#weedfoot

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 35

Shadowdrop made Carnationspeckle laugh again and again.

[Image ID: Shadowdrop talks with Carnationspeckle. Rattlepelt watches from afar. Under Rattlepelt, it says LEVEL UP! PREY CLEANER -> LEATHER ARTIST.

(Rattlepelt: 18, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Shadowdrop: 27, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

(Carnationspeckle: 37, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

Downstar calls for a Clan meeting and declares Mousepaw to be a codekeeper. She is now called Mousesong.

[Image ID: Mousepaw, now Mousesong, faces Rattlepelt. Mousesong says “Thanks, I suppose.” Under Mousesong, it says LEVEL UP! MOUSEPAW -> MOUSESONG, ODDLY OBSERVANT -> KEEN EYE.)

---

Rattlepelt wanted to start a new tradition in the warrior’s den. Rabbitjoy was all for helping her collect the needed materials, so all the pair had to do was wake up early and prepare. It gave Rattlepelt something else to think about other than Shadowdrop.

It wasn’t that Rattlepelt disliked him. He was a fine codekeeper and helped Rattlepelt improve some recipes on occasion. But he was not the right fit for Carnationspeckle. Carnationspeckle was selfless, kind, talented, and understanding. Shadowdrop simply wasn’t. Carnationspeckle assured Rattlepelt that she was just friends with Shadowdrop, and while Rattlepelt believed her mother, she didn’t think Shadowdrop felt the same. That, combined with her sister’s codekeeper ceremony the night before, made it hard for Rattlepelt to sleep. So, she worked.

“I don’t think she’ll like it,” Rabbitjoy muttered as dawn rose. The brown molly plucked down from between her claws. She and Rattlepelt sat outside the warrior’s den. Their Clanmates walked around them

“We might as well see,” Rattlepelt sighed just as the newly named Mousesong entered camp. The name did not fit the way the white molly held her head high and walked through camp without a glance at anyone else. Rattlepelt swallowed hard as Mousesong trudged to the warrior’s den.

“Mousesong!” Rattlepelt called as the newly named codekeeper approached. “Congratulations on your ceremony.”

“Thanks,” Mousesong muttered. “Where can I sleep?”

“That’s what we wanted to show you,” Rabbitjoy explained. She slipped behind Rattlepelt and into the den. She stopped beside Mousesong’s new nest. There was an odd, furry lump sitting in the nest. It was made of mouse pelts, held together with twine. Mousesong pawed the bundle and it squished under the pressure. It fluffed back up when she moved her paw.

“What is this?” Mousesong asked.

“Something we invented,” Rattlepelt chirped. “I tanned some mouse leather and Rabbitjoy tied them together. We stuffed down and moss in between the two. You can lay your head on it, and it’s like resting on someone’s side. I picked mouse pelts since I know you like mice.” Mousesong crawled into her new nest and slowly put her head on the fluff-ball. “I’m hoping we can make little gifts like these for new graduates in the future.”

“Why?” Mousesong huffed, lifting her head.

“Because it shows that we appreciate everything you’ve done,” Rattlepelt insisted. Mousesong eyed both Rattlepelt and Rabbitjoy. Rabbitjoy squirmed under Mousesong’s cold eyes, but Rattlepelt stood firm.

“Thanks, I suppose,” Mousesong muttered. “You didn’t have to do that. Either of you.” She laid back down and said, “I’ll catch something good for you both after I sleep.”

“That’s a promise,” Rattlepelt chirped. “We’ll let you rest. Sweet dreams, Mousesong!” Mousesong stared at her the whole way out of the warrior’s den. Rabbitjoy glanced back a dozen times as she and Rattlepelt made their way to the “artisan’s corner” of camp, where they had their tanning rack and other crafting tools set up.

“I can’t tell if she liked the fluff-ball,” Rabbitjoy sighed. “I’m impressed she didn’t rip into you.”

“She cares, even if she doesn’t admit it,” Rattlepelt said. “I know she does. It scares her, that’s all.”

“You show her more grace than I can,” Rabbitjoy said, shaking her head with a soft chuckle.

“She’s my sister,” Rattlepelt huffed. “Of course I do.”

(Rattlepelt: 18, female, artisan, fierce, leather artist)

(Rabbitjoy: 72, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Mousesong: 12, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

Palekit found a hole in the rocks and, curious as all kits are, stuck her paw inside. The whole camp comes running when she screeches in pain. It seems a snake was living in that hole.

