#weedfoot
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RippleClan: Moon 39, Part 2 (The Trial)
James has been resistant to retiring, but his aches and pains have slowed him down. He approaches Downstar and is honored for his tireless service.
[Image ID: James sits in the middle of the screen.]
It was strange for Weedfoot to consider herself to be even close to elder age. Still, there she was, watching her mate throw off the caretaker title and become an elder. He put on a show for Downstar and the others, claiming that he wanted to continue his service, to guide his kits through apprenticeship, but was “too easily exhausted” to continue his vigilant protection of the camp and all within. Now it was somewhat true; camp duties were his favorite, and walks around the territory had begun to tire him. But Weedfoot was certain that her fellow perceptive Clanmates saw the truth of it all.
James was finally old enough to retire without being called lazy, and he was taking that opportunity like a kit hunts a mossball.
Weedfoot let her mate celebrate his retirement with Parsley and Rabbitjoy. She would have plenty of time with him later, so why not let him brag to his friends about how easy his life would be now? Instead, as the Clan dismissed and Downstar went to her den, Weedfoot followed Downstar. The tortoiseshell leader was a bit like her old, friendly self now that she had Rustshade to pour her worries on, but since Harvest Moon a few days prior…
“Downstar?” Weedfoot called into the leader’s den. Downstar had been about to step into her nest, but turned at the sound of her deputy’s call.
“Something the matter?” Downstar asked. Weedfoot hesitated, unsure how to open the conversation. Paleshade would have known; she was always closer to Downstar than Weedfoot, even compared to the first moons of RippleClan, when the leader and deputy duo flowed together like birds flying in formation.
“I spoke with Rustshade and Mousesong earlier today.” Weedfoot entered the den and took a cautious seat a couple tail-lengths away. “Both will be ready for the trial tomorrow, if that is acceptable.”
“So soon?” Downstar sighed.
“By AshClan standards, this has been tediously slow,” Weedfoot said with a forced chuckle. The tensed muscles under Downstar’s fluffy coat killed Weedfoot’s laugh.
“StarClan,” Downstar groaned, walking toward the exit. “The first trial in RippleClan’s history… and I have to try my own kits.” Downstar paused and stared out at camp. Weedfoot joined her. Downstar’s gaze rested on a group of three outside the warrior’s den. Rustshade leaned close to Shadowdrop and Wildclaw, as he was prone to do in recent days. They were more than likely discussing their plan of attack for the trial once again. The pair of siblings couldn’t leave camp without escorts while they awaited their trial, and the wait physically dragged on Wildclaw. Even as she listened to Rustshade, she glanced toward the camp exit.
“I’m sorry this is happening,” Weedfoot sighed. “This is a fine mess we’ve found ourselves in.”
“How can I hope to judge them fairly when all I see are three healthy grandkits and my son acting like the father he’s dreamed of being?” Downstar turned back and marched into her nest. “The story doesn’t feel real to me.”
“Try not to think about the story too much,” Weedfoot reminded her. “You need to be as open-minded as possible for the trial.”
“I will be,” Downstar growled, tail fluffing. “I don’t give anyone special privileges. If they did something wrong, I’ll punish them, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt!” Weedfoot stiffened.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know they were ready.” Weedfoot bowed to her leader.
Yet as Weedfoot turned to go, Downstar groaned, “Wait, wait. Don’t leave, Weedfoot. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should not have snapped at you.” Weedfoot hesitated. She slowly approached Downstar and sat beside her. “I haven’t been able to talk to Rustshade while he’s preparing to defend my kits. I can’t deny my current feelings about this mess.”
“We’re conducting this trial together,” Weedfoot reminded her. “If anyone can listen to your worries about it now, I can.” Downstar sighed. She relaxed slightly and shifted closer to Weedfoot.
“Why did they have to go about it like this?” Downstar sighed.
(Weedfoot: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)
(James: 115, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
Shadowdrop is charged with endangering a queen and stealing her kits. Wildclaw shares the charge. Rustshade acts as their defender and Mousesong as their inquisitor.
[Image ID: Shadowdrop and Wildclaw stand behind Rustshade. The three all watch Mousesong stride forward.]
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Practically the entirety of RippleClan took the day off to bear witness to the first trial in their young history. Rabbitjoy would still need to cook and they couldn’t simply leave their borders unchecked, but if a cat could stay in camp, they did. Who would want to miss such a spectacle?
Each of the original four Clans had their own traditions for a trial, which meant RippleClan needed their own, and quickly. The Clan had Rattlepelt to thank for their final idea. As the subjects of the trial, Shadowdrop and Wildclaw each wore tight leather bands around their necks, almost like the strange collars of human society. Rustshade had a smaller band around his front paw, a symbol of the defender empathizing and placing themself in the paws of their charges. Mousesong, as inquisitor, had the most elaborate adornment; a necklace lined with beautiful clam shell beads, dyed blue with dogwood bark. The beads clacked together as Mousesong moved like the soft whispers of StarClan taking their place as quiet judges.
Downstar sat on top of the Shiprock, with Weedfoot settled below her, eyeing the Clan for any disruptions to the trial. Fennelspot sat to the side of the rock, fidgeting with the sand under his paws. The sunrise burned across the ocean and covered the camp in warm orange light. The shadows concealed Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe, who sat by the nursery with four kits. Troutkit had opened her eyes the day before and babbled random sounds that vaguely resembled words, but the litter of three black kits were still quiet and shut off from the world.
“A trial is a sacred duty of a just leader,” Downstar declared, all eyes on her. “To decide on guilt and punishment for a crime such as this without hearing from the Clan would be the act of a tyrannical leader. This is why we have our codekeepers; with them, we honor our laws and protect one another.” Shadowdrop’s gaze fell to his paws at the mention of codekeepers.
“A trial demands silence from the audience,” Weedfoot called. “Do not interrupt the proceedings unless there is an emergency. If you need to speak to me, please wave me down and do not draw attention away from the trial.” Weedfoot stared at the elder’s den with that statement. James had his five kits gathered around him. Most were polite and sat quietly, studying the trial, but Lavenderkit squirmed and trotted around his family. Waspkit smacked his brother and forced him to sit.
“Inquisitor,” Downstar said, turning to Mousesong, “are you ready to provide evidence of code-breaking and prove the guilt of the accused?”
“I am, Downstar,” Mousesong huffed, her necklace clinking as she nodded.
“Defender,” Downstar continued, looking to Rustshade, “are you ready to protect your Clanmates from undue punishment?”
“I am,” Rustshade said.
“And…” Downstar said. She hesitated for a moment as she made eye contact with her son and daughter. “And accused, are you prepared to accept the outcome of this trial, whatever it may be?”
“We are,” Shadowdrop said, unflinching.
