#oilpaw
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RippleClan: Moon 2
Oilpaw is apprenticed to Weedfoot to train as a historian.
[Image ID: Oilpaw and Weedfoot face each other. Underneath Oilpaw, it reads LEVEL UP! OILKIT -> OILPAW, AMBITIOUS -> CHARISMATIC]
Oilpaw. Oilpaw the First. Oilpaw the Greatest of Apprentices. The first apprentice in the history of RippleClan! She bit down a cheer as her small Clan congratulated her in the dim light of early dawn. The late summer heat had yet to devour the camp, making it the perfect time for Downstar to leap on a rock jutting from the shipwreck and announce Oilpaw’s training as a future historian. Hold on, she wasn’t just the first apprentice. She would be the first proper historian! Weedfoot didn’t count, she may have been an AshClan historian, but she joined RippleClan as the deputy. Oilpaw was the true first historian.
“Oilpaw,” Weedfoot purred, waving her tail in Oilpaw’s face. “Are you finished daydreaming?” Oilpaw shook herself back to reality. There was a lot to do and not many paws to get things done, so the Clan was already leaving to handle their duties. Rustshade, her father, had vanished. Hmph. Fine. If he didn’t want to stay for longer congratulations, he didn’t have to.
“Yes, ma’am!” Oilpaw chirped. “Do we get to tour the territory now?”
“That’s right,” Weedfoot chuckled. “I want to show off the portions of our land that used to belong to AshClan. I can explain why we took so much land from our old home but only a sliver of territory from our other neighbor, WheatClan.”
“Yes!” Oilpaw cheered, bouncing. “Lead the way, ma’am!” Oilpaw and Weedfoot couldn’t get out of camp fast enough.
(Oilpaw: 6, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Weedfoot: 51, female, charismatic, very clever, steady paws)
While on a tour of RippleClan territory, Oilpaw and Weedfoot find something very, very strange.
[Image ID: Oilpaw and Weedfoot face a giant, bipedal frog-man holding a torch. The text under Oilpaw reads + CONDITION: SHOCK]
“There were many more supporters of RippleClan in AshClan before that battle,” Weedfoot sighed as Oilpaw followed her through the steep trees. “Our Clan was brutal. Only two of us survived. Even then, Paleshade… her wounds proved too much for her. She lasted a quarter moon with me as AshClan’s prisoner. If your father, Fennelspot, and Downstar didn’t risk their pelts to get me out, I may have ended up the same.”
“Tell me the names of the other AshClan supporters,” Oilpaw begged. “I want to know everything.”
“Please remember, I’m not teaching you our history to entertain you,” Weedfoot sighed. She paused on top of a mossy, scratched rock. “We aren’t artisans. The stories we tell are true, and we need to respect them.”
“I’m respectful!” Oilpaw groaned. She rested her front paws on the rock. “I promise!”
“Alright,” Weedfoot said. She glanced up, studying the warm-tinted clouds as dawn grew brighter and brighter. Oilpaw settled below her mentor. Fir and spruce trees cast heavy shadows over the pair, as though sensing the weight of the moment.
“It’s important to remember the phrase as I say it,” Weedfoot said. “It will help you recall information correctly.” She took a deep breath, and said “Here are the fallen Ashes in the Water, the AshClan cats who stood against their Clanmates and asked for a different life; Lavenderleaf, Redcloud, Sprucespring, Wasppaw, Finstrike, Burdockstream... and Paleshade. StarClan knew of their mission and accepted their cause, welcoming the group into StarClan despite how they turned against their Clan.”
“How do we know they got into StarClan?” Oilpaw asked. Weedfoot chuckled and leaned closer.
“Because Fennelspot saw them,” she purred.
“Woah,” Oilpaw gasped.
Her eyes drifted past Weedfoot as a glimmer of orange light cut through the trees. Oilpaw thought it was the rising dawn, but the light danced before her. It wasn’t sunlight, but fire. For a brief moment, Oilpaw thought the forest was on fire. But the fire wasn’t on any of the trees. In fact, it moved between the trees like a bird. Weedfoot must have seen the sudden fear in her apprentice’s eyes, for she turned around just as the figure holding the fire aloft on a giant stick emerged.
