstripe crept after him and watched from outside.

The nursery was packed by both the living and dead. Weedfoot laid panting with five kits suckling at her belly. Blood-stained moss surrounded her. Four ghosts lingered behind her, staring at the kits with pride; Paleshade, Wasppaw, Lavenderleaf, and surprisingly, Puddlespeckle. James actually walked through Puddlespeckle to lay at Weedfoot’s back. Puddlespeckle shivered and sneered at his son-in-code.

“Oilstripe, you tell him to look after those kits,” Puddlespeckle grumbled. “StarClan, I would have been a good grandfather.” His face softened as he stared at a gray tom with a small white dot on the bridge of his muzzle. 

Both the mollies looked like their mother. One had spots, while the other had swirling marks. One tom, a lanky gold and white tom, looked more like Wasppaw than either parent. The dead apprentice stared at the tom with huge eyes. The last tom was more like James, with a ginger pelt splashed white. Weedfoot purred deeply, resting her chin over Jame’s front legs.

“Weedfoot, they’re lovely,” Oilstripe purred.

“Oilstripe, you’re taking up the entrance,” Downstar huffed. Oilstripe shrunk and backed up so Downstar and Parsley could peer into the den.

“I’m a little worried about the striped kit’s strength,” Fennelspot admitted from behind the crowd. “She caused the most blood loss during birth. Beyond that, all five kits are nursing well.” He squirmed between Downstar and Oilstripe and groomed some blood off the youngest tom. “They should all live to get their own names.”

“How can I wait a quarter moon to name my children?” James groaned.

“The wait is worth it, James,” Fennelspot promised. He patted Weedfoot’s back with his tail. “You’re a strong mother, Weedfoot.”

“Here here!” Paleshade cheered. Wasppaw and Lavenderleaf laughed while Puddlespeckle rolled his eyes, although his perpetual annoyed look softened. Paleshade touched her ethereal nose to Weedfoot’s head. Some of her exhaustion seemed to seep out as she cuddled deeper into her mate.

From Oilstripe’s perspective, there was more love in the nursery that night than anyone else could understand.

(Oilstripe: 38, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(James: 110, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Parsley: 128, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Downstar: 93, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 91, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

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

(Weedfoot: 83, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

A quarter moon after their birth, Weedfoot reveals the names of her kits.

[Image ID: Five newborn kits fill the screen. Under the gray spotted kit, it says NEW PLAYER: PALEKIT, 0, FEMALE, IMPULSIVE. Under the gold and white spotted kit, it says NEW PLAYER: WASPKIT, 0, MALE, BOSSY. Under the gray spotted kit with the white face spot, it says NEW PLAYER: PUDDLEKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. Under the swirl-patterned gray kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RIPPLEKIT, 0, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL. Lastly, under the ginger and white kit, it says NEW PLAYER: LAVENDERKIT, 0, MALE, NOISY.]

(Palekit: 0, female, kit, impulsive)

(Waspkit: 0, male, kit, bossy)

(Puddlekit: 0, male, polite)

(Ripplekit: 0, female, know-it-all)

(Lavenderkit: 0, male, noisy)

Halibutdusk helps Downstar work through something difficult that happened to her.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Downstar face each other. Downstar says, “It’s hard to accept the good things in life when I don’t feel good.”]

---

Halibutdusk wasn’t sure what to think when his mother took him to the Great Northern River. While Fennelspot had forced her to go to a few Gatherings in the later stages of her healing, Downstar was only just leaving camp again. Why would she choose to return to the river she had almost died in, so soon after her recovery? Still, Halibutdusk did not ask questions. Clearly Downstar wanted to do something. Halibutdusk just had to wait.

The warm spring sun turned the Great Northern River back into the churning, lovely current Halibutdusk spent much of his free time watching. Downstar settled on a sun speckled patch of grass. Halibutdusk took a spot beside her. The sun made him sleepy and dragged his eyes shut. He glanced at Downstar, but the leader was silent.

Halibutdusk was about to fall asleep when Downstar finally said, “Have you been happy lately, Halibut?” Halibutdusk shook the sleep out of his head and blinked rapidly.

“That seems like a vague question,” Halibutdusk said, squinting at his mother.

“It’s an honest one,” Downstar huffed with a twitch of her whiskers. “I want to know how you’ve felt lately. Life has been quiet as of late.”

“I’m fine,” Halibutdusk muttered.

“You used to be so excitable,” Downstar muttered. She brushed her tail against Halibutdusk. “What happened?”

“I didn’t like the results,” Halibutdusk sighed. “I hate seeing Heronflank at Gatherings, knowing I scarred his face like that. I’m more cautious as a result.” Downstar nodded softly and stared at the water.

“I don’t believe your littermates would understand what I’m about to tell you,” Downstar said. “Shadowdrop is focused on himself, and Wildclaw… I made a mistake giving her an honor title for her recklessness, but I don’t have the heart to take it away.”

“Why did you rename Wildclaw?” Halibutdusk asked. 

“At the time, she seemed brave,” Downstar explained. She dipped a paw into the water and let the cool current run around her. “I was proud of how ready she was to protect us. All I could see was the danger lurking outside our borders. The darkhound hurt me more than I like to admit. It felt like another major, Clan-ending threat I had to stop. I’ve lost two lives within the span of five moons. All I could think about while I healed was, what would the next threat be?” Downstar shook the water off her paw. “It’s hard to accept the good things in life when I don’t feel good. I got angry when I was around anyone, because they didn’t seem to take things seriously. I’m trying to be better, though.”

“I understand,” Halibutdusk said softly. He wasn’t sure how true that was, but regardless, he leaned against his mother and let his eyes drift along the river. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I’d like to sit here for a while, if you’d be willing,” Downstar said. Halibutdusk nodded. The pair said nothing more as they listened to the river’s hum and the ringing of their own thoughts.

(Halibutdusk: 26, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Downstar: 92, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

James caught Mousepaw in a lie. Rabbitjoy thinks Mousepaw has been acting weird lately.

[Image ID: James and Rabbitjoy stand over Mousepaw.]

---

Mousepaw didn’t like the looks on James and Rabbitjoy’s faces as they approached the apprentice’s den. They had no reason to march over to her as she groomed in the comfort of the empty den. Why weren’t they fussing over Weedfoot and her noisy kits? 

“Mousepaw,” James called. Mousepaw bit her tongue to fight back a groan. 

“Yes, James?” Mousepaw said in her most polite voice.

“Where is the mouse you caught during our hunting patrol this morning?” James asked. He sat outside the apprentice’s den while Rabbitjoy scooted inside. Mousepaw shuffled away from her.

“If it’s not on the fresh-kill pile, maybe Rattlepelt’s making leather out of it,” Mousepaw huffed. 

“She was going to,” Rabbitjoy explained, “but it went missing.”

“I saw you move it, Mousepaw,” James huffed, breathing deep. “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt and hope you spotted spoilage. But then I found its buried remains near the dirtplace. I thought you would be honest and tell the truth, considering you are a codekeeper in training.” Wonderful. Mousepaw’s pelt burned as she turned her gaze to the side, refusing to look at James.

“Mousepaw, why would you eat a raw mouse?” Rabbitjoy asked softly.

“I ate raw mice all the time when I was a kit!” Mousepaw snapped. “It tastes better than the cooked foxdung Rattlepelt grills.”

“This is not how I wanted to spend my day,” James groaned.

“Mousepaw, you could get very sick,” Rabbitjoy huffed. “Do you understand that?”

“It was one skinny mouse!” Mousepaw groaned. “What are you going to do about it, exile me?” James and Rabbitjoy shared a long glance.

“If we had a mediator,” Rabbitjoy sighed, shaking her head, “I would send you straight to them. I don’t understand where all this hostility is coming from.”

“You only care that I took prey,” Mousepaw hissed, searching for an exit between the two adults. “Don’t act like I need to do anything else. I don’t need your attention. I do my job, and I do it well. All I did was treat myself. Why corner me about it?”

“You’re right, you do work hard,” Rabbitjoy said, her tail inching along the edge of Mousepaw’s nest. “Harder than James, at least.”

“I would take offense to that if it wasn’t so true,” James sighed.

“But this feels like another example of the loner attitude you’ve carried with you since you joined RippleClan,” Rabbitjoy explained. 

“Again, why do you care?” Mousepaw huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Because I care about Rattlepelt, and she cares about you,” Rabbitjoy said.

“I don’t want her to care!” Mousepaw groaned. “I don’t want anyone to care! It’s easier for all of us that way. I won’t steal prey again, alright? Don’t tell Rustshade.” Rabbitjoy slipped next to James and whispered in his ear. Mousepaw laid in her nest with her back to the pair. A short time later, she glanced back, but James and Rabbitjoy were gone.

Good. Mousepaw didn’t want them to care. It was easier to look after the Clan that way. She would stay away from all those complicated feelings like love and sincerity, and she’d be just fine.

Yes… she would be fine.

(Mousepaw: 11, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(James: 110, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Rabbitjoy: 71, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

Burdockcreek encounters a fox on patrol.

[Image ID: Fennelspot treats Burdockcreek, while Wildclaw looks on from the back and yowls, “Fox twins!” Fennelspot says “Foolish young cats…” Under Burdockcreek, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Fennelspot: 91, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Burdockcreek: 28, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Wildclaw: 26, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #oilstripe #paleshade #weedfoot #james #puddlespeckle #lavenderkit #palekit #ripplekit #waspkit #puddlekit #mousepaw #rabbitjoy #fennelspot #burdockcreek #wildclaw #parsley

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 30

Puddlespeckle went missing for a few days.

[Image ID: Weedfoot stands alone, calling “Father?”]

Rabbitjoy told Weedfoot that outsiders often saw the Clans as “imprisonment”, where others bossed you around and controlled your every step. This was far from the truth, of course. While apprentices had to be escorted due to the danger of the wilds and the Clan asked all who could to share the load, once you completed your tasks for the day, you were free to do as you may. No one would force a cat to follow commands all day.

But they still returned home. They weren’t supposed to be gone so long. Especially not an old, tired elder lost just before the start of winter.

“Father?” Weedfoot called. Harsh wind whipped her voice through the trees. “Father?”

“Puddlespeckle!” Parsley yowled from somewhere unseen. “Are you here?”

“I know you don’t like us much, but there’s no reason to leave!” Oilstripe half-laughed beside Weedfoot, nearly piercing her ear. Weedfoot shivered and rubbed her ear. Somewhere far behind her, the distant calls of the codekeeper’s patrol fluttered in the wind. With two patrols scanning every part of the territory for Puddlespeckle, someone was bound to find him, surely.

Oilstripe gently bunted Weedfoot’s shoulder. A soft trill slipped out of the ginger molly’s throat.

“I’m alright,” Weedfoot sighed, rubbing against Oilstripe. “I hope I didn’t drive him off.”

“He’s a stubborn old fool, but he’s grown to like the Clan!” Oilstripe chirped. “Somewhat, at least. He wouldn’t run off.” An emptiness swallowed the space after her words. Oilstripe was right. Puddlespeckle wouldn’t run away. But that meant something far worse had happened.