“Then inquisitor, explain the purpose of this trial,” Downstar declared, laying down with her paws dangling off the tip of the Shiprock. Mousesong stood and faced the rest of RippleClan.
“Shadowdrop and Wildclaw share the charges of endangering a queen and her kits,” Mousesong began. Her gaze lingered on each of her Clanmates for a few long seconds before moving onto the next cat. “In this, the pair stole three kits from their mother’s belly and left the queen to suffer birthing complications and eventually pass onto wherever the souls of loners go to rest. Today, I will prove to you, cats of RippleClan, that Shadowdrop coerced a loner into having his kits in an attempt to fill the emotional hole left by Carnationspeckle’s rejection of him. In doing this, he recruited Wildclaw to bear witness to the birth and take the kits to RippleClan, where the molly of Shadowdrop’s desires would feel compelled to nurse and care for his children, just as Shadowdrop dreamed.” Oilstripe reflexively moved in front of Carnationspeckle at the mention of the brown molly’s name.
“Today, I intend to prove that Shadowdrop acted not out of love, but of selfish desire that cost a young molly her life. I also intend to prove that Wildclaw shares this guilt as an accomplice to the stealing of Tempestkit, Mosskit, and Trumpetkit.” Mousesong looked back to Downstar as she said the names of the three newborn kits. Downstar nodded, and Mousesong sat back down.
“Defender,” Downstar said, “how do you refute these charges?”
“The code my charges are accused of breaking is the Code of Queens and Kits,” Rustshade said. Rather than facing the crowd, Rustshade remained focused on Downstar. “However, in the process of this accusation and investigation, members of our Clan have also broken this code. This code is meant to protect kits and their parents from undue harassment, and yet Clammask, Scrubmask, and Fennelspot set off to investigate Shadowdrop’s claims, thereby breaking the code themselves.” Clammask tried to speak, but Scrubmask harshly nudged her, keeping her silent.
“This code allows for the breeding of kits with cats outside of the Clan in order to encourage the growth of our numbers and strength of our blood. We may memorize this code as applying to mollies who become pregnant, but it applies to toms who bring their kits to camp as well. Shadowdrop had no romantic ties to the mother of his kits. He did not break the code in this way. He cannot be blamed for the death of his queen because upon leaving her, she displayed no signs of the fatal condition that would befall her.”
“She had a name, Dad!” Clammask finally snapped. Parsley, Waspkit, and Rabbitjoy yowled their agreement.
“Quiet, quiet!” Weedfoot yowled over them.
“So I have to be quiet but you can yowl all you want?” Lavenderkit hissed at his brother.
“No one should be yowling,” James huffed, flicking his tail over both toms’ noses.
“Clammask brings up a good point, despite her interruption,” Downstar sighed. “The queen’s name was Cinderella. We should refer to her as such. She may not have been a Clan cat, but we owe her enough respect to use her name.” Mousesong and Rustshade bowed slightly.
“Cinderella’s death is a tragedy,” Rustshade continued, “but she had no intention of joining RippleClan and had no romantic relationship with Shadowdrop. At the heart of the situation, this was not a break in the code, as I intend to show you today.”
“Very good,” Downstar said. “The inquisitor and defender will take turns calling their witnesses to give statements before the Clan. They will both ask questions of the witness and present appropriate evidence during each interview. The inquisitor will call her first witness.”
“I have many witnesses I plan to call today,” Mousesong declared, “such as Clammask, Waspkit, and Carnationspeckle. However, there is one witness that overshadows the rest in importance. I call to bear witness before RippleClan and StarClan… Cinderella.” RippleClan stared at Mousesong. No one dared speak up. Then Oilstripe slipped away from Carnationspeckle. Traditionally, witnesses were supposed to sit next to the deputy, but Oilstripe left a large space beteeen herself and Weedfoot.
“Mousesong, Oilstripe, explain this,” Downstar ordered.
“Not long after Clammask, Scrubmask, and Fennelspot returned to camp with news of Cinderella’s demise,” Mousesong explained, “Oilstripe began to see a new spirit wandering camp. We all know of her ghost sight, as verified by Fennelspot, so this in and of itself is not surprising. Yet this spirit lacked the same starry pelts as StarClan spirits and looked nothing like any cat Oilstripe knew of. This cat was Cinderella. She has agreed to answer questions with Oilstripe as an interpreter.”
“Objection!” Rustshade yowled. “Oilstripe has never reported seeing the spirit of a cat outside StarClan in the past. Even then, how can we trust that she’s reporting exactly what this spirit says?”
“Thank you for the trust, Dad,” Oilstripe muttered.
“We treat the testimony just like we would treat anyone else’s,” Mousesong explained. “I’m sure StarClan wouldn’t accept a perversion of their gift. If Oilstripe were to add her own words to the testimony, StarClan will likely inform Fennelspot.”
“Incredibly unorthodox,” Downstar muttered, “but I don’t know a time in living history when a Clan has been able to take a dead molly’s testimony. Oilstripe, do you swear to report only what the spirit of Cinderella tells you?”
“I do,” Oilstripe said, glancing overhead at her leader.
“Then begin your interview, inquisitor,” Downstar declared.
[Image ID: Mousesong speaks with Oilstripe. The ghost of a smoky black molly with a white collar stands next to Oilstripe. Oilstripe/Cinderella say “We had a deal. Bear kits with him, and he would teach me as much about Clan life as he could. Fire starting, cooking, crafting, everything.”]
Mousesong approached Oilstripe with a calculated gaze. She glanced at the empty spot beside her.
“I hope your afterlife is peaceful, Cinderella,” Mousesong said to the empty space. “I’m sure Rustshade will be questioning you on how you can exist when we thought Oilstripe only saw StarClan spirits. Do you have any answers for us?” Oilstripe’s ears tilted to the empty space. She was quiet for a while, listening to something no one else could hear.
“My mother told me that when I died, I would spend a year in the land I left behind, making sure my loved ones are safe before I move on,” Oilstripe said, although it would be more truthful to say that Cinderella said so. “This is just what I expected. Since I died, I thought it would be good to make sure my kits went to a good home.”
“Yes, your kits,” Rustshade huffed. He marched up beside Mousesong. His focus shifted between Oilstripe and where everyone presumed the spirit of Cinderella sat. “Kits you had with the young black tom behind me, am I correct?”
“She’s nodding,” Oilstripe reported.
“Is it true that you agreed to give the kits to RippleClan long before their birth?” Rustshade asked. Oilstripe squirmed as she waited for Cinderella’s response.
“I think you’ve made her nervous,” Oilstripe admitted, shifting closer to the Shiprock.