It had its back to the sunrise and its face covered in shadow. If it was further away, it could have been mistaken for a short, fat human. But this was no human. The bulbous, smooth skin of a giant frog towered over Weedfoot and Oilpaw. It was as tall as three cats. Its torch shined into its huge white eyes as it held it overhead. The firelight shone onto the cats.
“Weedfoot, what is that?” Oilpaw hissed. She crouched behind the rosetted deputy with every hair on her pelt standing on end and her back arched as high as it could go.
Weedfoot took a defensive stance in front of Oilpaw and growled at the monstrous frog. The frog stared at the duo unblinkingly. Its smooth chin slowly grew and grew like a bubble on the surface of the sea. Its chin stretched and bulged farther than Oilpaw could have thought possible. Then, it croaked. The sound was as loud as thunder. Birds squawked and scattered overhead. Oilpaw yowled, her paws stuck.
Then, as carefully as it appeared, the giant frog slowly marched back into the tree line. Its slimy webbed feet were gentle and made no sound. For a while, all Oilpaw and Weedfoot could see of the massive beast was its torch glistening in the trees. Eventually, even that vanished.
“...I think I want to go home now,” Oilpaw gulped.
“Me too,” Weedfoot whispered.
(Oilpaw: 6, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Weedfoot: 51, female, charismatic, very clever, steady paws)
(I know it’s weird to interrupt cool lore with weird frog man, blame the generator and the Halloween event - Em)
#rippleclan#rippleclan clangen#clangen#warrior cats#warrior cats clangen#warriors#weedfoot#oilpaw#rippleclan story
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Some warrior cats for a new rp :3
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remember that one time when oilpaw/stripe (@rippleclan) said "holy balls"
anyway she owns my heart
#warrior cats#erin hunter warriors#clangen#rippleclan#my apologies for the weird colors this is just a silly little picture so i didn't really. remember to think about thos#for more than one second#but anyway i love rippleclan so much.
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Warrior Cats: Flourishing Colors
Part 3 of 3
DuskClan
Leader: Shadestar
Male
Mate: Midnightmane
Parents: Hollowmist and Owlsoul (deceased)
Deputy: Midnightmane
Female
Mate: Shadestar
Parents: Sleepybranch and Tornflurry (deceased)
Medicine Cat: Crownight
Male
Mate: Ravenbelly
Parents: Sleepybranch and Tornflurry (deceased)
Warriors:
Coalnettle
Male
Mate: Silkyflint
Parents: Grimsea and Sagesky (deceased)
Silkyflint
Female
Mate: Coalnettle
Eelbriar
Male
No Mate
Parents: Grimsea and Sagesky (deceased)
Hoofdust
Female
Mate: Shadowfang
Parents: Hollowmist and Owlsoul (deceased)
Burntmouse
Male
Mate: Darkdove
Shadowfang
Male
Mate: Hoofdust
Parents: Grimsea and Sagesky (deceased)
Darkdove
Female
Mate: Burntmouse
Parents: Grimsea and Sagesky (deceased)
Ravenbelly
Female
Mate: Crownight
Parents: Hollowmist and Owlsoul (deceased)
Apprentices:
Spiderpaw
Female
Mentor: Shadowfang