Soft pawsteps approached from behind. It was James. The former kittypet shook out his faded black ribbon and fluffed his fur against the early winter chill.

“James,” Weedfoot sighed, touching noses with her friend. “Did the codekeepers find anything?” James tucked his face into Weedfoot’s chest. His ribbon tickled her nose. His tail searched for Weedfoot’s. 

“Weed…” James sighed quietly. “Rustshade says he’s been out there for a while. I don’t think you should see it.”

[Image ID: Oilstripe is surrounded by the spirits of StarClan as she says, “I see StarClan whenever they come to visit. I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”]

Weedfoot didn’t want to know the details, but when that was all RippleClan could talk about, she was bound to hear them. According to Mousepaw, Puddlespeckle’s body had decayed enough that bringing it back to camp for a proper vigil would be worse than taking it straight to the graveyard. They couldn’t tell what did him in. Or maybe they did, but they were better about keeping it from Weedfoot’s ears than anything else.

Since the body was unpresentable, Fennelspot, Rabbitjoy, and Rattlepelt crafted a proxy. There were still some wilted forget-me-nots in the elder’s den from the last flowers Puddlespeckle managed to find to decorate his pelt. Rabbitjoy wove the petals into tufts of Puddlespeckle’s fur and Rattlepelt wrapped the creation in a freshly tanned pelt. With a simple blessing from Fennelspot, the wrap would be, in every spiritual sense, Puddlespeckle. At least for the night.

Weedfoot couldn’t say she was broken by this. She could never characterize her relationship with her father as something really positive, after all. But they had gotten better, hadn’t they? They were closer, even if Puddlespeckle sneered a bit when Weedfoot talked about James and complained about having to share his den with Parsley. Things were better. She should have had the chance to say goodbye.

James and Oilstripe were her closest companions during the vigil. She had expected Downstar to make an appearance, to say something, but as she had been prone to do for moons by that point, she stayed in her den. James and Oilstripe kept Weedfoot occupied with various stories of Puddlespeckle. Oilstripe had a shocking memory of the old gray tom; had Puddlespeckle actually told her about her apprenticehood misadventure at the Great Northern River? That didn’t seem like something he would share with her. At least she had stories to share, Weedfoot supposed.

Most cats did not stay long at the vigil. The search had taken up most of the day, leaving the whole Clan craving sleep. Even James bid farewell come moonhigh. Weedfoot and Oilstripe were the only ones stil awake at the end. 

“You can sleep, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot eventually sighed, running her paw over the leather wrap in front of her. “Thank you for staying up with me.”

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight,” Oilstripe mumbled. Her eyes were half closed and her ears constantly twitched. Her nose would curl up on occasion before she forced her face to relax.

“Try to,” Weedfoot suggested. “You look exhausted.” She bunted Oilstripe’s shoulder.

“I’m going to the dirtplace,” Oilstripe suddenly snapped. She stood so quickly, she knocked Weedfoot aside. Oilstripe scampered to the dirtplace, kicking up sand as she went. Was she more hurt by Puddlespeckle’s passing than Weedfoot first thought? She didn’t think the pair were that close. Oilstripe never really spoke to Puddlespeckle unless she was spending time with Weedfoot, after all. 

Weedfoot wouldn’t be a very good deputy (or friend) if she let Oilstripe suffer. She patted the leather wrap and followed the path to the dirtplace. The ocean’s hum filled her mind and tried to muffle Oilstripe’s words. Words? Yes, words; Oilstripe was speaking to someone. Weedfoot paused in the darkness of the shipwreck and listened.

“Why would I tell you?” Oilstripe snapped. “I don’t tell anyone about this.” Weedfoot spared a glance into the dirtplace. Oilstripe was alone, but she stared at the empty space beside her with what little fury her exhaustion let loose. “If you wanted a vigil over your body, maybe you shouldn’t have left camp!” Weedfoot knew Oilstripe had a tendency to talk to herself, muttering half a conversation when she thought no one else could hear. Wasn’t Fennelspot helping her with that odd quirk? How severe were her symptoms to have her arguing with shadows.

“Puddlespeckle, I told every story you asked me to share,” Oilstripe growled. “What else do you want from me? From Weedfoot? She loved you, you old mousebrain, even if she isn’t broken about it. Go to StarClan already and leave me alone! You’re pushing me into madness!”

“Oilstripe,” Weedfoot huffed, stepping into the dim moonlight. Oilstripe stiffened, one ear cocked toward Weedfoot. 

“Not again,” Oilstripe muttered, closing her eyes. “I’m alright, Weedfoot. Go back to your vigil.”

“We need to see Fennelspot,” Weedfoot said. She marched up to her old apprentice and gently coaxed her toward the dirtplace exit. Oilstripe, however, stood her ground.

“No, we don’t,” Oilstripe snapped. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Your symptoms are getting worse,” Weedfoot grunted. “Fennelspot will know what to do for you.”

“My…” Oilstripe stammered, “my symptoms?” Weedfoot nudged Oilstripe forward, but Oilstripe looped behind her. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Weedfoot insisted, turning to face her friend. She kept herself small as Oilstripe’s fur rose. “You haven’t slept much. It makes sense that your hallucinations—”

“StarClan, Weedfoot,” Oilstripe gulped. Her voice cracked like cold water splashing on a hot stone. “I, I know other cats see me talking to myself, but I didn’t think… you think I’m mad? How many cats think I see things that aren’t real?” 

“It’s—” Weedfoot said.

“I am not hallucinating!” Oilstripe cried, stomping after each word. “I see ghosts, Weedfoot, real ghosts. I see StarClan whenever they come to visit. I’m tired of pretending I don’t.” She wildly waved her tail to the empty spot beside her. “Puddlespeckle has been here all night. He hasn’t stopped complaining about how long it took us to find his body. I’m tired because he’s been ranting in my ear all day!”

“Oilstripe—” Weedfoot tried to interject.

“You want to see Fennelspot?” Oilstripe snapped. “We’ll see Fennelspot. He knows they’re real. Locustseeker proved it to him. And once he makes you believe, he’s going to tell the entire Clan. I won’t have my friends look at me and think I’ve lost my mind.” Oilstripe stomped up to Weedfoot and paused beside her. “If you believed I was seeing things this whole time, you should have said something. I don’t need you to pity me.” Oilstripe marched past Weedfoot and whipped out of sight.

“Oilstripe, wait!” Weedfoot cried. She ran after Oilstripe. All the clever and soothing words she planned to say fell away as she hurried deeper into the rising chaos.

(Weedfoot: 79, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Parsley: 124, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Oilstripe: 34, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(James: 106, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

Graythroat recovers, but her tail is scarred.

[Image ID: Graythroat stands with a scar on her tail, saying, “Do I look wonderful or do I look wonderful?”]

---

“Do I look wonderful or do I look wonderful?” Graythroat purred. She stretched her scarred, freshly healed tail as high as she could. Most of RippleClan were enjoying their sunhigh naps, soaking in the sunshine of a uniquely warm winter’s day. Mousepaw and Rattlepelt, meanwhile, were more than happy to look at Graythroat’s new scars.

“They don’t hurt?” Rattlepelt wondered, her eyes following the trail of each scar like one watches a river’s current.

“Not at all,” Graythroat insisted. “I’ve always wanted a battle scar. I wish it covered more of my tail though. It’s hard to see without craning my back.”

“It’s a shame it isn’t from a grand battle, then,” Mousepaw mumbled. “Shadowdrop says you killed a fox minding its own business.”

“My brother also said a fox may have been the beast that took Puddlespeckle from us,” Graythroat huffed, tucking her tail away from Mousepaw’s judgy gaze. “Foxes are dangerous.”

“Not much more than a cat,” Mousepaw pointed out, whiskers twitching. Before Graythroat could come up with a clever response, something shifted in the corner of her eye. Downstar limped out of her den. She managed well on three legs, although the splint that bound her broken bone would likely come off soon.

“Mom, look at my scar,” Graythroat chirped. She wiggled her flank in front of her mom. Downstar studied the scar quietly. She then limped in front of the Shiprock, her face still and expressionless.

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar called, making Rattlepelt and Mousepaw jump. The sleeping masses scattered around camp stuttered to life, trying to collect themselves. Fennelspot stumbled out of the medicine den with weary eyes.

“Downstar, why are you calling a meeting in the middle of the day?” Fennelspot yawned as the rest of the Clan tried to wake up.

“You’ll see in a moment,” Downstar said softly. “Graythroat, come sit by me.” Graythroat happily trotted up to her mother. She nuzzled her mother with a deep purr. 

RippleClan was slow to gather. Their yawns and grumbles turned into quiet questions as they glanced between each other. Graythroat’s paws danced over the sand as she silently yowled for the group to come together already. Graythroat couldn’t take the suspense!

[Image ID: Downstar faces Graythroat, now called Wildclaw. Under Wildclaw, it says LEVEL UP! GRAYTHROAT -> WILDCLAW. Fennelspot sits in the foreground, saying, “Downstar, I don’t know about this.”]

“Since the day she became an apprentice,” Downstar began, “my daughter Graythroat has put her all into the defense of this Clan. She would gladly lay down her life if it meant RippleClan would survive.” Graythroat puffed out her chest. “She is everything I would want in a strong and loyal caretaker. She takes initiative to keep us safe and will always rise to the occasion. Her new scar is proof of this commitment. She deserves to be honored for her bravery. As such, today she will earn an honor title, which she will carry with her to StarClan.” 

The rest of the Clan faded away. An honor title? Graythroat was getting an honor title? She was getting a new name? Only the greatest in the Clan ever got an honor title! And they didn’t get theirs from their mother!

“Downstar, I don’t know about this.” Fennelspot’s worry tried to pierce Graythroat’s fog of joy, but Graythroat ignored him. She stood in front of her mother, chin and tail high, ready to erase her new name like pawprints in the sand.

“Spirits of StarClan, you know every cat by name,” Downstar declared. “I ask you now to take away the name from the cat you see before you, for it no longer stands for what she is. By my authority as Clan leader, and with the approval of our warrior ancestors, I give this cat a new name. From this moment on she will be known as Wildclaw, for her wild and daring spirit deserves to be honored.”

Wildclaw. Wildclaw. Wildclaw! What a beautiful name! Wildclaw’s heart fluttered as her Clan’s sleepy voices called her new name. It sunk into her very being. It was everything she was, deep inside. She didn’t care that the strained looks in her Clanmates’ eyes did not match the pride of their voices. She was proud of herself. Her mother was proud of her. That was enough.

(Wildclaw: 22, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepelt: 13, female, artisan, fierce, prey cleaner)

(Mousepaw: 7, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(Downstar: 89, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 87, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #oilstripe #graythroat #wildclaw #mousepaw #rattlepelt #fennelspot #weedfoot #james #parsley #puddlespeckle #tw death

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 18

Both RippleClan and AshClan tire of the war, wishing for it to end.

[Image ID: Rabbitjoy and Weedfoot sit to the right and face Eelgrowl and Shellstripe, a golden tabby. Eelgrowl says “I don’t expect you to understand, but Autumnstar and I are doing what we think is right.”]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Locustpaw tells Burdockcreek to count on them.