“This is a lot, isn’t it?” Mousesong sighed. “You find that you’ve died, you find a stranger who can see you, and you’re suddenly thrust into the ritual of a strange group. I can’t relate to being dead, but I understand feeling strange. I came to RippleClan when I was young. Everyone decided my fate for me. I imagine that’s a bit like what you’ve experienced as a loner, am I correct?” Oilstripe listened for a long time.
“Froggy told me about the Clans,” Oilstripe/Cinderella explained. “I didn’t want to live in one, but I liked what you could do. I thought if I could cook prey for my sister and I, it would be easier to live away from humans. I asked a few cats I saw near your borders, but none seemed interested in talking to me until I met Shadowdrop.”
“Yes, elaborate on your relationship with Shadowdrop,” Mousesong urged her on.
“We had a deal. Bear kits with him, and he would teach me as much about Clan life as he could. Fire starting, cooking, crafting, everything.”
“Did he tell you why he wanted to have kits?”
“He wanted a family.”
“Yes, a desire that the code has clear-cut provisions for!” Rustshade interrupted. “This only proves my argument, Downstar. Shadowdrop was not romantically involved with Cinderella, it was a deal as simple as the ones mollies make with strange sires.”
“That may be true,” Mousesong huffed, “but we have yet to get to the kitting itself. Can you take us through it, Cinderella?” Shadowdrop shifted closer to Wildclaw.
“When I felt the kits coming, I went to RippleClan,” Oilstripe translated for Cinderella. “Shadowdrop told me about all the medicines in the Clans, so I thought we would have the kits there. We met up nearly every day, so I knew where to wait for him. When he saw me, he told me to stay strong and went to fetch help.”
“He brought back Wildclaw, yes?” Mousesong clarified.
“My memory blurs a bit when they get back. I was focused on my kitting. The first two kits came out right, but after the third kit, I felt different. I think there was an issue. It was hard to describe. What I remember is that not long after I cleaned up the third kit, Shadowdrop and his guest left with the kits. I was alone. I wasn’t sure what to do. I headed for home, but I suppose I never made it back.”
“It may be an odd testimony, but members of RippleClan, you’ve heard it from the victim,” Mousesong declared, facing the crowd. “Shadowdrop and Wildclaw left Cinderella behind, in pain, without her kits. Fennelspot could have saved her, but she never got the chance. How can we say this is a simple case of siring when they left Cinderella to die and tried to forget she ever existed?”
“I want to go back to how you said your memory blurs,” Rustshade huffed. “If you don’t remember much, how can we trust that what you do remember is correct?”
“Shadowdrop showed up with three black kits, didn’t he?” As Oilstripe repeated what only she could hear, she glared at Shadowdrop. Another pair of eyes stared at the black tom too, but they were invisible to nearly everyone. Shadowdrop felt the glare of both mollies.
Shadowdrop and Wildclaw are found guilty. Shadowdrop is demoted to a warrior and must spend the next half moon in exile. Wildclaw will be on nursery duty until the litter is apprenticed (a task she hates).
[Image ID: Shadowdrop and Wildclaw listen to their sentences.]
There were quite a few more witnesses after Cinderella (Waspkit, Clammask, Carnationspeckle, even Oilstripe came back as her own witness) but none could match hers in terms of strangeness. It seemed every interview looped back to what the unseen spirit had said. More than a few cats stepped out of camp to debate whether the loner’s ghost was actually there or if Oilstripe was lying to get Shadowdrop in trouble. Regardless of the truth, Mousesong dug into the statement like prey with every argument she crafted.
Rustshade, oddly enough, only called Wildclaw as a witness. She didn’t have much to add; her brother asked for her help, of course she helped. Shadowdrop, however, stayed where he was, studying his Clanmates, itching at his ceremonial collar.
Downstar took a while to make a decision. She called many members of RippleClan into her den to hear their opinions on the matter like any informed leader would. Despite it all, the wait was like a blanket of fleas crawling across the pelt of RippleClan. Shadowdrop and Wildclaw waited with Rustshade in the center of camp the entire time. While Wildclaw kept pestering Rustshade about what would happen next, Shadowdrop stared at the nursery, where his three squirmy kits slept in the darkness.
Downstar left her den shortly before sunset. Conversations died away and curious eyes watched Downstar climb onto the Shiprock. Shadowdrop sat up and nudged his sister. Weedfoot hurried out of the nursery and took her place below Downstar.
“I have come to my decision,” Downstar announced, studying her kits. “Before I pass my judgment, however, there’s someone we still haven’t heard from today. Shadowdrop?” Shadowdrop met his mother’s eye. “Wildclaw may share your charges, but in essence, you are the one on trial here. You’ve barely spoken today. I need to hear this from you. Tell us the truth, Shadowdrop. Please.” Shadowdrop stood, shaking the sand off his paws.
“I wanted a family, Mom,” Shadowdrop said. “I went about it the only way I could. If I couldn’t have them with Carnationspeckle, I would have them with someone else. I hid the truth at first because I knew people would make the wrong conclusions. I can be a great father. I’ll raise these kits to be model RippleClan cats.” Wildclaw poked Shadowdrop before he could say more. Over by the warrior’s den, Clammask and Oilstripe bristled.
“Shadowdrop…” Downstar sighed. Her weary eyes washed over the Clan. “There were other ways to start a family. The way you’ve gone about it was irresponsible and selfish. What if Carnationspeckle wasn’t here to nurse your kits? Or did you sire them knowing she would?”
“That’s not what he wanted, Mom,” Wildclaw growled, stepping closer with unsheathed paws.
“Wildclaw, you don’t know what he wanted,” Downstar snapped. “You followed him out into the territory and didn’t ask questions. You don’t think these things through, Wildclaw, and it shows.” Wildclaw froze. She sat back beside Shadowdrop. Downstar sighed deeply, a shiver running down her pelt. As she relaxed, she sat taller and glared down at Shadowdrop and Wildclaw.
“Warriors of StarClan, may my words and my actions today honor your sacred code and protect RippleClan. Shadowdrop, Wildclaw, I find you guilty of endangering a queen and her kits. Your act of siring may be protected by the code, but you left a struggling mother to die and took away her kits. No matter what deal you may have made, you were cruel. All you cared about was having kits that you could watch Carnationspeckle nurse.”
“That’s not true!” Shadowdrop yowled. “I… I was…” Shadowdrop’s eyes bounced in his skull, searching for answers he couldn’t find.
“Shadowdrop, your attempt to sneak around the Code of Queens and Kits shows me that you cannot be trusted to guard the code in the future,” Downstar said. Her tone was still and steady. “Upon your return, you will no longer be a codekeeper, but a warrior assigned to whatever tasks your Clan needs.”
“Mom…” Shadowdrop gulped.
“When he returns?” Wildclaw snapped. “What does that mean?”