[Image ID: Weedfoot, Fennelspot, and Scrubmask run toward Palekit, who is screaming “Momma!” Under Palekit, it says + NEW SKILL: PICKY NEST BUILDER. + CONDITION: SNAKE BITE,]

---

Palekit’s scream stirred a sleeping fear in Weedfoot that she thought had long since faded.

She had been sharing stew with Fennelspot and Scrubmask, admiring the petals the former now kept tucked into his white patch. Clammask was on nursery duty, and Weedfoot could hear her children’s giggles from the other side of camp. There shouldn’t have been a reason to be on edge. And yet, as Weedfoot dipped her muzzle into the bowl for another sip of soup, a kitten’s wail pierced the peace hovering over camp.

Weedfoot was running before she even processed what she saw. Palekit, whose eyes were shifting to match her father and whose strong legs had been the first of her litter to walk, now cradled one leg close as a slick black snake stuck its head out of a hole in the rocks.

“Momma!” Palekit wept. Fear-scent flooded her tiny body as she stared at the snake. Even with Weedfoot’s head start, Fennelspot was faster. He snatched Palekit by the scruff and dragged her away from the snake. Carnationspeckle had been sharing tongues with Downstar and bolted out of the leader’s den at the little kit’s cry. The young caretaker spotted the snake and pounced. Her fangs sunk into the snake’s neck. She shook the snake wildly and flung it over the rocks and out of camp.

“Palekit, when did you leave the den?” Clammask hurried out of the nursery. Weedfoot’s four other children lingered behind her. Poor Weedfoot’s attention was solely focused on her oldest daughter, who shook as she wailed. 

“Momma’s here, Palekit,” Weedfoot cooed as Fennelspot examined the bite on Palekit’s leg.

“What do you need?” Downstar barked, already running for the medicine den.

“It’s not venomous!” Fennelspot yowled, waving Downstar off. “The bite is not venomous.”

“How do you know?” Scrubmask asked as the rest of RippleClan gathered around Fennelspot and Weedfoot.

“Do you see how the bite wound forms an arch?” Fennelspot explained as Weedfoot groomed Palekit’s head. “That means the snake does not have venom. I believe it was a black ratsnake. They can hurt, but they aren’t deadly.”

“Is she okay?” Downstar huffed, glaring at Fennelspot with more fire in her eyes than Weedfoot had seen in moons.

“She will be,” Fennelspot promised. “We just need to clean the bite and make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“I want my dad,” Palekit cried, burying her little face in her mother’s fur.

“Has anyone seen James today?” Scrubmask called to the crowd.

“He took a walk with Parsley and Rustshade,” Carnationspeckle said, spitting snake blood out of her mouth. “I can find them.”

“Go,” Downstar huffed, nodding. Carnationspeckle looped around the crowd and jogged out of camp.

“I don’t like this,” Palekit moaned.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Weedfoot promised, picking Palekit up by the scruff. As she did so, her head swam. She steadied her paws and shoved the dizziness back. She may have still been weak from the difficult birth, but stars-damn it, she was going to carry her daughter to the medicine den.

[Image ID: Waspkit, Lavenderkit, Ripplekit, and Puddlekit hog the screen. Under Ripplekit, it says + NEW SKILLS: AVID PLAY-FIGHTER, SPLASHES IN PUDDLES. Under Puddlekit, it says + NEW SKILL: MORBID CURIOSITY. Under Lavenderkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVES TO SING. Under Waspkit, it says + NEW SKILL: INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY.]

As Weedfoot and Fennelspot brought Palekit into the medicine den, four pairs of blue-tinted eyes watched them from the nursery. Clammask stood in front of them with her tail running over each of their little backs.

“Did any of you notice Palekit leave the nursery?” Clammask sighed, turning back to the kits.

“She was playing with Puddlekit,” Waspkit immediately said, pointing his tail at his younger brother.

“I didn’t think we had to stay in the nursery,” Puddlekit whined. Without his white blaze and deep blue eyes, he would look just like his injured sister, albeit a bit more pathetic (in Waspkit’s eyes at least).

“Puddlekit is in trouble,” Lavenderkit sang, trotting around Puddlekit. “Puddlekit is in trouble!”

“No he isn’t!” Ripplekit whined, smacking her white-splashed brother’s flank. “It’s no one’s fault!”

“Ripplekit is right,” Clammask added. “This was a bad accident. The snake could have bitten anyone. If anything, I’m to blame for not keeping an eye on your sister.”

“Clammask is in trouble, Clammask is in trouble,” Lavenderkit sang, throwing himself on Clammask’s leg.