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Why them?” Rustshade moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oilstripe…” Fennelspot gulped.

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

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

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

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

“Locusts,” Fennelspot gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carnationspeckle, Shadowpaw, and Parsley all have whitecough.

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

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

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

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

Parsley finds the way Rabbitjoy acts increasingly uncomfortable.

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

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

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

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

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #locustpaw #rabbitjoy #weedfoot #oilstripe #burdockcreek #eelgrowl #shellstripe #fennelspot #clampaw #clammask #carnationspeckle #shadowpaw #parsley #applepelt #death

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 29

Burdockcreek falls for a prank and gets a thorn stuck in his paw.

[Image ID: Burdockcreek yowls “Graythroat! Stop putting thorns in my nest!” Offscreen, Graythroat calls, “I didn’t do anything to you!” Unbeknownst to Burdockcreek, Rabbitjoy is chuckling in the background.]

(Burdockcreek: 23, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Graythroat: 21, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rabbitjoy: 65, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

Rattlepelt becomes a fully trained artisan of RippleClan.

[Image ID: Rattlepaw, now Rattlepelt, stands in an adult sprite. Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! RATTLEPAW -> RATTLEPELT, INSECURE -> FIERCE, PLAYS WITH PREY -> PREY CLEANER.]

(Rattlepelt: 12, female, artisan, fierce, prey cleaner)

Mousepaw becomes an apprentice, with Shadowdrop as her mentor.

[Image ID: Mousepaw stands as an apprentice. Under her, it reads LEVEL UP! MOUSEKIT -> MOUSEPAW, KNOW-IT-ALL -> LOYAL.]

(Mouseaw: 6, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

Downstar struggles to connect with her Clan.

[Image ID: Downstar watches Oilstripe, Puddlespeckle, James, and Weedfoot talk from some ways away. Under Downstar, it says + PERMANENT CONDITION: DEPRESSION.]

(Downstar: 88, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Oilstripe: 33, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Puddlespeckle: 155, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(James: 105, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Weedfoot: 78, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #oilstripe #rattlepaw #rattlepelt #mousekit #mousepaw #puddlespeckle #weedfoot #james #burdockcreek #graythroat #rabbitjoy

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 28

Downstar calls a Clan meeting to honor Parsley for her service and guide her to the elder’s den.

[Image ID: Parsley, now laying down in an elder’s sprite, says to Puddlespeckle, “It looks like you aren’t alone anymore, Mr. Puddlespeckle.” Puddlespeckle says, “How wonderful…”]

(Parsley: 122, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Puddlespeckle: 154, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

Clammask, Shadowdrop, and Rustshade find another abandoned kit near the gardens.

[Image ID: Clammask, Shadowdrop, and Rustshade face a white kit with gray stripes and sage green eyes. Under the kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: MOUSEKIT, 5, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL, ODDLY OBSERVANT.]

---

Rattlepaw was not a stalker. She had a perfectly normal interest in Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe. Why shouldn’t she want her mother to find someone that made her giddy? Oilstripe was the perfect choice! How else could Rattlepaw and Carnationspeckle grow their little family? They deserved more than just one another. They deserved a bigger family. As such, while Rattlepaw practiced a song with Rabbitjoy, she had one ear cocked toward Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe, who were happily sharing tongues before their sunset patrol. Recruiting them to practice dancing for the Harvest Moon had been the perfect plan!

“Mom?” Shadowdrop marched into the camp, scanning for Downstar. The sand caught on his muddy paws, making it look like he had white mittens. “Mom?”

“Fennelspot took Downstar out to exercise,” Rabbitjoy explained, looking over her shoulder at the black tom.

“Well then is Weedfoot around?” Shadowdrop sighed.

“I heard my name!” Weedfoot jogged out from the dirt place. “I’m here, I’m here. Hi, Shadowdrop. Was there an issue with your hunt?”

“You could say that,” Shadowdrop admitted. “We were hunting by the gardens and you’ll never guess what we found.”

“What, a kit?” Oilstripe scoffed. Shadowdrop went eerily quiet. Oilstripe’s eyes exploded. “Wait, am I right?” Rattlepaw’s leather pelt slipped off her back as she scurried up to Shadowdrop. Carnationspeckle stood beside her, her tail brushing against her side.

“That’s where you found me,” Rattlepaw gulped, catching Carnationspeckle’s eye.

“Tell us about the kit,” Weedfoot said. “I assume it isn’t a Clan kit from the way you’re acting.”

“We think so,” Shadowdrop admitted.

“You think so?” Carnationspeckle repeated with a tilt to her head. “Does the kit have a Clan name?”

“Yes, but when we spoke to her, she said she didn’t come from a Clan,” Shadowdrop explained. “I don’t remember anyone in the last few Gatherings mention a Mousekit, unless she’s lying about the name.”

“No one outside the Clans would name their daughter Mousekit,” Rabbitjoy pointed out.

“Rustshade is checking the borders in case the kit’s description matches a kit from another Clan,” Shadowdrop said. “Clammask is bringing the kit along.”

“Carnationspeckle, wake up James and make sure the nursery is ready for a guest,” Weedfoot sighed with a soft flick of her tail.

“We won’t be long,” Carnationspeckle chirped, bouncing where she stood. She seemed more like a kit than a grown molly as she hurried to the warrior’s den. 

“She might be cold…” Weedfoot muttered, glancing at the windy sky. “Rabbitjoy, can you start a small fire? Oilstripe, I want you to fetch Fennelspot. A lone kit like this will likely need a check-up.”

“Downstar might get mad at me if I interrupt her exercise,” Oilstripe gulped, avoiding eye contact.

“I saw them not long ago, I’ll get Fennelspot,” Shadowdrop grumbled. Just as he turned around, however, a wirey white molly strolled past him, flicking her tail while Clammask followed behind. The kit had the faintest of stripes and fur paler than Rattlepaw’s ashy skin. She couldn’t have been much younger than half a year. 

“This is RippleClan?” the kit scoffed. “You live in a big boat? How has it not fallen over?”

“You must be Mousekit,” Weedfoot purred, stepping in front of the newcomer. “Welcome. Hopefully we can get you home soon. What Clan are you from?”

“I already said I’m not from a Clan,” Mousekit huffed, sneering. 

“You have to be with a name like Mousekit,” Clammask sighed. “If you ran away because you were being hurt, you can tell us. We won’t drag you back.”

“I’m called Mousekit because my furless, spineless, coward of a mother spent my whole life telling me everything she knew about the Clans,” Mousekit snapped, turning on Clammask. “She’s the one who brought me out here. About time, too. I was sick of catching mice for humans.” Rattlepaw’s stomach twisted as she held her breath. No wonder Mousekit didn’t react to her.

“Your mother was furless too?” Rattlepaw gulped. She slowly approached Mousekit, who studied her with a cold glimmer in her green eyes. “Was her name… Rebecca?”

“How do you know that?” Mousekit said as the fur on her neck bristled. Rattlepaw couldn’t stop herself. She squealed and dove at Mousekit. She shoved her face into her shockingly soft fur.

“She was my mother too!” Rattlepaw cheered. “You’re my sister!” 

“Get off of me!” Mousekit snapped. She shoved Rattlepaw away. Rattlepaw tumbled onto her back. The sand scratched her fragile skin.

“Rattlepaw!” Carnationspeckle hurried out of the nursery. She and Oilstripe helped Rattlepaw back to her feet. Oilstripe brushed sand off Rattlepaw’s skin while Carnationspeckle licked her white ear.

“That was a hard tumble,” Oilstripe huffed. “Are you alright?”

“A little sore, but I’m alright,” Rattlepaw said.

“So you’re Rattlesnake,” Mousekit said, whiskers twitching with a strange contempt. “Our mother talked often about how she had to ‘save you’ from a breeding life.”

“How is she?” Rattlepaw asked. She braced herself for a venomous response as Mousekit’s tail flicked about.

“Why should I care?” Mousekit snapped. “She didn’t care about me. All she talked about were her plans to take me away as soon as she got the chance. I guess she took it.”

“If you like to hunt, you’ll like this place,” Carnationspeckle purred. “I took in your sister when she arrived here. If you wanted to, we could get to know each other more.” Carnationspeckle rested her tail over Rattlepaw. Rattlepaw pressed into Carnationspeckle with a soft purr.

[Image ID: Mousekit stares down Carnationspeckle and Rattlepaw. She yowls, “I had a mom, and she was awful. You aren’t my mom, and you aren’t my sister!”]

“You want to treat me like your kit?” Mousekit scoffed. “I had a mom, and she was awful. You aren’t my mom, and you aren’t my sister!” Rattlepaw pressed harder into Carnationspeckle. Her big copper eyes poured unspoken needs over Mousekit, but the pale molly turned away and back to Weedfoot. “So where can I stay?” It took Weedfoot a moment to collect her words; the small crowd looked between Mousekit and Rattlepaw, unsure whether they should have said something or not.

“Come this way,” Weedfoot said softly. She guided Mousekit across camp to the nursery. Mousekit walked with her tail high, leaving Rattlepaw and Carnationspeckle in her dust. While Carnationspeckle continued grooming Rattlepaw, something hardened in Rattlepaw’s chest.

She was already trying to find her mother a mate, and she’d just been given a sister. If she could push Carnationspeckle to fall in love with Oilstripe, she could convince her own flesh and blood to love her back.

(Rattlepaw: 11, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Shadowdrop: 20, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

(Rabbitjoy: 65, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Weedfoot: 77, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 32, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Carnationspeckle: 30, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Mousekit: 5, female, kit, know-it-all, oddly observant)

(Clammask: 22, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

#warrior cats #clangen #warriors #rippleclan #rippleclan story #puddlespeckle #parsley #carnationspeckle #rattlepaw #mousekit #clammask #weedfoot #oilstripe #shadowdrop #rabbitjoy

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 27

Graythroat returns to camp with a bleeding tail and stories of a dead fox.

[Image ID: Graythroat stands proud while the text under her reads + CONDITION: BITE WOUND. Fennelspot and Downstar sit together in the upper corner.]

Downstar was not supposed to be so cooperative.

Fennelspot was only a couple moons younger than Downstar, so he vividly remembered how she plagued his apprenticeship; spunky and wild Downpaw would limp into the medicine den with scraps and bruises from her latest misadventure, with Shadowsun sighing behind her. At first, Fennelspot’s mentor Yellowflower gladly treated her, but she was in the medicine den so much, she finally said that young Fennelpaw would treat Downpaw for whatever injury or illness she brought in. It prepared Fennelspot well for being Downstar’s first cleric and for caring for her equally troublesome children.

Fennelspot remembered when Downstar broke a rib not long before he got his full name. No matter how much he insisted she had to rest, she wouldn’t stay in her nest, insisting she could watch over the nursery or guard camp or do whatever it was she thought interesting at the time. That was just her way. Now, though…

Downstar spent most of her time in her den, resting. When Fennelspot entered to check her leg or help her exercise, Downstar listened without fuss. She groomed her leg, kept it still, and took whatever advice Fennelspot gave her without question.