“Cinderella agreed to your deal in order to learn our skills and better survive as a loner,” Downstar explained. “You showed no compassion for her, and so should get a glimpse of what she may have experienced. For the next half moon, you will live in exile. You will not be allowed in RippleClan territory and must care for yourself like Cinderella did.” Shadowdrop stared up at Downstar. He kept still, but his jaw quivered and the tip of his tail twitched wildly. “In other circumstances, this could have been a permanent exile, Shadowdrop. Reflect on that. Mousesong, escort Shadowdrop out of RippleClan territory.”
Rustshade gently helped Shadowdrop out of his ceremonial collar. Shadowdrop’s scared gaze tore into the nursery as Mousesong nudged him back. RippleClan parted as Mousesong shoved Shadowdrop out of camp. Halibutdusk looked at his paws as his brother passed. Downstar couldn’t look away.
“Wildclaw,” she finally said after a long, pain-soaked minute. “You could have helped Cinderella, but you didn’t. I believe you have perspectives on Clan life that need to be corrected. As such, until Shadowdrop’s litter is apprenticed, you will be on nursery duty. You will not be allowed on any other patrols and will care for the kits’ every need.”
“I don’t need to be in the nursery all day!” Wildclaw groaned.
“You do and you will, Wildclaw!” Downstar yowled. “There will be no bargaining. Your punishment is set. May StarClan forgive you both. This trial is over.” Downstar soared off the Shiprock and sulked into her den. Halibutdusk was the first of the Clan to step out of the crowd. He headed for his mother’s den. Wildclaw struggled and pulled at her collar. Rattlepelt had to pull her paw away and help her before she broke the leather. Oilstripe hurried to the nursery, Weedfoot’s kits slipped around her to find their mother, and the Clan carefully broke into heated whispers.
With that, RippleClan’s first trial was finally over.
(Downstar: 98, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Weedfoot: 87, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)
(Mousesong: 15, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)
(Rustshade: 83, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Wildclaw: 31, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)
(Shadowdrop: 31, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)
(Clammask: 33, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)
(Lavenderkit: 5, male, kit, noisy, likes to sing)
(James: 115, male, elder, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
(Oilstripe: 43, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)
(Halibutdusk: 31, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)
#warrior cats#clangen#rippleclan#warriors#rippleclan story#downstar#weedfoot#oilstripe#james#shadowdrop#wildclaw#mousesong#rustshade#halibutdusk#waspkit#clammask#lavenderkit
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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
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christening this blog with a painting of weedfoot my friend weedfot
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IS IT BECAUSE ITS 420 TODAY???
Weedfoot Jammer! Hahaha!
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Hey look, it's Weedfoot! The ever elusive, dankest of all cryptids, spotted doing his mating dance ritual.
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58% of americans back legal marijuana use. This makes Weedfoot want to dance.
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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
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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
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[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...
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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
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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
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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
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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
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RippleClan: Moon 24
Downstar fights a big dog and loses a life.
[Image ID: Downstar faces Duskkit, who says, “It’s okay for things to be okay.” Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 7.]
Downstar barely remembered what happened when she woke up on that eerily familiar beach. It all happened so fast. She’d been out with Rabbitjoy and Rattlepaw. All she remembered was a yowl to run and a set of vicious teeth. What attacked her? A dog? A darkhound, a Spirit of Shadow risen from the depths of the Dark Forest?
She stumbled up, groggy and blinded by the shine of the sun on the ethereal sea before her. She was alone on that strange beach. Wasn’t someone supposed to greet her when she arrived? The saltwater splashed on her paws, but she found no joy in it that day. Downstar stepped away from the water. That dog, that thing, it could still be chasing Rattlepaw and Rabbitjoy. Downstar told them to climb a tree, did they listen? StarClan, what a way to celebrate RippleClan’s anniversary.
“Sorry!” an achingly young voice called. “Sorry, Mom! I swear I wasn’t trying to be late!” Downstar couldn’t breathe as Duskkit launched through the trees behind her. Downstar wanted to wail when she saw the plump juniper berries tucked into Duskkit’s fur.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Downstar gasped as Duskkit launched off the grass and into her mother’s embrace. Her pelt glimmered and cast a purplish light over Downstar’s pale ginger patches. She was so warm. Downstar groomed Duskkit’s head and memorized every detail of her dark little face.
“Don’t be,” Duskkit insisted.
“How long can I stay here?” Downstar whispered, pulling her tail around her lost child.
“Rabbitjoy and Rattlepaw need to know you’re okay,” Duskkit sighed, her shiny eyes locking onto her mother’s gaze. “There’s something really important I need to tell you before you wake up, though.”
“What is it, kitten?” Downstar gulped. She tried to keep her voice steady as her heart pounded.
“It’s okay for things to be okay,” Duskkit said.
“Well of course it is,” Downstar said, nuzzling her daughter. “That’s all I want.”
“I mean it, though,” Duskkit whined. She pulled away, taking a part of Downstar’s soul with her. “Life is allowed to be good. Please remember that.”
“Duskkit…” Downstar sighed. She reached for her sparkling daughter, but the shores of StarClan vanished around her in an instant.
(Downstar: 82, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Duskkit: 4, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)
Rattlepaw gives some advice to Carnationspeckle.
[Image ID: Rattlepaw faces Carnationspeckle, saying, “You might be good together.”]
---
If Rattlepaw was honest, she was quite rattled by the dog attack. She just wanted to swim in the Great Northern River while everyone else celebrated at the beach. She hadn’t even seen the dog before Downstar yowled at her and Rabbitjoy to climb the nearest tree. She didn’t want Downstar to die for her. She was sure she would always remember the way the giant hound grabbed Downstar’s scruff and shook her until she went limp. The only way Rabbitjoy could get her to leave the tree was when Downstar miraculously got up and Carnationspeckle coaxed her down.
Now, a few days later, Rattlepaw hadn’t left camp much. There was a lot for a young artisan to do in camp, she told herself, and she had a lot to learn. While she learned some stories and songs from Rabbitjoy, she spent most of her time working with leather. If she had to wear leather pelts over her back to protect her skin, she might as well know how Rabbitjoy made them. The more she got to toy with the tanning rack and Rabbitjoy’s twine, the more intrigued she got. It was a good distraction from… what had happened.
Rabbitjoy’s latest lesson involved cleaning prey of its meat before Rattlepaw could start tanning the pelt. Rattlepaw was hard at work with the sun streaking through the western trees when Oilstripe, Weedfoot, and Burdockcreek entered camp, laughing.
“Imagine them getting to camp, just—” Oilstripe laughed. She bulged her eyes and waddled forward, throwing Weedfoot and Burdockcreek into more hysterics.