Parents: Shadowfang and Hoofdust
Becomes Spidercrystal
Beetlepaw
Male
Mentor: Eelbriar
Parents: Shadowfang and Hoofdust
Becomes Beetlestripes
Sootpaw (medicine cat)
Male
Mentor: Crownight
Parents: Burntmouse and Darkdove
Becomes Sootwhisper
Batpaw
Male
Mentor: Darkdove
Parents: Burntmouse and Darkdove
Becomes Batclaw
Kits:
Soilkit
Female
Parents: Eelbriar and unknown
Becomes Soilpaw, then Soilfoot
Onyxkit
Male
Parents: Coalnettle and Silkyflint
Becomes Onyxpaw, then Onyxstream
Inkkit
Female
Parents: Coalnettle and Silkyflint
Becomes inkpaw, then Inkstripe
Oilkit
Male
Parents: Coalnettle and Silkyflint
Becomes Oilpaw, does not make it to being a warrior
Twilightkit
Female
Parents: Shadestar and Midnightmane
Becomes Twilightpaw, then Twilightstone
Ratkit
Male
Parents: Burntmouse and Darkdove
Becomes Ratpaw, then Ratleg
Flykit
Male
Parents: Shadowfang and Hoofdust
Does not make it to apprenticeship
Elders:
Grimsea
Male
Mate: Sagesky (deceased)
Sleepybranch
Male
Mate: Tornflurry (deceased)
Hollowmist
Female
Mate: Owlsoul (deceased)
SnowClan
Leader: Cloudstar
Female
Mate: Flurryoak
Parents: Palerain and Maplepond (deceased)
Deputy: Flurryoak
Male
Mate: Cloudstar
Parents: Smartwind and Quietsweet (deceased)
Medicine Cat: Opalpelt
Female
Mate: Quartzstreak
Parents: Oldair and Slowshine
Warriors:
Creamflower
Female
Mate: Silkyferret
Palerain and Maplepond (deceased)
Quartzstreak
Male
Mate: Opalpelt
Pearltalon
Female
Mate: Ivorydrift
Parents: Oldair and Slowshine
Blizzardstripe
Male
No Mate
Parents: Palerain and Maplepond (deceased)
Dovesight
Female
Mate: Featherflower
Parents: Smartwind and Quietsweet (deceased)
Silkyferret
Male
Mate: Creamflower
Ivorydrift
Male
Mate: Pearltalon
Parents: Smartwind and Quietsweet (deceased)
Featherflower
Female
Mate: Dovesight
Apprentices:
Sleetpaw
Male
Mentor: Cloudstar
Parents: Cloudstar and Flurryoak
Becomes Sleetfang
Hailpaw
Male
Mentor: Flurryoak
Parents: Cloudstar and Flurryoak
Becomes Hailtooth
Cottonpaw (medicine cat)
Female
Mentor: Opalpelt
Parents: Creamflower and Silkyferret
Becomes Cottonclaw
Kits:
Shellkit
Female
Parents: Pearltalon and Ivorydrift
Becomes Shellpaw, then Shellnose
Milkkit
Male
Parents: Creamflower and Silkyferret
Becomes Milkpaw, then Milkeyes
Sparklekit
Female
Parents: Opalpelt and Quartzstreak
Becomes Sparklepaw, then Sparkleblaze
Shimmerkit
Female
Parents: Opalpelt and Quartzstreak
Becomes Shimmerpaw, then Shimmerflare
Saltkit
Male
Parents: Creamflower and Silkyferret
Becomes Saltpaw, then Saltsting
Sugarkit
Female
Parents: Creamflower and Silkyferret
Becomes Sugarpaw, then Sugarsnow
Vanillakit
Female
Parents: Creamflower and Silkyferret
Becomes Vanillapaw, does not make it to being a warrior
Iciclekit
Male
Parents: Blizzardstripe and unknown
Does not make it to apprenticeship
Elders:
Smartwind
Male
Mate: Quietsweet (deceased)
Oldair
Male
Mate: Slowshine
Slowshine
Female
Mate: Oldair
Palerain
Female
Mate: Maplepond (deceased)
StoneClan
Leader: Boulderstar
Male
Mate: Silverroot
Parents: Gravelswift and Mooseberry (deceased)
Deputy: Dustyquartz
Male