“I’m going to sit outside,” Clammask sighed, gently shoving Lavenderkit off. “Keep yourselves entertained, you four.” She stepped off the leather floor and onto the warm sand. She laid across the entrance, trapping the four remaining kits inside the nursery.

“Listen!” Waspkit yowled. He waved his tail wildly to catch his littermates’ attention. “Palekit’s hurt! No more getting hurt, everyone.”

“I promise,” Puddlekit said quietly.

“I’ll do what I want!” Lavenderkit huffed. He launched himself on his front paws, but his headstand attempt proved futile. He tumbled forward and his flank landed right in Waspkit’s face. Waspkit growled and launched into a full assault on his brother. Ripplekit squealed and joined the fight. Puddlekit watched from the sidelines. 

Unbeknownst to any of the small kits, their laughter warmed the frigid air suffocating the camp.

(Weedfoot: 84, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Fennelspot: 92, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Scrubmask: 52, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Palekit: 1, female, kit, impulsive, picky nest builder)

(Carnationspeckle: 37, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Clammask: 29, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

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

(Waspkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, interested in clan history)

(Puddlekit: 1, male, kit, polite, morbid curiosity)

(Lavenderkit: 1, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)

(Ripplekit: 1, female, kit, know-it-all, avid play-fighter, splashes in puddles)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #shadowdrop #carnationspeckle #rattlepelt #rabbitjoy #mousepaw #mousesong #waspkit #lavenderkit #puddlekit #ripplekit #palekit #weedfoot #fennelspot #scrubmask #clammask #downstar

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Weedfoot

Aliases / Nicknames: Idiot

Gender: tom

Sexuality: bisexual

Family: unnamed biological mother, two unnamed fathers, two unnamed sisters

Other Relations: unnamed mentor

Clan: Riverclan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: doesn’t realize when someone is in danger, huge dumbass, awkward around those he likes

Murder Motive: N/A

Number of Victims: 1

Number of Murders: 1 (indirectly, accidently)

Murder Method: neglect

Known Victims: Sneezestream

Victim Profile: his Clanmate

Cause of Death: killed by a fox

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

He was always awkward around anyone he so much as had the smallest crush on, choking on his words and unable to talk. Cats made fun of him for it often, mimicking his weird actions.

It was right after he tried to talk to Silverbirch, but was unable to speak did his Clanmate, Sneezestream, come up to him snickering. He began mimicking Weedfoot’s movements, only more exagerated, pretending to choke.

Weedfoot glared at him throughout, sticking his tongue at Sneezestream’s mockery. 

It was when others saw what was happening and ran over did Weedfoot realize that there was no teasing in Sneezestream’s movements--he actually had been choking. 

If Weedfoot had acted much sooner, he likely could have been saved, but by the time others reached his side, Sneezestream had fallen over.

He was blamed, of course. He couldn’t exactly argue over that fact. For moons, he was shunned. His family still supported him, but those who were close with Sneezestream couldn’t so much as standing being three tail-lengths from him.

He was patrolling on his own when he saw Shadowclan warriors running by their border--too close to the border, hissing and yowling. They must have been trespassing, and daring him to do something about it!

He ran after them.

Only, they weren’t thinking about him. They were thinking about the fox.

Additional Information:

--The name Weedfoot was suggested by @elementaldeityoffood​ and the name Sneezestream was suggested by @starfalcon555​

#weedfoot #sneezestream #silverbirch #riverclan oc #wc #dark forest #dark forest oc #dark forest warrior #dark forest resident #place of no stars #wcoc #wc oc #warriorsoc #warriors #warriors oc #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #warriorcats #warriorcatsoc

[sorreldawn]

christening this blog with a painting of weedfoot my friend weedfot

#warriors #warriors oc #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #wc #myart #weedfoot #heis from....goldbloods

[nottherealajhq]

IS IT BECAUSE ITS 420 TODAY???

Weedfoot Jammer! Hahaha!

#ajhqposting

[foxadhd]

Hey look, it's Weedfoot! The ever elusive, dankest of all cryptids, spotted doing his mating dance ritual.

#Weedfoot

[gifnews]

58% of americans back legal marijuana use. This makes Weedfoot want to dance. 

#GIF #GIFnews #Weedfoot

[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 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]

[Image ID: Weedfoot sits under the title of today's lore post: "Name Deep Dive: Weedfoot"]

MY GIRRRRRRLLLLLL! Ngl I love her more than Downstar. Now let's explore her name!