“Hi, Oilstripe,” Rattlepaw called as she dumped the guts of a mouse into a pot for future meals. “You’ve been gone all day. What took you so long?”
“Well—” Oilstripe began, but she lost herself to laughter once more, keeling over. “Weedy, Weedy you tell her, I can’t—” Oilstripe wheezed dramatically and rolled onto her back, laughing.
“Oh, I don’t know if Rattlepaw will find it as funny as we do,” Weedfoot giggled. Carnationspeckle and James were strengthening the gaps between the rocks, making sure no snakes or dangerous creatures could slip inside, when the trio returned. They both stopped what they were doing and walked over.
“Share it anyway,” Carnationspecke chirped.
“Okay okay okay,” Oilstripe gasped, sucking in a huge breath. “We went to that meeting of historians at the Leader’s Stone, the one we talked about at the last Gathering. LynxClan is doing some interesting things with bees, their caretakers and historians are working together to encourage bees to build hives where they want so they can harvest more honey and wax. Mistlestar sent Dandeliondapple and Raggedstep, these two historians, out to study bees and— ha! They, they made them so mad! They dove into this pool on their territory and, and they tried waiting for the bees to leave, but, but they just stayed! They were hovering over the water, just waiting for them!” Oilstripe collapsed back into laughter.
“When they got back to camp, they were both swollen with stings,” Burdockcreek laughed. “These two keep bringing it up and going mad all over again.”
“It’s funny!” Weedfoot laughed as Oilstripe kicked her legs and coughed on her laughter. James and Rattlepaw both stared at the historians like they sprouted gills. Suddenly, to Rattlepaw’s surprise, Carnationspeckle giggled. She drew her paw over her muzzle, trying to hide her humor.
“Alright, that is a little funny,” she admitted.
“Right?” Oilstripe laughed, beaming as she rolled back to her paws. “It was a great meeting. We learned so much!”
“Let’s debrief Downstar before we share anymore stories,” Weedfoot chuckled, nudging Oilstripe. Oilstripe finally controlled her giggles. She waved goodbye to Carnationspeckle as she, Weedfoot, and Burdockcreek made their way to Downstar’s den.
“What a strange sense of humor,” James hummed, shaking his head. He returned to his den building, but Carnationspeckle lingered.
“You might be good together,” Rattlepaw found herself saying before she could stop herself.
“What do you mean?” Carnationspeckle asked, turning to Rattlepaw and cocking her head. No no no, this is not the conversation Rattlepaw wanted to have!
“It was just a random thought,” Rattlepaw laughed awkwardly, “but, you know, you and Oilstripe go well together. You, uh… you get each other.”
“We grew up together,” Carnationspeckle reminded her. “We were the first kits in the Clan. We have a special bond. We’re great together.” Oh thank StarClan she didn’t realize what she meant. “Let me know when you’re all done cleaning that prey, and I can help prepare the meat. Our historians must be hungry.”
Carnationspeckle touched noses with Rattlepaw and rejoined James. However, as Rattlepaw stared at her half-finished work, a thought came to her mind. Carnationspeckle had done so much for her. She cared for her so deeply, had Rattlepaw arrived to RippleClan at a younger age, she would have thought her to be her birth mother. She helped her be brave, even when she felt as small as a clam. She deserved something in return.
Rattlepaw was going to find her mother a mate.
(Rattlepaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, insecure, plays with prey)
(Oilstripe: 28, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)
(Weedfoot: 73, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Carnationspeckle: 26, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)
(James: 100, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
(Burdockcreek: 18, male, historian, competitive, learner of lore)
#warrior cats#clangen#rippleclan#warriors#rippleclan story#downstar#duskkit#rattlepaw#oilstripe#carnationspeckle#weedfoot#james#burdockcreek
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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
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RippleClan: Moon 20
The war between RippleClan and AshClan comes to a formal end, and everyone in RippleClan celebrates.
[Image ID: A crowd of RippleClan cats, including Oilstripe, gather to frame Downstar, who says “It’s over, everyone!”]
Oilstripe hated the wait.
All of RippleClan lingered in their camp’s clearing, the light of a central fire throwing shadows onto the shipwreck. A soft snowfall danced overhead, fizzling out well before it reached the warm camp. Everyone’s minds seemed far from camp, however. Weedfoot paced around the exit while Puddlespeckle watched her with a tired, but oddly soft gaze. Burdockcreek and Clammask silently shared tongues with Rustshade. Oilstripe sat close to the fire with Carnationspeckle and Applepelt. There were no StarClan spirits in camp that night to distract her. All she had were two friends stuck in the same state of mind.
“This seems like a formality, don’t you think?” Applepelt sighed, front paws kneading the sand. “AshClan hasn’t done anything since last moon’s Gathering. I don’t know why everyone is so tense.”
“We don’t know what Autumnstar thinks of us now,” Carnationspeckle said as Oilstripe groomed her long brown fur.
“I know exactly what he thinks,” Applepelt chirped. “He’s terrified to face me again!” She rolled onto her back and batted the air.
“Terrified to face StarClan, maybe,” Oilstripe scoffed. “His whole argument fell apart the moment Downstar came back to life. He can’t chase out a Clan accepted by StarClan, it’s in the code.”
“So StarClan’s truly real, is it?” Applepelt sighed. She squirmed deeper into the sand while Oilstripe gave a half-hearted laugh.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Oilstripe said.
“Applepelt, scoot away from the fire, your whiskers will catch,” Carnationspeckle chuckled.
“Make me,” Applepelt cooed. “It’s too quiet tonight. I’m gonna ramble for a while. Smack me if you wanna stop me.” She rolled back onto her belly. She ranted about WheatClan stories she picked up at the last Gathering, but Oilstripe tuned her out. She and Carnationspeckle groomed knots out of each other’s fur as the fire crackled and spat.
Soon enough, Downstar and Rabbitjoy both entered the camp. Weedfoot stopped pacing and joined them on their way to the Shiprock. Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe both kicked Applepelt, pausing her story mid-sentence. Applepelt seemed ready to whine, but spotted the returning leader and sat up.
“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar called before she even got to the rock. Halibutpaw had been sitting quietly outside the apprentice’s den but now called his littermates into the clearing. The small Clan huddled around the fire. Their eyes shone in the dim light like Silverpelt brought down. Rabbitjoy sat at the bottom of the Shiprock. Oilstripe put her paw over Applepelt’s and her tail over Carnationspeckle’s as she held her breath. Downstar could only keep her serious expression up for so long, though.
“It’s over, everyone!” Downstar yowled, tail high. “RippleClan and AshClan are at peace!” A great cheer tore through the clearing. Oilstripe’s muscles melted like her namesake. “AshClan will hereby acknowledge our position as a Clan ordained by StarClan. As the moons pass, we will establish the same relationships we have with the other Clans. AshClan will allow us to walk along the border to visit the other Clans.”