Something was deeply wrong with Downstar.

Fennelspot was deep in his worries as he placed a new splint on Downstar’s leg when suddenly, a manic laugh broke through camp. Both Fennelspot and Downstar’s heads snapped up as the strange laugh drew closer. Fennelspot left Downstar’s den just as others in the camp, in the midst of naps or sharing tongues, looked out of their dens to find the source of the odd sound.

“Hali!” the source of the laugh yowled. “Shadow! You won’t believe it!” Graythroat marched into camp with wild eyes and a tall tail. Foreign blood smeared her muzzle while her own dribbled down her legs from a huge wound on her tail. 

“Graythroat, what did you do?” Fennelspot gasped. He ran at Graythroat and forced her to a stop. RippleClan gathered behind him, staring at Graythroat’s bloody face. Halibutdusk and Shadowdrop pushed through the crowd, standing on either side of their sister.

“What did I do?” Graythroat laughed, flicking her tail as though it wasn’t bleeding profusely. “What did I do? Let me tell you, I killed a fox!” She cackled once more, giving Fennelspot just enough time to shove her flank down and pin her tail for a better look at the wound.

“You killed a fox?” Rattlepaw gasped, peeking out from behind Rabbitjoy and Carnationspeckle.

“Gray…” Halibutdusk gulped. The young warrior studied Fennelspot as he groomed the blood around Graythroat’s wound. It was no doubt a fox bite; Fennelspot didn’t know another creature with such a long mouth and sharp punctures. Still, Graythroat must have thrashed her tail hard in the fox’s grasp. There were multiple smaller bites that tore across the skin.

“There I was,” Graythroat said, ducking slightly as though stalking through the forest, “enjoying some time alone, when I see the biggest, fattest, reddest fox I have ever seen in my life, just mouse-lengths from the border!”

“Graythroat, you’ve only ever seen one fox,” Halibutdusk sighed.

“It was outside our territory?” Shadowdrop asked. 

“I wasn’t going to let it come in,” Graythroat scoffed. “It was the greatest fight of our generation. Our fangs dug into each other, we tumbled to and through—”

“And you can keep telling the story once I treat your wound!” Fennelspot snapped. “StarClan knows what diseases a fox could have. Medicine den, now.” Graythroat groaned, tilting her head back as far as it could go. Still, she obeyed (with a nudge from Halibutdusk). 

As Fennelspot led Graythroat (and most of the Clan) to the medicine den, he caught Downstar’s eyes shining from her den. Fennelspot should have been snapping at her to rest her leg as she made sure Graythroat was okay, or at least question her as to why she would attack a fox who had done nothing wrong. But Downstar was still. She just watched Graythroat bleed. Fennelspot had been aware of Graythroat’s issues for a while, but Downstar… 

She scared him.

(Fennelspot: 84, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 86, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Graythroat: 19, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Rattlepaw: 10, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Halibutdusk: 19, male, warrior, gloomy, great storyteller, clever)

(Shadowdrop: 19, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

Rattlepaw teaches Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe a special dance in the water.

[Image ID: Rattlepaw waits for Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe as Carnationspeckle says “I’ll dance if she will!” Under Carnationspeckle, it says LEVEL UP! TALENTED SWIMMER -> FISH-LIKE SWIMMER. Under Oilstripe, it says LEVEL UP! GHOST SIGHT -> GHOST SPEAKER.]

(Rattlepaw: 10, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)

(Carnationspeckle: 29, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Oilstripe: 31, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #oilstripe #rattlepaw #graythroat #fennelspot #halibutdusk #shadowdrop #carnationspeckle

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 22

Rustshade tried to confess his feelings to Fennelspot, but got rejected.

[Image ID: Fennelspot leaves Rustshade in the upper right corner. Graythroat stands behind Rustshade and says, “Too bad, Rusty.” Under her, it says LEVEL UP! VALUABLE INSIGHT -> TRUSTED ADVISOR.]

Rustshade was not the nervous sort. He could only remember three times where he was truly, distinctly nervous. First, when he admitted to WheatClan that he was one of the Ripple followers. Second, when Twinekit got sick. Third, when Locustseeker went on their mission and never came back. In each of those moments, Rustshade’s future hung in the balance. Was this one of those moments? Hard to say. But if things went well, the future he imagined looked pretty good.

There weren’t many cats in camp that late afternoon. Shadowdrop was out of camp with a few others, investigating a new monster-path the humans started following on the edges of the territory, beyond any of the Clans. Carnationspeckle was with Rattlekit, trying to convince the furless molly that she needed to keep her leather pelts draped over her if she wanted to stay warm and safe from the sun. Puddlespeckle was thankfully out on a begrudging walk with his daughter (he was the last cat Rustshade wanted around when he put his plan into action). The only other cats in camp were Fennelspot and Graythroat, huddled around the cleric’s grillstone. 

The cleric’s grillstone was built in an offshoot of the camp where the heat wouldn’t endanger the shipwreck. It was a tamed fire built underneath a long, flat stone. When Rustshade approached, Fennelspot and Graythroat sat staring into a pot placed on the hot stone.. There was another pot sitting in the bigger pot that contained a dark bubbling mixture. Water filled the bigger pot and steam drifted overhead.

“What’s this?” Rustshade asked. 

“We’re making wax,” Graythroat hummed with a playful twitch of her whiskers. “I found a big hive and all us caretakers agreed we could harvest it. I only got stung twice!” Sure enough, there were a couple spots on her flank covered in one of Fennelspot’s ointments.

“You’re lucky you aren’t one of those poor souls who die when they’re stung,” Fennelspot sighed. “Do you need anything, Rustshade?”

“I can wait until this is done,” Rustshade promised, taking a seat a couple tail-lengths away. A minute later, the pair seemed satisfied with their work. Graythroat kicked sand over the fire until nothing remained but smothered smoke. 

“Once that cools,” Fennelspot explained, “we need to strain the beeswax through a filter Rabbitjoy weaved for me. That will collect the thick elements we don’t want. Then we will let the wax cool and I can melt it as needed.” He paused, thinking for a few moments, before adding, “In SlugClan, one of our artisans invented a way to craft leather so we could shield our mouths from heat and take pots off the grillstone immediately. Remind me when Rabbitjoy comes back that I want to speak to SlugClan about that.”

“Anything else?” Graythroat asked, stretching.

“I plan to cook some infusions later, so if you’ll help me prepare for that, I would be grateful,” Fennelspot said. He turned his focus to Rustshade, and once more the younger tom seemed caught by how Fennelspot’s eyes blended with the color of his fur to form a gorgeous pattern of ginger and white. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Graythroat had been about to leave, but her ears stayed pointed toward the two, even as she pretended she was minding her own business. Oh well. It wasn’t like Rustshade wanted to hide his emotions.

“It’s not a medical issue, if you’re concerned,” Rustshade said with an awkward flick of his tail. “It’s a personal question. It’s about something us founders agreed on when we started RippleClan.” Fennelspot nodded, eyes serious and focused as he sat in front of Rustshade. “One of the big issues we wanted to change in this Clan was how clerics, like yourself, were forced to abstain from romance and parenthood due to a misguided belief about your connection to StarClan. RippleClan won’t follow that part of the Code of Clerics. As such, I was hoping you and I could give a relationship a chance.” Graythroat suffocated a poorly hidden gasp, masking it as a cough. Rustshade glared at her with enough fire in his eyes that Graythroat stepped away.

“A…” Fennelspot gulped, ears twitching rapidly.

“I haven’t won someone’s heart in a while,” Rustshade chuckled, whiskers twitching, “but we could take it slow. Perhaps a walk or two?” Fennelspot tensed. His eyes looked everywhere but at Rustshade. As the moments stretched on, Rustshade slowly realized that this wouldn’t end the way he hoped.

“It’s important to me that future clerics have the chance to be mates and parents,” Fennelspot said, “but I… swearing to that part of the Code of Clerics was important to me. It’s my choice to keep that oath. I wouldn’t be comfortable taking a mate, even with our Clan’s laws.” Rustshade nodded softly. His whiskers stilled and his face, as it so often did, betrayed nothing. Fennelspot shifted awkwardly, glancing for a way out. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I’m going to prepare some herbs.” Fennelspot shuffled back toward the medicine den. Rustshade’s gaze stayed on him until he slipped into the shadows of the small boat.

“Too bad, Rusty,” Graythroat hummed. She had somehow slipped behind Rustshade during the conversation. “Don’t hold it against him. Knowing Fennelspot, he’ll probably try extra hard to not make you feel bad about it.”

“I don’t want your advice, Graythroat,” Rustshade muttered, walking past her. He headed for the empty warrior’s den. It was fine. It was a disappointment, but it was fine. He could live without Fennelspot. It was fine.

(Rustshade: 66, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Graythroat: 14, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Fennelspot: 79, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

Puddlespeckle scares Rattlekit with a story.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle and Rattlekit stand together, facing Puddlespeckle. Carnationspeckle snaps, “Puddlespeckle!” To which Puddlespeckle says, “It’s good for her!”]

---

“It is said,” Puddlespeckle purred as Rattlekit sat in front of him, “that the Harvest Moon is the most dangerous day of the year. There is a reason the Clans gather for the whole day, Rattlekit. Without the protection of every star-fearing warrior, we would get pulled into the machinations of the Spirits of Shadow.” 

“Is this a real story?” Rattlekit gulped, “or one of those stories Rabbitjoy makes up?”

“Maybe a little of both,” Puddlespeckle said. The pair lurked in the quiet elder’s den while the rest of RippleClan shared tongues outside. Rattlekit had discarded the leather pelt Carnationspeckle always made her wear to the side. Although Puddlespeckle’s joints creaked as he told the tale, there was a certain look of wonder in the furless kit’s eyes that kept him going. 

“Carnationspeckle has told you about the Dark Forest, hasn’t she? That those cursed by StarClan spend their days there, chased by the memories of all they did wrong?” Rattlekit nodded. “Well, some of these cats grow to hate the living Clans and seek to meddle in the affairs of the living. They make up a number of what we call the Spirits of Shadow. They are forces beyond our living reality that seek to harm us and spread chaos. There are many, but when the Harvest Moon approaches, their powers grow with the coming of the autumn chill.”

“What can they do?” Rattlekit asked.

“Many things,” Puddlespeckle explained. His tail waved dramatically as he spoke. “The souls of the Dark Forest try to reach out to the living to further their own twisted plots. A skin ‘n bones will suck your stomach dry until you are so hungry, you eat your fellow cats. A wraith… well I don’t know if you can handle hearing about them.” With the mention of each dark spirit, Rattlekit’s copper eyes grew bigger and bigger.

“Rattlekit?” Carnationspeckle called from the clearing. “Where did you go?”

“I’m in here, Carnation!” Rattlekit yowled. Puddlespeckle grumbled and laid down. A few moments later, Carnationspeckle entered the den.

“Why are you making that face, Rattlekit?” Carnationspeckle asked, cocking her head as she spotted her adopted daughter’s huge eyes.