Prefix: "Weed"

So what sort of connotations does "Weed" apply to a kit? Like so many names, there are positive and negative connotations, but let's begin with what exactly the Clans think of weeds. The average warrior couldn't care less if there were more dandelions about. Clerics and caretakers, meanwhile, recognize that weeds can choke out other plants in their pervasiveness. These weeds can be quite useful, but can take over a patch of land if caretakers are not careful. Some of the plants the Clans see as weeds include dandelion, mint, bindweed, thistles, and clovers.

Naming your child Weedkit encourages speedy growth and a vibrant, strong life. Weeds are hard to kill and always come back. Weedkit can be a popular name when a couple has had trouble with kitting or when they tend to lose their kits before they reach apprenticeship. Weedkit is also popular in single litters, such as the one Weedkit came from.

Thanks to the communal culture of the Clans, "Weed" can also suggest a toxic presence in the Clan, one that could overwhelm them. These cats could put their own safety and security over that of the Clan. Autumnstar used this naming connotation to discuss Weedfoot when she was part of the Ashes in the Water.

Suffix: "-foot"

There are a few reasons a leader may give someone this suffix. Its traditional use marks a quick-footed and fast cat. This speed can be translated into being a great runner, a swift pouncer, or a whirling fighter whom no one can land a hit on. This speed can also be mental, however. If a cat is quick to figure things out, they may be well-suited to "-foot".

"-foot" can also be a grounding suffix. Being sure-footed is a good trait in the Clans. By naming someone "-foot", a leader is calling them out for a grounded and sturdy presence within the Clan. On rare occasions, the suffix calls out a uniquely patterned or injured paw. Parsley would have been a great pick for the name Parsleyfoot thanks to her one white paw.

Full Name: Weedfoot

Weedfoot's name better fits the grounding aspect of her suffix than anything else. However, the combination of her prefix and suffix creates a name that immediately inspires images of a swift and unstoppable rise to power. The growth of a weed combined with the suffix's quick connotations suggests that Weedfoot is destined to achieve whatever she sets her mind to, leaving a deep impact wherever she chooses to "grow". Perhaps this is why Autumnstar was so scared of her...

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #weedfoot #rippleclan lore

[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 21

After proving that he is ready to uphold the code and hold AshClan to their promises of better behavior, Shadowpaw becomes Shadowdrop.

[Image ID: Shadowdrop stands proud. Under him, it says LEVEL UP! SHADOWPAW -> SHADOWDROP, ADVENTUROUS -> SNEAKY, CONFIDENT WITH WORDS -> ELOQUENT SPEAKER, + NEW TRAIT: GOOD TEACHER.]

(Shadowdrop: 13, male, codekeeper, sneaky, eloquent speaker, good teacher)

Weedfoot chastises Graythroat for more reckless behavior on patrol.

[Image ID: Weedfoot faces Graythroat. Weedfoot says, “You can’t react like that on every patrol.” To which Graythroat says, “I’m protecting the Clan, aren’t I?”]

---

Graythroat thought the hunting patrol had been a success. While two mice would only be enough to feed one cat, Carnationspeckle and Puddlespeckle could put them in one of their signature stews and feed more of the Clan. With the new year celebration over, there were a lot of fresh herbs they could grab to further spice up meals. Graythroat even found a new patch of wild garlic the Clan could use if they ran into rats! So why was Weedfoot so upset?

“I’m upset because you nearly frightened that poor kittypet to death!” Weedfoot snapped. Her back was bathed in the light streaming into the warrior’s den where she had practically dragged Graythroat when they got back to camp. 

“He was about to cross the border,” Graythroat grumbled, fur bristling.

“We don’t treat outsiders like that, Graythroat,” Weedfoot growled. “RippleClan is kind to kittypets and loners. Your mother and I fought for kinder borders. We don’t terrify someone for getting too close.”

“Well I thought he could have been a threat!” Graythroat huffed. “We can’t have him hunting for sport just because the weather’s warming up.” Weedfoot sighed in such a way that Graythroat’s lips curled despite herself.

“You can’t react like that on every patrol,” Weedfoot said.

“I’m protecting my Clan, aren’t I?” Graythroat spat. “Unless you’re going to sick Rustshade and Shadowdrop on me, I’m leaving.” Graythroat shoved past Weedfoot. She expected the deputy to follow her, but she stayed behind. Graythroat ignored the stares of her Clanmates as she marched to the exit. If her Clan didn’t understand her reasoning, she wouldn’t explain it.

(Graythroat: 13, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

(Weedfoot: 69, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #shadowpaw #shadowdrop #graythroat #weedfoot