“Finally,” Halibutpaw scoffed. Graypaw batted his ear.
“Aww, you afraid of a fight?” Graypaw laughed. “You’re the warrior apprentice. You should be sad you can’t show AshClan what’s what anymore.”
“Maybe I don’t want another friend to die, Graypaw,” Halibutpaw snapped. Graypaw stepped back, blinking wildly.
“Alright, alright,” James cooed, stepping between the pair. “That’s quite enough. When I lived with humans, they always celebrated special moments with a good meal. I say we do the same!”
“I like that idea, James,” Downstar chirped. “Carnationspeckle, you’re the best swimmer we have. Would you take Graypaw to the coast and find some fish for the Clan?”
“The ocean’s freezing, Mom,” Graypaw whined. “Can’t I help at the oven?”
“You’ll be a caretaker soon, Graypaw,” Downstar sighed, shaking her head. “If I ask you to do something, you’ll need to do it. It won’t take long.” Graypaw muttered something, but didn’t put up anymore fight.
“We have a bit of flaxseed oil from WheatClan!” Clammask said, jogging over to the portion of the shipwreck where the Clan stored jars and pots and baskets. “Let’s use that tonight!”
“Wonderful,” Downstar purred, hopping off the Shiprock. “We could use a feast. Enjoy yourselves tonight, everyone!” Weedfoot, Shadowpaw, Halibutpaw, and Rustshade surrounded Downstar. Carnationspeckle stretched and touched noses with both Oilstripe and Applepelt.
“I’ll catch a fish for us to share,” she promised. With a wave of her feathery tail, Carnationspeckle led Graypaw out of camp.
“My humans used to catch fish, did I ever tell you that?” Applepelt chirped.
“A few times already, yes,” Oilstripe purred, her heart as warm as the fire.
“You should have seen the fish they would bring in,” Applepelt laughed, stretching her legs as far as they could go. “Some of them were this big! I’ve never seen others of them before, either. I think they got on a ship and caught them, but I don’t know how that works. I know James helps build rafts sometimes, but they couldn’t go far enough to catch these fish. I don’t know if I could call some of them fish…”
Applepelt continued on, describing spider-like masses of flesh and fish with more teeth than she could count. As her words washed over Oilstripe, the ginger historian’s eyes drifted over the apprentice’s den. A cream-colored cat stood outside the den, shining as bright as the fire. Oilstripe nodded to her sibling and enjoyed her Clan’s victory.
(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)
(Applepelt: 29, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)
(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)
(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Halibutpaw: 12, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)
(Graypaw: 12, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)
(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
(Clammask: 14, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)
Two apprentices graduate from their training without their brother. Shadowpaw was held back to catch up on missed training from whitecough.
[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Graythroat pose. Under Halibutdusk, it says LEVEL UP! HALIBUTPAW -> HALIBUTDUSK, IMPULSIVE -> GLOOMY, QUICK WITTED -> CLEVER, LOVER OF STORIES -> GREAT STORYTELLER. Under Graythroat, it says LEVEL UP! GRAYPAW -> GRAYTHROAT, BLOODTHIRSTY -> FIERCE, CAREFUL LISTENER -> VALUABLE INSIGHT.]
(Halibutdusk: 12, male, warrior, gloomy, clever, great storyteller)
(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)
Graythroat attacks a fox without hesitation, but merely freaks it out.
[Image ID: Graythroat faces down a fox while Fennelspot and James watch in the corner. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: GRAY & GRAY (OMEN).]
---
Fennelspot loved having a proper selection of caretakers to help him manage his gardens. It could be hard to properly tend to the selection of herbs he had begun cultivating in the southern half of the territory, but with caretakers, Fennelspot could focus on his medical and spiritual duties while they made sure the herbs grew well. Yes, it was the last moon of winter, and most of the growths wouldn’t begin showing up until the next moon, but it was the perfect time to plant some of his seeds. Besides, James and Graythroat hadn’t had much experience with the garden, so this was as good a time as any to introduce them.
“Humans have their farms and gardens,” Fennelspot explained as Graythroat and James walked behind him with baskets of thyme and sage seeds. “That taught us how to start our own fields and rise a step above herbal scavenging. There are a lot of plants we let grow wild, but some, like the sage and thyme seeds I’ve kept in storage all winter, grow well in gardens. I found the areas near the southern edge have better conditions for maintaining a garden.”
“Do you expect me to dig?” James scoffed, his words muddied by the basket in his mouth. “I don’t dig. I can barely tolerate the constant sand between my paws, I will not willingly coat myself in mud.”
“We’re caretakers, that’s our job,” Graythroat grunted.
“The mud’s not as bad as you think it is, James,” Fennelspot said, some of this enthusiasm seeping out. “It reminds me of SlugClan. It’s nice. At least I won’t ask you to help smoke out beehives. I don’t think you’d stay in RippleClan if you had to do that.” Fennelspot chuckled awkwardly as James tilted his head. The face Graythroat made told him all he needed to know on the subject.
The gardens were a section of an open field west of the RippleClan graveyard. At first glance, it seemed like any other field, but the grass was only half-grown and the remnants of plants that did not survive the winter sat in rows that would never have formed without an intelligent paw to guide them. A dusting of snow covered the gardens, but it wouldn’t stop the patrol.
Fennelspot was about to direct Graythroat to tear up the dead plants while he explained planting to James, but a gray shape on the other side of the gardens made him pause. It was a silver fox; its black fur was dusted white as though it had been caught in the snow. Brilliant orange eyes stared at Fennelspot. It stood in profile, watching the three cats, completely frozen.
“It’s likely passing through,” Fennelspot whispered as his companions noticed the fox. “We’ll wait for it to leave and come back later.”
“No,” Graythroat huffed, dropping her basket. “This is our territory. No fox is going to steal our prey.” Graythroat bolted past Fennelspot and James before either could respond. Graythroat hissed and screeched, catching the fox’s attention. The fox screamed at Graythroat, ears pulled back as far as they could go. Graythroat launched at the fox and dug her claws and fangs into its silver coat.
“Graythroat!” Fennelspot yowled. “It’s done nothing to us. Leave it alone!” StarClan, he wished there was someone in the Clan who could speak to foxes. James set his basket of sage seeds down and stood in front of Fennelspot, ready to defend the cleric.