“Puddlespeckle says there’s a monster that makes you eat your friends,” Rattlekit gulped.

“Puddlespeckle!” Carnationspeckle snapped, drawing her tail around Rattlekit.

“It’s good for her!” Puddlespeckle insisted. “She’ll be an apprentice in less than a moon. She can handle some scary stories.”

“You never entertained me with stories as a kit,” Carnationspeckle muttered. She studied Puddlespeckle carefully, but the old tom couldn’t care less what she thought.

“Well I didn’t entertain anyone when you were a kit,” Puddlespeckle huffed. “Maybe a few moons in RippleClan have softened me up a bit.” Carnationspeckle draped Rattlekit’s leather back over her.

“It’s almost time to sleep,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “Hopefully you don’t have any nightmares tonight.” Carnationspeckle nudged Rattlekit out of the den. Rattlekit looked helplessly at Puddlespeckle, but a simple nod from the elder seemed to assuage her worries. The two mollies left Puddlespeckle alone in the elder’s den once more. 

Oh well, he thought as he settled deeper into his nest. That was the life of the Clan elder, he supposed.

(Puddlespeckle: 148, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Rattlekit: 5, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)

(Carnationspeckle: 24, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

Applepelt ventures out on patrol soon before a massive flood.

[Image ID: Oilstripe faces Applepelt, who is now a StarClan cat. Applepelt says, “Oh… I didn’t get out, did I?”]

---

It had been a brutal storm. The waves crashed so high that they nearly reached the shipwreck. Downstar evacuated the dens closest to the water, which included the nursery. Oilstripe huddled beside Carnationspeckle and Rattlekit in the packed apprentice’s den as rain pummeled the sand outside. Fennelspot kept worrying that the rain would leak through the shipwreck and ruin his stores. Scrubmask practically had to hold him back to stop him from running to the medicine den. 

When the storm finally passed, a tree not far from camp laid on its side, budding branches reaching toward camp. Weedfoot and Downstar split the Clan into teams; one to clean up the camp and the other to take care of the tree. After all, everyone in RippleClan had been in camp during the storm.

Everyone but Applepelt.

Oilstripe paced around the trees as the rest of her team harvested the fallen tree for resources; after all, why let a tree go to waste when it had bark and buds and other things to support RippleClan? Oilstripe couldn’t focus, though. Fennelspot stood nearby as she gazed out, searching for signs of brown fur.

“Fennelspot, what if she’s hurt?” Oilstripe groaned. “We should go out and look for her.”

“The storm hasn’t been over long,” Fennelspot reminded her, glancing at the dark clouds. “She could still be sheltered somewhere.”

“I hate waiting,” Oilstripe muttered, sitting on the soaked grass. Fennelspot sat next to her and groomed her ear. 

“Oilstripe!” a familiar voice called. Oilstripe shot up. A moment later, a brown figure hurried through the trees.

“Applepelt!” Oilstripe gasped. “There you are! What were you thinking, staying out in a storm like that?” Oilstripe and Applepelt met halfway. Applepelt panted and shook out their fur.

“I didn’t think the storm would be that bad,” they laughed. “Oh, you should have been there, Oilstripe. I was at the Great Northern River when the storm hit. It was beautiful, in a frightening way. The waters surged up and rumbled toward the ocean. I was so caught up in watching it, I fell right in!” Applepelt must have noticed the look of horror on Oilstripe’s face, as they quickly stammered, “Oh, don’t worry! It was terrifying for a while, and I think I passed out, but I woke up on the shore! I feel great! I can’t believe I got out! Do you think Rattlekit will be impressed?”

“Let’s have Fennelspot look you over first,” Oilstripe sighed. “Fennelspot…” She looked back at Fennelspot and the words faded before they formed. He watched her with big, pitiful eyes. His wet fur sagged and his ears drifted to the side.

“Oilstripe, I don’t see her,” he gulped. A cold weight settled on Oilstripe’s chest. She turned back to Applepelt. Her fur was too dry to have just come out of the river. As she looked, she realized that she could see the grass through Applepelt’s body. 

“Oh…” Applepelt said softly, “I didn’t get out, did I?” Stardust climbed up their legs. Their fur glittered in the dull light and their eyes shone like stars. In a few moments, they looked like every other StarClan spirit that wandered through RippleClan’s camp.

“Apple…” Oilstripe gasped. A gentle twinkle filled her ears. Twinekit slipped out from behind a tree beside Oilstripe and Applepelt.

“It’s alright, Applepelt,” Twinekit promised. “I’m here to take you to StarClan.”

“So you are real,” Applepelt muttered. Her voice had never been so dull before.

“We won’t hold it against you,” Twinekit chuckled.

“I…” Applepelt gulped. She cleared her throat and braced herself to meet Oilstripe’s eyes. “Looks like I’m off, then. Take care of Rattlekit for me, I… I was hoping to mentor that little freak of nature.” She had to clear her throat again before her grief overtook her voice. “I’m sorry we didn’t spend much time together. Uh, if it helps, I remember those stories you told me, about StarClan watching over us. I’ll be doing that.”

“It’ll be like you never left,” Oilstripe said quietly. Applepelt hesitated, glancing between Oilstripe and Twinekit.

“On to the next adventure,” they said, unable to hide a crack in their voice. Twinekit trotted deeper into the forest. Applepelt closed their eyes and raced after Oilstripe’s long-dead sister. 

Oilstripe blinked, and they were gone.

(Oilstripe: 26, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Fennelspot: 79, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

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

(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)

#i want to apologize to the oil and apple shippers #warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #oilstripe #applepelt #fennelspot #rustshade #graythroat #puddlespeckle #carnationspeckle #rattlekit #twinekit

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 20

The war between RippleClan and AshClan comes to a formal end, and everyone in RippleClan celebrates.

[Image ID: A crowd of RippleClan cats, including Oilstripe, gather to frame Downstar, who says “It’s over, everyone!”]

Oilstripe hated the wait. 

All of RippleClan lingered in their camp’s clearing, the light of a central fire throwing shadows onto the shipwreck. A soft snowfall danced overhead, fizzling out well before it reached the warm camp. Everyone’s minds seemed far from camp, however. Weedfoot paced around the exit while Puddlespeckle watched her with a tired, but oddly soft gaze. Burdockcreek and Clammask silently shared tongues with Rustshade. Oilstripe sat close to the fire with Carnationspeckle and Applepelt. There were no StarClan spirits in camp that night to distract her. All she had were two friends stuck in the same state of mind.

“This seems like a formality, don’t you think?” Applepelt sighed, front paws kneading the sand. “AshClan hasn’t done anything since last moon’s Gathering. I don’t know why everyone is so tense.”

“We don’t know what Autumnstar thinks of us now,” Carnationspeckle said as Oilstripe groomed her long brown fur. 

“I know exactly what he thinks,” Applepelt chirped. “He’s terrified to face me again!” She rolled onto her back and batted the air. 

“Terrified to face StarClan, maybe,” Oilstripe scoffed. “His whole argument fell apart the moment Downstar came back to life. He can’t chase out a Clan accepted by StarClan, it’s in the code.”

“So StarClan’s truly real, is it?” Applepelt sighed. She squirmed deeper into the sand while Oilstripe gave a half-hearted laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Oilstripe said.

“Applepelt, scoot away from the fire, your whiskers will catch,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. 

“Make me,” Applepelt cooed. “It’s too quiet tonight. I’m gonna ramble for a while. Smack me if you wanna stop me.” She rolled back onto her belly. She ranted about WheatClan stories she picked up at the last Gathering, but Oilstripe tuned her out. She and Carnationspeckle groomed knots out of each other’s fur as the fire crackled and spat.

Soon enough, Downstar and Rabbitjoy both entered the camp. Weedfoot stopped pacing and joined them on their way to the Shiprock. Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe both kicked Applepelt, pausing her story mid-sentence. Applepelt seemed ready to whine, but spotted the returning leader and sat up. 

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar called before she even got to the rock. Halibutpaw had been sitting quietly outside the apprentice’s den but now called his littermates into the clearing. The small Clan huddled around the fire. Their eyes shone in the dim light like Silverpelt brought down. Rabbitjoy sat at the bottom of the Shiprock. Oilstripe put her paw over Applepelt’s and her tail over Carnationspeckle’s as she held her breath. Downstar could only keep her serious expression up for so long, though.

“It’s over, everyone!” Downstar yowled, tail high. “RippleClan and AshClan are at peace!” A great cheer tore through the clearing. Oilstripe’s muscles melted like her namesake. “AshClan will hereby acknowledge our position as a Clan ordained by StarClan. As the moons pass, we will establish the same relationships we have with the other Clans. AshClan will allow us to walk along the border to visit the other Clans.”

“Finally,” Halibutpaw scoffed. Graypaw batted his ear.

“Aww, you afraid of a fight?” Graypaw laughed. “You’re the warrior apprentice. You should be sad you can’t show AshClan what’s what anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t want another friend to die, Graypaw,” Halibutpaw snapped. Graypaw stepped back, blinking wildly.

“Alright, alright,” James cooed, stepping between the pair. “That’s quite enough. When I lived with humans, they always celebrated special moments with a good meal. I say we do the same!”

“I like that idea, James,” Downstar chirped. “Carnationspeckle, you’re the best swimmer we have. Would you take Graypaw to the coast and find some fish for the Clan?”

“The ocean’s freezing, Mom,” Graypaw whined. “Can’t I help at the oven?”

“You’ll be a caretaker soon, Graypaw,” Downstar sighed, shaking her head. “If I ask you to do something, you’ll need to do it. It won’t take long.” Graypaw muttered something, but didn’t put up anymore fight. 

“We have a bit of flaxseed oil from WheatClan!” Clammask said, jogging over to the portion of the shipwreck where the Clan stored jars and pots and baskets. “Let’s use that tonight!”

“Wonderful,” Downstar purred, hopping off the Shiprock. “We could use a feast. Enjoy yourselves tonight, everyone!” Weedfoot, Shadowpaw, Halibutpaw, and Rustshade surrounded Downstar. Carnationspeckle stretched and touched noses with both Oilstripe and Applepelt.

“I’ll catch a fish for us to share,” she promised. With a wave of her feathery tail, Carnationspeckle led Graypaw out of camp. 

“My humans used to catch fish, did I ever tell you that?” Applepelt chirped.

“A few times already, yes,” Oilstripe purred, her heart as warm as the fire.

“You should have seen the fish they would bring in,” Applepelt laughed, stretching her legs as far as they could go. “Some of them were this big! I’ve never seen others of them before, either. I think they got on a ship and caught them, but I don’t know how that works. I know James helps build rafts sometimes, but they couldn’t go far enough to catch these fish. I don’t know if I could call some of them fish…” 

Applepelt continued on, describing spider-like masses of flesh and fish with more teeth than she could count. As her words washed over Oilstripe, the ginger historian’s eyes drifted over the apprentice’s den. A cream-colored cat stood outside the den, shining as bright as the fire. Oilstripe nodded to her sibling and enjoyed her Clan’s victory.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Applepelt: 29, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Halibutpaw: 12, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

(Graypaw: 12, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 14, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

Two apprentices graduate from their training without their brother. Shadowpaw was held back to catch up on missed training from whitecough.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Graythroat pose. Under Halibutdusk, it says LEVEL UP! HALIBUTPAW -> HALIBUTDUSK, IMPULSIVE -> GLOOMY, QUICK WITTED -> CLEVER, LOVER OF STORIES -> GREAT STORYTELLER. Under Graythroat, it says LEVEL UP! GRAYPAW -> GRAYTHROAT, BLOODTHIRSTY -> FIERCE, CAREFUL LISTENER -> VALUABLE INSIGHT.]