Morning light bounced off Graythroat’s pelt. The sun illuminated the fox’s fur, blending the white flecks into its black undercoat. In that light, Graythroat’s pelt looked just like the foxes. Gray fur scrambled over gray fur in a shiny mixture of rage. A sudden sense of familiar clarity flooded Fennelspot’s mind as the fox scrambled out from Graythroat’s clutches and bolted toward the trees, barking madly. This was a sign. No, not a simple sign. An omen. StarClan may not talk to him like they talk to Oilstripe, but by the stars, he was good at his job and he knew an omen when he saw it.
What the omen meant, however, he could not say.
(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)
(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
James escorts the WheatClan deputy to camp.
[Image ID: James stands in the corner as Valleybrook, a golden tabby with Rustshade’s markings and lavender in his fur, speaks to Rustshade and Oilstripe. He says “I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust.”]
---
There were a lot of cats Oilstripe would have expected to walk into camp, but her uncle was not one of them.
Oilstripe and Rustshade were sharing one of their rarer moments of peace, quizzing Shadowpaw on the code so he could catch up to his littermates. They were halfway through the Code of Caretakers when James entered camp. Oilstripe would have paid him no mind if a slender golden tabby didn’t follow him in. The tom was so star-struck by the bulking shipwreck that he didn’t notice Weedfoot jogging his way.
“Valleybrook?” Weedfoot called. Rustshade snapped his head around.
Valleybrook broke out of his trance and faced Weedfoot, saying with an awkward sigh, “I’m sorry. I’m very impressed by your camp. A shipwreck makes quite the statement.”
“I was enjoying my afternoon when he waved me over from the WheatClan border,” James huffed, scratching an itch behind his ear. “He asked to come to camp.”
“Downstar’s out on patrol right now,” Weedfoot said with a slight cock of her head. “What brings the WheatClan deputy to our camp?”
“It’s something of a favor,” Valleybrook admitted. His gaze shifted to Rustshade and he said, “I was hoping to speak with my brother.”
“Rustshade, you never told me you’re littermates with WheatClan’s deputy,” Shadowpaw said as Rustshade wandered over to Valleybrook, his tail stiff behind him.
“They haven’t talked much since we left WheatClan,” Oilstripe whispered. From what she remembered of the first half of her kithood, Valleybrook had been a loving uncle, encouraging Oilstripe to learn all about WheatClan’s crops. He was always the perfect image of grace at Gatherings, but his soft eyes rekindled Oilstripe’s old memories of him.
“Hello, Valley,” Rustshade sighed, gracefully sitting in front of his estranged kin.
“I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust,” Valleybrook sighed. He spotted Oilstripe watching and called to her. “Oilstripe, join us, please.” With a worried glance at Shadowpaw, Oilstripe joined her father and uncle. Weedfoot and James stepped away in a feeble effort to give the group privacy.
“What’s so wrong that we couldn’t talk about it during the Gathering?” Rustshade asked matter-of-factly. “You’d only have to wait a few days.”
“I didn’t want you to be blinded by the news,” Valleybrook sighed. He tucked his tail over his paws and took a deep breath. “Sunstrike came down with some sort of infection. I don’t fully understand what happened. She passed away yesterday.”
Well that didn’t make sense. Oilstripe would have seen her. She spoke to Sunstrike at Gatherings, they were polite to each other, she knew she cared that Oilstripe was happy. She wouldn’t head to StarClan without visiting her kits. Should she even be thinking of her mother’s death in such simple terms? Should she feel more than she did? Rustshade seemed similarly stunned, at least. His unreadable expression gave no clues as to how he felt.
“I see,” Rustshade said. “Thank you for telling us before the Gathering.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Valleybrook said. “If you two want to share soup together at the Gathering, I think that would be nice.” Rustshade nodded softly. Valleybook gingerly reached a paw out and placed it on Rustshade’s head. Rustshade stayed still. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I know things haven’t been wonderful between you and your old mate, but I understand what it’s like to lose someone you shared so much of your life with.” Valleybrook couldn’t have been more obvious about what he meant, but Oilstripe couldn’t tell if her father noticed.
“Do you want me to escort you back to the border?” Rustshade asked.
“That would be nice,” Valleybrook sighed, moving his paw and standing. “I hope it’s alright if I visit your dirtplace first.”
“There’s a path looping around the shipwreck for you to follow,” Rustshade explained, nodding toward the dirtplace path. Valleybrook nodded and his gaze lingered on his brother as he crossed through camp.
“Oilstripe,” Rustshade muttered into Oilstripe’s ear. “Clammask and Burdockcreek will be back from Downstar’s hunting patrol before I get back. Will you tell them about Sunstrike?” Oilstripe nodded absentmindedly, then realized exactly what that would entail.
“You want me to…” Oilstripe gulped, locking eyes with Rustshade. Rustshade sighed and nodded.
“If they haven’t figured it out themselves,” Rustshade explained, “they deserve to know now. They should get a chance to mourn their mother.”
“I’ll tell them,” Oilstripe promised. She couldn’t predict how they would react, but her father was right. It was important for them to know where they came from.
Valleybrook returned soon after and walked with Rustshade out of camp. Oilstripe dismissed Weedfoot’s questions of concern and went off to a quiet corner of camp to think. Well, not really think; look. She scanned the camp and the trees beyond and the humming waves that brought the shipwreck to its home.
Sunstrike was nowhere to be seen.
(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)
(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
(Rustshade: 64, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Shadowpaw: 12, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)
Carnationspeckle finds an abandoned kit while on patrol with Weedfoot.
[Image ID: Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle face a silver kit with a white left ear and copper eyes. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RATTLEKIT, 3 MOONS, FEMALE, INSECURE, PLAYS WITH PREY. Weedfoot asks, “What happened to your fur, little one?”]
---
“I wish I could say I’m surprised that Graythroat attacked the fox, but I’m not,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “She’s always been more ready to fight than she should be.”
She and Weedfoot were at the gardens, carefully planting some heal all seeds Rabbitjoy traded with SlugClan. The ground kept freezing as night fell, but Fennelspot insisted the frost wouldn’t hurt the seeds. The frost still clung to the grass when Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot arrived. Carnationspeckle found the simple practice of spreading seeds to be a mindful activity, allowing her to connect with the world around her. Weedfoot kept shaking mud out of her paws, but at least she was willing to help.
“If she wanted to focus on fighting,” Weedfoot huffed, “she should have trained as a warrior. Her brothers learned to curb their battledrive, I don’t know why she hasn’t.”
“StarClan only knows,” Carnationspeckle said. She studied the edges of the garden and asked, “Do you suppose there is a way to protect the herbs from rabbits and those sorts of creatures?”
“We would need some sort of wall,” Weedfoot muttered, tilting her small basket of heal all seeds onto the ground. “I don’t know how we would keep other animals out but let ourselves in.” Carnationspeckle hummed softly and shoved dirt over the heal all seeds.
“Mom?” a high-pitched voice called. Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle’s ears shot up. The wild growth beyond the garden was quiet, but distant plants swayed as an unseen figure pushed past them.
“Hello?” Carnationspeckle called into the trees. A soft gasp reached her ears and the plants shifted while the figure hurried toward the garden. Weedfoot tensed up and took a cautious step toward the approaching form.
A silver face peeked out from the half-alive plants beyond the garden. Dark orange eyes shone in the light of the early morning. Carnationspeckle held back a gasp as she realized the silver coloration was not fur like it should have been, but skin. The kit lacked a single hair anywhere on her face. Wrinkles settled over her body like fluff. Her left ear was shiny and white like a fin sticking out of the water. Her face soured at the sight of Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot.
“You’re not my mom,” she huffed. She stepped back into the trees.
“Wait!” Carnationspeckle yelped. “Come back!” The kit emerged once more, studying Carnationspeckle just as the brown molly studied her.
“What happened to your fur, little one?” Weedfoot asked softly, getting down to the kit’s level.
“I never had any,” the kit said, hesitating. “Who are you? Have you seen my mom?”
“I’m Weedfoot,” the deputy explained. “This is my friend, Carnationspeckle. What does your mother look like, little one?”
“Like me,” the kit explained. “Have you seen her?”
“I’m sorry, we haven’t,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “What’s your name?”
“Rattlesnake,” the kit muttered. As she stepped further into the garden, Rattlesnake shivered violently. Carnationspeckle hurried up to her. Rattlesnake yelped, but Carnationspeckle brought her close and pressed her into her long pelt.
“You’re freezing,” Carnationspeckle gasped. “Stay here, please. I can keep you warm.” Rattlesnake shivered so hard, she almost knocked Carnationspeckle over. The skin of her needle-like tail was red and blistered.
“She’s no Clan kit,” Weedfoot sighed. She sat next to Carnationspeckle. “Rattlesnake, when did you last see your mother?”
“She woke me up and brought me to the forest,” Rattlesnake explained. She buried her bony face into Carnationspeckle’s fur.
“So you’ve been out here all night?” Weedfoot mumbled.
“Weedfoot, she has frostbite,” Carnationspeckle said, draping a paw over Rattlesnake. “I can’t warm her up here.”
“Rattlesnake, can we bring you to our home?” Weedfoot asked. “We have some warm leather and a fire you can sit by.”
“Mom said not to go with anyone unless they were a Clan cat,” Rattlesnake gulped, eyeing Weedfoot.
“Then you’re in luck,” Carnationspeckle purred. “We’re from RippleClan.” Rattlesnake purred and rubbed her cold nose against Carnationspeckle.
“I’m going to run ahead and make sure the Clan’s ready for her,” Weedfoot explained. “Will you escort her to camp?”
“I won’t leave her side,” Carnationspeckle promised. The pair touched noses and Weedfoot took off, grabbing the seed basket and leaving deep pawprints behind her. Carnationspeckle reached for Rattlesnake’s scruff, but paused. Without fur, would Carnationspeckle’s teeth pierce her gentle skin? She decided against it.
“Rattlesnake,” Carnationspeckle whispered, “have you ever had a horse ride?”
“What’s that?” Rattlesnake asked, peeking out from Carnationspeckle’s fur. Carnationspeckle crouched down so her belly touched the ground.
“Climb onto my back and hold on tight,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. Rattlesnake hesitated for a while, one paw gently reaching toward Carnationspeckle. Eventually she scaled Carnationspeckle’s back. Carnationspeckle gently stood and adjusted her stance for Rattlesnake’s weight.
“Here we go,” Carnationspeckle chirped. She waddled out of the garden as quick as she could as Rattlekit’s tiny claws poked into her skin.
It was a long walk back to camp, but at least the frost melted underneath Carnationspeckle and Rattlesnake didn’t shiver so intensely. When the shipwreck came into view, Fennelspot was waiting for her outside camp.
“Let me see the frostbite,” Fennelspot gulped as Carnationspeckle ran toward him. Fennelspot walked alongside Carnationspeckle and studied Rattlesnake. Downstar and James tended a fire in the center of camp while Rabbitjoy set out a few soft leather pelts beside it. Weedfoot waited anxiously by the fire.
“Set her down here,” she said when Carnationspeckle got close. Carnationspeckle laid on her belly so Rattlesnake could drop off. She purred as she curled up on the soft vole pelts. Fennelspot examined her tail and ran a paw over the blisters. The rest of RippleClan watched from the sidelines.
“It’s in its early stages,” Fennelspot explained. “I can treat this easily. Put a pelt over her. She needs warmth.”
“I didn’t know cats could be born without fur,” Downstar muttered as Fennelspot jogged to the medicine den. Rabbitjoy set a rabbit pelt over Rattlesnake, furry side up.
“I know a furless cat!” Parsley stepped out of the crowd. “When I lived in the barn, I heard stories of a furless molly the humans kept as a breeder.”
“What do you mean?” Carnationspeckle gasped.
“Humans sometimes keep a molly around so she can keep kitting litters,” Weedfoot explained with a sneer. “They don’t care how exhausting it is.”
“What an awful fate,” Carnationspeckle growled. “Why did her mother leave her out here? If she could leave, why wouldn’t she join her daughter?” Rattlesnake had fallen asleep by this point. Her whiskers twitched peacefully in her dreams. Fennelspot returned with a salve in a small jar and spread it over Rattlesnake’s tail.
“Maybe she couldn’t leave for long,” James suggested. “If humans like the cat living with them enough, they’ll look for them if they leave. You said her mother wanted her to go with Clan cats, didn’t you? Perhaps she thought her daughter would have a better life without her.” Carnationspeckle curled around Rattlesnake and groomed her wrinkly head.
“She will,” Carnationspeckle promised. She met Downstar’s eyes and said, “I’ll raise her. I can’t let her sleep in the nursery alone.”
“I’m not surprised,” Downstar purred.
“It’ll be hard to explain this to her,” Weedfoot sighed, sitting by Rattlesnake and Carnationspeckle. “She can’t be much older than three moons.”
“Do you think she’ll want a Clan name?” James hummed.
“If she does,” Carnationspeckle purred, “we could call her Rattlekit. That’s what you did with my name.” Downstar and Weedfoot nodded as Carnationspeckle rested her head by her new daughter. Yes, that was what she would be. The decision was as clear to Carnationspeckle as a cloudless sky. The small furless molly would not go through life without a mother.
(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)
(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Rattlekit: 3, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)
(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)
#warrior cats#clangen#rippleclan#warriors#rippleclan story#oilstripe#carnationspeckle#applepelt#downstar#weedfoot#halibutpaw#halibutdusk#graypaw#graythroat#rustshade#james#fennelspot#rattlekit
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