(Halibutdusk: 12, male, warrior, gloomy, clever, great storyteller)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

Graythroat attacks a fox without hesitation, but merely freaks it out.

[Image ID: Graythroat faces down a fox while Fennelspot and James watch in the corner. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: GRAY & GRAY (OMEN).]

---

Fennelspot loved having a proper selection of caretakers to help him manage his gardens. It could be hard to properly tend to the selection of herbs he had begun cultivating in the southern half of the territory, but with caretakers, Fennelspot could focus on his medical and spiritual duties while they made sure the herbs grew well. Yes, it was the last moon of winter, and most of the growths wouldn’t begin showing up until the next moon, but it was the perfect time to plant some of his seeds. Besides, James and Graythroat hadn’t had much experience with the garden, so this was as good a time as any to introduce them.

“Humans have their farms and gardens,” Fennelspot explained as Graythroat and James walked behind him with baskets of thyme and sage seeds. “That taught us how to start our own fields and rise a step above herbal scavenging. There are a lot of plants we let grow wild, but some, like the sage and thyme seeds I’ve kept in storage all winter, grow well in gardens. I found the areas near the southern edge have better conditions for maintaining a garden.”

“Do you expect me to dig?” James scoffed, his words muddied by the basket in his mouth. “I don’t dig. I can barely tolerate the constant sand between my paws, I will not willingly coat myself in mud.”

“We’re caretakers, that’s our job,” Graythroat grunted.

“The mud’s not as bad as you think it is, James,” Fennelspot said, some of this enthusiasm seeping out. “It reminds me of SlugClan. It’s nice. At least I won’t ask you to help smoke out beehives. I don’t think you’d stay in RippleClan if you had to do that.” Fennelspot chuckled awkwardly as James tilted his head. The face Graythroat made told him all he needed to know on the subject.

The gardens were a section of an open field west of the RippleClan graveyard. At first glance, it seemed like any other field, but the grass was only half-grown and the remnants of plants that did not survive the winter sat in rows that would never have formed without an intelligent paw to guide them. A dusting of snow covered the gardens, but it wouldn’t stop the patrol.

Fennelspot was about to direct Graythroat to tear up the dead plants while he explained planting to James, but a gray shape on the other side of the gardens made him pause. It was a silver fox; its black fur was dusted white as though it had been caught in the snow. Brilliant orange eyes stared at Fennelspot. It stood in profile, watching the three cats, completely frozen.

“It’s likely passing through,” Fennelspot whispered as his companions noticed the fox. “We’ll wait for it to leave and come back later.”

“No,” Graythroat huffed, dropping her basket. “This is our territory. No fox is going to steal our prey.” Graythroat bolted past Fennelspot and James before either could respond. Graythroat hissed and screeched, catching the fox’s attention. The fox screamed at Graythroat, ears pulled back as far as they could go. Graythroat launched at the fox and dug her claws and fangs into its silver coat.

“Graythroat!” Fennelspot yowled. “It’s done nothing to us. Leave it alone!” StarClan, he wished there was someone in the Clan who could speak to foxes. James set his basket of sage seeds down and stood in front of Fennelspot, ready to defend the cleric.

Morning light bounced off Graythroat’s pelt. The sun illuminated the fox’s fur, blending the white flecks into its black undercoat. In that light, Graythroat’s pelt looked just like the foxes. Gray fur scrambled over gray fur in a shiny mixture of rage. A sudden sense of familiar clarity flooded Fennelspot’s mind as the fox scrambled out from Graythroat’s clutches and bolted toward the trees, barking madly. This was a sign. No, not a simple sign. An omen. StarClan may not talk to him like they talk to Oilstripe, but by the stars, he was good at his job and he knew an omen when he saw it.

What the omen meant, however, he could not say.

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

James escorts the WheatClan deputy to camp.

[Image ID: James stands in the corner as Valleybrook, a golden tabby with Rustshade’s markings and lavender in his fur, speaks to Rustshade and Oilstripe. He says “I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust.”]

---

There were a lot of cats Oilstripe would have expected to walk into camp, but her uncle was not one of them.

Oilstripe and Rustshade were sharing one of their rarer moments of peace, quizzing Shadowpaw on the code so he could catch up to his littermates. They were halfway through the Code of Caretakers when James entered camp. Oilstripe would have paid him no mind if a slender golden tabby didn’t follow him in. The tom was so star-struck by the bulking shipwreck that he didn’t notice Weedfoot jogging his way.

“Valleybrook?” Weedfoot called. Rustshade snapped his head around. 

Valleybrook broke out of his trance and faced Weedfoot, saying with an awkward sigh, “I’m sorry. I’m very impressed by your camp. A shipwreck makes quite the statement.”

“I was enjoying my afternoon when he waved me over from the WheatClan border,” James huffed, scratching an itch behind his ear. “He asked to come to camp.”

“Downstar’s out on patrol right now,” Weedfoot said with a slight cock of her head. “What brings the WheatClan deputy to our camp?”

“It’s something of a favor,” Valleybrook admitted. His gaze shifted to Rustshade and he said, “I was hoping to speak with my brother.”

“Rustshade, you never told me you’re littermates with WheatClan’s deputy,” Shadowpaw said as Rustshade wandered over to Valleybrook, his tail stiff behind him.

“They haven’t talked much since we left WheatClan,” Oilstripe whispered. From what she remembered of the first half of her kithood, Valleybrook had been a loving uncle, encouraging Oilstripe to learn all about WheatClan’s crops. He was always the perfect image of grace at Gatherings, but his soft eyes rekindled Oilstripe’s old memories of him.

“Hello, Valley,” Rustshade sighed, gracefully sitting in front of his estranged kin.

“I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust,” Valleybrook sighed. He spotted Oilstripe watching and called to her. “Oilstripe, join us, please.” With a worried glance at Shadowpaw, Oilstripe joined her father and uncle. Weedfoot and James stepped away in a feeble effort to give the group privacy.

“What’s so wrong that we couldn’t talk about it during the Gathering?” Rustshade asked matter-of-factly. “You’d only have to wait a few days.”

“I didn’t want you to be blinded by the news,” Valleybrook sighed. He tucked his tail over his paws and took a deep breath. “Sunstrike came down with some sort of infection. I don’t fully understand what happened. She passed away yesterday.” 

Well that didn’t make sense. Oilstripe would have seen her. She spoke to Sunstrike at Gatherings, they were polite to each other, she knew she cared that Oilstripe was happy. She wouldn’t head to StarClan without visiting her kits. Should she even be thinking of her mother’s death in such simple terms? Should she feel more than she did? Rustshade seemed similarly stunned, at least. His unreadable expression gave no clues as to how he felt.

“I see,” Rustshade said. “Thank you for telling us before the Gathering.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Valleybrook said. “If you two want to share soup together at the Gathering, I think that would be nice.” Rustshade nodded softly. Valleybook gingerly reached a paw out and placed it on Rustshade’s head. Rustshade stayed still. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I know things haven’t been wonderful between you and your old mate, but I understand what it’s like to lose someone you shared so much of your life with.” Valleybrook couldn’t have been more obvious about what he meant, but Oilstripe couldn’t tell if her father noticed. 

“Do you want me to escort you back to the border?” Rustshade asked.

“That would be nice,” Valleybrook sighed, moving his paw and standing. “I hope it’s alright if I visit your dirtplace first.”

“There’s a path looping around the shipwreck for you to follow,” Rustshade explained, nodding toward the dirtplace path. Valleybrook nodded and his gaze lingered on his brother as he crossed through camp.

“Oilstripe,” Rustshade muttered into Oilstripe’s ear. “Clammask and Burdockcreek will be back from Downstar’s hunting patrol before I get back. Will you tell them about Sunstrike?” Oilstripe nodded absentmindedly, then realized exactly what that would entail.

“You want me to…” Oilstripe gulped, locking eyes with Rustshade. Rustshade sighed and nodded.

“If they haven’t figured it out themselves,” Rustshade explained, “they deserve to know now. They should get a chance to mourn their mother.”

“I’ll tell them,” Oilstripe promised. She couldn’t predict how they would react, but her father was right. It was important for them to know where they came from.

Valleybrook returned soon after and walked with Rustshade out of camp. Oilstripe dismissed Weedfoot’s questions of concern and went off to a quiet corner of camp to think. Well, not really think; look. She scanned the camp and the trees beyond and the humming waves that brought the shipwreck to its home. 

Sunstrike was nowhere to be seen.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Rustshade: 64, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Shadowpaw: 12, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

Carnationspeckle finds an abandoned kit while on patrol with Weedfoot.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle face a silver kit with a white left ear and copper eyes. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RATTLEKIT, 3 MOONS, FEMALE, INSECURE, PLAYS WITH PREY. Weedfoot asks, “What happened to your fur, little one?”]

---

“I wish I could say I’m surprised that Graythroat attacked the fox, but I’m not,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “She’s always been more ready to fight than she should be.”

She and Weedfoot were at the gardens, carefully planting some heal all seeds Rabbitjoy traded with SlugClan. The ground kept freezing as night fell, but Fennelspot insisted the frost wouldn’t hurt the seeds. The frost still clung to the grass when Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot arrived. Carnationspeckle found the simple practice of spreading seeds to be a mindful activity, allowing her to connect with the world around her. Weedfoot kept shaking mud out of her paws, but at least she was willing to help.

“If she wanted to focus on fighting,” Weedfoot huffed, “she should have trained as a warrior. Her brothers learned to curb their battledrive, I don’t know why she hasn’t.”

“StarClan only knows,” Carnationspeckle said. She studied the edges of the garden and asked, “Do you suppose there is a way to protect the herbs from rabbits and those sorts of creatures?”

“We would need some sort of wall,” Weedfoot muttered, tilting her small basket of heal all seeds onto the ground. “I don’t know how we would keep other animals out but let ourselves in.” Carnationspeckle hummed softly and shoved dirt over the heal all seeds.

“Mom?” a high-pitched voice called. Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle’s ears shot up. The wild growth beyond the garden was quiet, but distant plants swayed as an unseen figure pushed past them.

“Hello?” Carnationspeckle called into the trees. A soft gasp reached her ears and the plants shifted while the figure hurried toward the garden. Weedfoot tensed up and took a cautious step toward the approaching form. 

A silver face peeked out from the half-alive plants beyond the garden. Dark orange eyes shone in the light of the early morning. Carnationspeckle held back a gasp as she realized the silver coloration was not fur like it should have been, but skin. The kit lacked a single hair anywhere on her face. Wrinkles settled over her body like fluff. Her left ear was shiny and white like a fin sticking out of the water. Her face soured at the sight of Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot.

“You’re not my mom,” she huffed. She stepped back into the trees.

“Wait!” Carnationspeckle yelped. “Come back!” The kit emerged once more, studying Carnationspeckle just as the brown molly studied her.

“What happened to your fur, little one?” Weedfoot asked softly, getting down to the kit’s level.

“I never had any,” the kit said, hesitating. “Who are you? Have you seen my mom?”

“I’m Weedfoot,” the deputy explained. “This is my friend, Carnationspeckle. What does your mother look like, little one?”

“Like me,” the kit explained. “Have you seen her?”

“I’m sorry, we haven’t,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Rattlesnake,” the kit muttered. As she stepped further into the garden, Rattlesnake shivered violently. Carnationspeckle hurried up to her. Rattlesnake yelped, but Carnationspeckle brought her close and pressed her into her long pelt.

“You’re freezing,” Carnationspeckle gasped. “Stay here, please. I can keep you warm.” Rattlesnake shivered so hard, she almost knocked Carnationspeckle over. The skin of her needle-like tail was red and blistered. 

“She’s no Clan kit,” Weedfoot sighed. She sat next to Carnationspeckle. “Rattlesnake, when did you last see your mother?”

“She woke me up and brought me to the forest,” Rattlesnake explained. She buried her bony face into Carnationspeckle’s fur. 

“So you’ve been out here all night?” Weedfoot mumbled.

“Weedfoot, she has frostbite,” Carnationspeckle said, draping a paw over Rattlesnake. “I can’t warm her up here.”

“Rattlesnake, can we bring you to our home?” Weedfoot asked. “We have some warm leather and a fire you can sit by.”

“Mom said not to go with anyone unless they were a Clan cat,” Rattlesnake gulped, eyeing Weedfoot.

“Then you’re in luck,” Carnationspeckle purred. “We’re from RippleClan.” Rattlesnake purred and rubbed her cold nose against Carnationspeckle.

“I’m going to run ahead and make sure the Clan’s ready for her,” Weedfoot explained. “Will you escort her to camp?”

“I won’t leave her side,” Carnationspeckle promised. The pair touched noses and Weedfoot took off, grabbing the seed basket and leaving deep pawprints behind her. Carnationspeckle reached for Rattlesnake’s scruff, but paused. Without fur, would Carnationspeckle’s teeth pierce her gentle skin? She decided against it.

“Rattlesnake,” Carnationspeckle whispered, “have you ever had a horse ride?”

“What’s that?” Rattlesnake asked, peeking out from Carnationspeckle’s fur. Carnationspeckle crouched down so her belly touched the ground.

“Climb onto my back and hold on tight,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. Rattlesnake hesitated for a while, one paw gently reaching toward Carnationspeckle. Eventually she scaled Carnationspeckle’s back. Carnationspeckle gently stood and adjusted her stance for Rattlesnake’s weight. 

“Here we go,” Carnationspeckle chirped. She waddled out of the garden as quick as she could as Rattlekit’s tiny claws poked into her skin.

It was a long walk back to camp, but at least the frost melted underneath Carnationspeckle and Rattlesnake didn’t shiver so intensely. When the shipwreck came into view, Fennelspot was waiting for her outside camp.

“Let me see the frostbite,” Fennelspot gulped as Carnationspeckle ran toward him. Fennelspot walked alongside Carnationspeckle and studied Rattlesnake. Downstar and James tended a fire in the center of camp while Rabbitjoy set out a few soft leather pelts beside it. Weedfoot waited anxiously by the fire.

“Set her down here,” she said when Carnationspeckle got close. Carnationspeckle laid on her belly so Rattlesnake could drop off. She purred as she curled up on the soft vole pelts. Fennelspot examined her tail and ran a paw over the blisters. The rest of RippleClan watched from the sidelines.

“It’s in its early stages,” Fennelspot explained. “I can treat this easily. Put a pelt over her. She needs warmth.”

“I didn’t know cats could be born without fur,” Downstar muttered as Fennelspot jogged to the medicine den. Rabbitjoy set a rabbit pelt over Rattlesnake, furry side up.

“I know a furless cat!” Parsley stepped out of the crowd. “When I lived in the barn, I heard stories of a furless molly the humans kept as a breeder.”

“What do you mean?” Carnationspeckle gasped.

“Humans sometimes keep a molly around so she can keep kitting litters,” Weedfoot explained with a sneer. “They don’t care how exhausting it is.”

“What an awful fate,” Carnationspeckle growled. “Why did her mother leave her out here? If she could leave, why wouldn’t she join her daughter?” Rattlesnake had fallen asleep by this point. Her whiskers twitched peacefully in her dreams. Fennelspot returned with a salve in a small jar and spread it over Rattlesnake’s tail.

“Maybe she couldn’t leave for long,” James suggested. “If humans like the cat living with them enough, they’ll look for them if they leave. You said her mother wanted her to go with Clan cats, didn’t you? Perhaps she thought her daughter would have a better life without her.” Carnationspeckle curled around Rattlesnake and groomed her wrinkly head.

“She will,” Carnationspeckle promised. She met Downstar’s eyes and said, “I’ll raise her. I can’t let her sleep in the nursery alone.”

“I’m not surprised,” Downstar purred.

“It’ll be hard to explain this to her,” Weedfoot sighed, sitting by Rattlesnake and Carnationspeckle. “She can’t be much older than three moons.”

“Do you think she’ll want a Clan name?” James hummed. 

“If she does,” Carnationspeckle purred, “we could call her Rattlekit. That’s what you did with my name.” Downstar and Weedfoot nodded as Carnationspeckle rested her head by her new daughter. Yes, that was what she would be. The decision was as clear to Carnationspeckle as a cloudless sky. The small furless molly would not go through life without a mother.

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Rattlekit: 3, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #oilstripe #carnationspeckle #applepelt #downstar #weedfoot #halibutpaw #halibutdusk #graypaw #graythroat #rustshade #james #fennelspot #rattlekit

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 17

RippleClan wins back their lost territory from AshClan.

[Image ID: Burdockpaw, Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and James watch as Barkfur and Bearchaser run off in the upper right corner.]

“Behind you!” Oilstripe yowled. Burdockpaw spun and swung his claws at the AshClan warrior launching at his flank. His claws connected with the warrior’s cheek and disrupted their launch. They tumbled over themselves, giving Burdockpaw the perfect chance to jump on their back. He bit into the warrior’s shoulder. The warrior squirmed and kicked, but Burdockpaw held on. Eventually, the warrior landed on their back and smashed Burdockpaw. They scurried deeper into the fight that raged along the AshClan border.

There were four cats in the battle patrol; Burdockpaw, Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and James. They hadn’t intended it to be a battle patrol, technically. It was an organized version of the younger apprentices’ mouse-brained plan, where they would move the border back in as a show of strength. AshClan was waiting for them, though, with their own five-cat battle patrol. 

Weedfoot tumbled out from behind a tree, her claws locked into Barkfur’s pelt. Barkfur dug into Weedfoot’s shoulder. As Weedfoot howled and Burdockpaw readied himself to help the beloved deputy, James charged into Barkfur. James was a giant compared to Barkfur and threw the scarred brown cat into a tree.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Weedfoot panted as Barkfur crawled off.

“I had to handle my fair share of challenges while traveling with humans,” James huffed, spitting brown fur out of his mouth. “That does not mean I enjoy it.”

“Thanks for coming along,” Weedfoot sighed. She noticed Burdockpaw scanning the battle and called, “Burdockpaw, with us!” Burdockpaw scampered up to Weedfoot and James. 

Weedfoot led them toward Oilstripe and Bearchaser. The AshClan warrior from earlier ran up to the fighting pair, ready to help Bearchaser, but James stampeded into them. Weedfoot and Burdockpaw dug into Bearchaser’s shoulders and pulled him off Oilstripe. As Weedfoot and Oilstripe turned on Bearchaser, fangs dug into Burdockpaw’s tail and pulled him back. It was a young apprentice, one Burdockpaw didn’t recognize. Her huge eyes bounced in her head. She was frozen, jaws locked on Burdockpaw’s tail.

“I’m sorry,” she gulped, letting Burdockpaw pull his tail free. “Don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.”

“Why would I kill you?” Burdockpaw snapped. “We’re Clan cats. We don’t kill each other.”

“You’re not a real Clan, though,” the apprentice whined.

“What?” Burdockpaw hissed, sneering. The apprentice’s back arched. She stepped back, eyes stuck on Burdockpaw.

“Nettlestep!” the apprentice cried. A loud snarl snapped Burdockpaw backed into the battle just as a golden-ginger molly threw him onto his shoulder.

“I’ve got him, Smallpaw!” Nettlestep yowled.. As Nettlestep glanced over her white-speckled shoulder, Burdockpaw freed his front paw and sliced his claws against Nettlestep’s belly. Blood dribbled between his pads. Smallpaw screeched as Nettlestep stumbled back and Burdockpaw scrambled free, throwing himself into a sparring position. Smallpaw ran to her mentor’s side and pushed against her, shaking.

“I’m okay, Smallpaw,” Nettlestep purred, curling around her belly.

“AshClan, fall back!” Bearchaser spat. The other AshClan and RippleClan cats all sported their fair share of torn fur, bruises, and scratches. James groaned and plucked brown fur out from between his paws while Weedfoot and Oilstripe stood back to back, panting. Barkfur and the other AshClan warrior gathered beside Bearchaser, who had a cut above his eye. Smallpaw watched Burdockpaw like a stampeding horse as she helped Nettlestep over to their Clanmates. RippleClan stayed put as AshClan slunk into their territory.

“We did it!” Oilstripe gasped. “We finally beat them! We beat them, Weedfoot! We beat them!” Oilstripe shoved her face into Weedfoot’s neck, purring deeply. Weedfoot purred back and groomed her former apprentice’s head.

“We need to mark the old border while we have the time,” Weedfoot sighed, glancing between James and Burdockpaw. “Can you two handle it?”

“I suppose,” James sighed, spitting out more fur. “I’m simply glad that whole ordeal is over.” 

“I’ll show you where to mark,” Burdockpaw said. He shook out his pelt (and the odd guilt that rippled out from his blood-soaked foot) and trotted up to James.

“You were great, Burdockpaw,” Oilstripe purred, still out of breath. “Really. We wouldn’t have driven them off without your help.”

“Thanks, Oilstripe,” Burdockpaw said, standing tall under the praise. A thought flickered over Oilstripe’s eyes. She moved away from Weedfoot and studied Burdockpaw. The red tom panted and rubbed his dirty paw into the grass.

“Burdockpaw,” Oilstripe hummed, tail rising, “how would you like to earn your name early?”

(Oilstripe: 21, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Burdockpaw: 11, male, historian apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

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

(James: 93, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

Burdockcreek is honored for getting RippleClan territory back through an early historian ceremony.

[Image ID: Burdockcreek sits in the middle of the screen. Under him, it reads LEVEL UP! BURDOCKPAW -> BURDOCKCREEK, LOYAL -> CONFIDENT, INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY -> LEARNER OF LORE.]

(Burdockcreek: 11, male, historian, confident, learner of lore)

Although Halibutpaw feels better, now Shadowpaw pushes himself too far during training.

[Image ID: Shadowpaw sits in the middle of the screen. Under him, it reads + CONDITION: SORE.]

---

Shadowpaw had his mentor to thank for such a great sparring spot. There was a portion of the territory, north of the shipwreck, where the sand stretched further inland but the ocean only touched it at high tide. The sand mingled with grass and created a soft, effective place to throw his brother as hard as he could.

“Gentle, little Shadow!” Parsley laughed as Shadowpaw once more grabbed Halibutpaw by the scruff and shoved his face into the sand. “We don’t need your brother paying Mr. Fennelspot another visit so soon!” She sat with Rustshade at the edge of the sand, nibbling at an itch above her stump.

“I’m fine, Parsley,” Halibutpaw sighed. He pulled his head out of the sand and sneezed. 

“Now my neck hurts,” Shadowpaw groaned. He stretched his neck out but a ripple of pain ran down his spine.

“That’s why you only perform that move on smaller cats,” Rustshade sighed. He got up and stood between the two gray brothers. “You both need to learn how to pace yourselves in a fight. You have a habit of pushing yourselves too far at the start and straining your muscles.”

“That’s better than letting a codebreaker escape,” Shadowpaw said. He gently arched his back, but the muscles around his shoulders were stiff and ached when he moved. Rustshade’s attention shifted to the shipwreck in the distance, where the gentle smoke of the oven drifted into the sky.

“Go back to camp and have some of what Graypaw and Carnationspeckle are cooking,” Rustshade sighed. “I mean it, toms. Straight back to camp, no side-tracking.”

“You aren’t coming with?” Halibutpaw asked, nose twitching like there was still sand inside.

“I want to walk with Parsley for a while,” Rustshade huffed.

“About what?” Halibutpaw asked again. Rustshade’s uncanny eyes merely drifted over Halibutpaw, but that was enough to stop the young tom’s questions.

“Go home and rest,” Rustshade sighed, heading back to Parsley. He whispered something to the tortoiseshell and the pair walked into the trees beyond the beach.

“I might have to talk to Fennelspot,” Shadowpaw groaned as his neck twinged again. “Either that or sleep the rest of the day.”

“Alright,” Halibutpaw mumbled. He walked close to Shadowpaw in the direction of the shipwreck. Shadowpaw had no interest in an adventure at the moment, but he eyed Halibutpaw, just in case he got another troublesome idea. His stocky brother was silent, however.

“It was just a training session, Halibut,” Shadowpaw said, his usual confidence slipping as Halibutpaw’s fur sagged.

“That’s not the problem,” Halibutpaw groaned. “Do… do you think Mom was right to go to war against AshClan? They’re so much bigger than we are.”

“Weedfoot says violence is the best way to show them we’re a serious Clan,” Shadowpaw said. 

“I wish we hadn’t attacked Heronflank,” Halibutpaw grumbled. He dragged his paws in the cool sand. 

“We were a little excited,” Shadowpaw admitted, ears tilting back.

“I nearly blinded him,” Halibutpaw suddenly snapped, lips curled, “that’s more than being overexcited, Shadow! Ugh, I hate fighting! I hate war!” Halibutpaw kicked the sand. Shadowpaw decided not to point out that Halibutpaw was a warrior apprentice of all things.

“I’m sorry, I picked the wrong words,” Shadowpaw huffed, stopping for a moment. “We won’t fight AshClan forever! Besides, Mom keeps sending us back to camp when we see them. 

You probably won’t fight them again.”

“Please don’t tell Graypaw I said that,” Halibutpaw groaned. “She’ll call me a mouse-heart.”

“I’m not stupid,” Shadowpaw scoffed, rolling his eyes. “We’ll leave the bloodlust to her, does that sound good?”

“What sounds good,” Halibutpaw sighed, jogging ahead of Shadowpaw, “is taking a nap!”

“Hey, you know I’m sore!” Shadowpaw yowled. Despite the aches biting at his shoulders, Shadowpaw ran after his brother, hoping he made things just a bit better.

(Shadowpaw: 9, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

(Parsley: 111, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

(Halibutpaw: 9, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

(Rustshade: 61, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

Rustshade and Parsley find a loner on patrol.

[Image ID: A reddish-brown cat sits to the left. Under her, it reads NEW PLAYER: RABBITJOY, 54 MOONS, FEMALE, CHARISMATIC, MASTER WEAVER. Rustshade and Parsley stand to the right. Rustshade says “You came back!”]

---

“Now Mr. Rust,” Parsley hummed as Rustshade led her deeper into RippleClan’s forest, “what was so important that you sent our Clan’s two troublemakers home alone?” Compared to Rustshade’s silent paws, Parsley thundered through the territory; her heavy paws had to land hard to make up for her missing counterbalance. She chose each step carefully, avoiding crunchy leaves while she questioned Rustshade’s intentions.

“I merely wanted to go hunting without those two on our tails,” Rustshade hummed. “You’re the first newcomer to RippleClan, but I don’t know you well.”

“Well isn’t that sweet,” Parsley chuckled. She caught up to Rustshade and walked alongside him. “My story is free to hear, but I’m afraid it’s rather dull. I spent my whole life tending that barn, and this is how the humans thanked me.” She wiggled her stump. 

“We’re glad to have you,” Rustshade sighed. “Let me know if the other Clans keep bothering you about your name. I’ll handle them.”

“How gallant,” Parsley chuckled. Her ears shot up as leaves crumbled somewhere off the small dirt path (carved from a year’s worth of cats following the trail to favorite hunting spots). Rustshade noticed it too, for his gaze shot into the trees.

“That was too big to be a squirrel,” he whispered. His tail stiffened and he tasted the air. Parsley smelled it too; it was a cat. She sniffed again, checking for the familiar woodsy scent of AshClan, but instead, the scent of hay and humans drifted through her whiskers.

“A loner,” Parsley hummed. “Must be new to the area. Speaking from experience, strays around here know better than to linger inside your borders.”

“You still have loner scent on you,” Rustshade muttered, flicking his tail toward the noise. “Speak to whoever is out there. Let’s not scare them.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Parsley hummed. She stepped off the path as more leaves crunched from behind a tree fox-lengths away. Parsley cleared her throat and called, “Excuse me! Hello? We don’t mean to frighten you, but are you aware you’re on Clan land?” The noises behind the tree stilled. “No need to be scared, whoever you are. We don’t go mauling kittypets around these parts. My name is Parsley. Care to share?”

“That’s not a Clan name,” a rattling voice muttered. The tip of a brown tail peeked out from behind the tree. Rustshade passed Parsley, his eyes huge and tail slowly rising.

“Rabbitfall?” Rustshade called. A reddish-brown cat stepped into the light of early dusk. Light blue eyes shifted from tight slits to an open, warming gaze.

“I changed it,” the cat chuckled. “It didn’t fit me anymore. Can you call me Rabbitjoy?”

“You came back!” Rustshade gasped. Rabbitjoy purred and strolled up to Rustshade. She touched noses with him and closed her eyes.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Rabbitjoy hummed. She stepped back and said, “Did you do it?”

“We’re RippleClan now,” Rustshade purred. He motioned for Parsley to come closer.

“After everything that happened,” Rabbitjoy sighed, her harsh purrs making her body shake, “I wasn’t sure RippleClan would survive.”

“We even have loners in our Clan,” Rustshade explained, walking around Parsley. “This is Parsley. She was the first loner we welcomed in.”

“I assume it is a pleasure to meet you,” Parsley said, eyeing Rustshade. “Care to introduce me to your friend?”

“Rabbitjoy was in WheatClan with me,” Rustshade explained, suddenly at Rabbitjoy’s side. “She was part of our group back in the day. She helped me break Weedfoot out of AshClan’s camp. I couldn’t have done it without her.”

“I shouldn’t have left like I did,” Rabbitjoy said, looking away from the two Clan cats. “Lavenderleaf was dead. I… I was going to make a life with her in a new Clan. I didn’t know how I could do that without her.” Rabbitjoy shook her head and straightened up, adding “That was Rabbitfall. I’m Rabbitjoy now. I don’t want my fear to keep me from home.”

“Does that mean you’re ready?” Rustshade asked. His eyes were more intense, more open than Parsley had ever seen Rustshade look. 

“I am,” Rabbitjoy said with a deep breath. “I promised I would come back when I was ready, and I don’t break my promises.”

“This way,” Rustshade said, racing through the trees. Parsley scrambled after him, but Rabbitjoy seemed perfectly at ease with Rustshade’s new-found energy. She pelted after Rustshade and slipped into a comfortable rhythm. 

“I want to hear everything I missed,” Rabbitjoy cooed as the shipwreck appeared through the trees.

“We’ll be happy to share,” Rustshade hummed. He slowed to a jog as the camp entrance came into view. Rabbitjoy lagged behind him. She stared at the massive shipwreck with eyes as big and helpless as a kit’s. 

“Take it from me,” Parsley purred, moving to Rabbitjoy’s side. Rustshade realized his friend had stopped and rejoined her. “This is one of the most welcoming bunch of cats I’ve had the pleasure to meet. The only thing you’ll get from them is a warm hello.” Rabbitjoy released the nervous breath billowing in her chest. She steadied her paws and marched into camp.

Weedfoot must have been telling Oilstripe and Locustpaw a story before the three cats entered camp, as Rustshade’s offspring were sitting beside her, but they were quiet, staring at Rabbitjoy. More faces turned Rabbitjoy’s way as the newcomer studied the sand under her paws, the wreckage that littered camp, the familiar and strange faces peeking out from each den and corner. 

Rabbitjoy’s focus settled on Weedfoot. Weedfoot couldn’t look away from the newcomer. Oilstripe stared at Rabbitjoy like she had descended from Silverpelt. Weedfoot’s whiskers quivered. Whispered questions fluttered about as Weedfoot walked toward Rabbitjoy.

“I’m ho—” Rabbitjoy purred. Weedfoot collided into Rabbitjoy. Her round head pressed deep into the soft fur of Rabbitjoy’s neck, which muffled Weedfoot’s crying.

“Rabbit, I’m sorry,” Weedfoot sobbed. “I’m so sorry, I tried to make her run, I’m sorry.”

“Weedy, you apologized when we got you out,” Rabbitjoy cooed, licking Weedfoot’s cheek. “I don’t blame you anymore. I forgave you moons ago.” 

Parsley backed up as a crowd formed around Rabbitjoy and Weedfoot. Rustshade vanished behind his daughter. Questions became as common as clouds, but Parsley walked around the Clan toward the warrior’s den. She knew when to give her friends room to breathe, even if others didn’t.

(Rustshade: 61, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Parsley: 111, female, warrior, righteous, good speaker)

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

(Oilstripe: 21, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Locustpaw: 11, nonbinary (they/them), historian apprentice, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)

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