Mate: Greydaisy
Parents: Smokeyshade and Shadetree
Medicine Cat: Silverroot
Female
Mate: Boulderstar
Parents: Codbranch and Mossspirit (deceased)
Warriors:
Wolfcloud
Male
Mate: Slatefur
Ashmouse
Male
Mate: Haysmoke
Greydaisy
Female
Mate: Dustyquartz
Parents: Codbranch and Mossspirit (deceased)
Haysmoke
Female
Mate: Ashmouse
Parents: Smokeyshade and Shadetree
Granitesoar
Male
Mate: Marblehare
Parents: Gravelswift and Mooseberry (deceased)
Goosebrook
Female
Mate: Minkwater
Parents: Codbranch and Mossspirit (deceased)
Slatefur
Male
Mate: Wolfcloud
Parents: Gravelswift and Mooseberry (deceased)
Marblehare
Female
Mate: Granitesoar
Minkwater
Female
Mate: Goosebrook
Apprentices:
Riverpaw
Female
Mentor: Goosebrook
Parents: unknown, adopted by Goosebrook and Minkwater
Becomes a rogue named Melody
Thunderpaw
Male
Mentor: Wolfcloud
Parents: Wolfcloud and unknown
Becomes Thunderleap
Steelpaw
Male
Mentor: Slatefur
Parents: Boulderstar and Silverroot
Becomes Steelfoot
Pebblepaw
Female
Mentor: Boulderstar
Parents: Boulderstar and Silverroot
Does not make it to being a warrior
Ironpaw (medicine cat)
Male
Mentor: Silverroot
Parents: Boulderstar and Silverroot
Becomes Ironfang
Troutpaw
Male
Mentor: Minkwater
Parents: unknown, adopted by Goosebrook and Minkwater
Becomes Troutsplash
Sealpaw
Female
Mentor: Ashmouse
Parents: unknown, adopted by Goosebrook and Minkwater
Becomes Sealpelt
Kits:
Gustkit
Male
Parents: Ashmouse and Haysmoke
Becomes Gustpaw, then Gustmane
Dustkit
Male
Parents: Ashmouse and Haysmoke
Becomes Dustpaw, then Dusttail
Rockkit
Male
Parents: Boulderstar and Silverroot
Becomes Rockpaw, then Rockbelly
Stormkit
Female
Parents: Wolfcloud and unknown
Becomes Stormpaw, then Stormthroat
Squirrelkit
Female
Parents: Granitesoar and Marblehare
Becomes Squirrelpaw, then Squirrelhop
Willowkit
Female
Parents: Dustyquartz and Greydaisy
Becomes Willowpaw, then Willowwhisper
Elders:
Smokeyshade
Female
Mate: Shadetree
Shadetree
Male
Mate: Smokeyshade
Gravelswift
Female
Mate: Mooseberry (deceased)
Codbranch
Male
Mate: Mossspirit (deceased)
MudClan
Leader: Woodstar
Male
Mate: Maplesilver
Deputy: Dirtstreak
Male
No Mate
Parents: Dirtyshadow and Hollowlight
Medicine Cat: Chestnuttuft
Female
Mate: Sprucesquirrel
Parents: Peanutstorm and Ashnose (deceased)
Warriors:
Almondember
Female
Mate: Oakbear
Parents: Peanutstorm and Ashnose (deceased)
Oakbear
Male
Mate: Almondember
Maplesilver
Female
Mate: Woodstar
Parents: Dirtyshadow and Hollowlight
Sprucesquirrel
Male
Mate: Chestnuttuft
Petalbark
Female
Mate: Runningbranch
Twigsting
Male
Mate: Smallstick
Smallstick
Male
Mate: Twigsting
Runningbranch
Male
Mate: Petalbark
Apprentices:
Sandypaw
Female
Mentor: Almondember
Parents: Dirtstreak and unknown
Does not make it to being a warrior
Cocoapaw (medicine cat)
Female
Mentor: Chestnuttuft
Parents: Woodstar and Maplesilver
Becomes Cocoafur
Bearpaw
Male
Mentor: Oakbear
Becomes Beartooth
Parents: Almondember and Oakbear
Nutpaw
Male
Mentor: Sprucesquirrel
Parents: Chestnuttuft and Sprucesquirrel
Becomes Nutfall
Muddypaw
Male
Mentor: Dirtstreak
Parents: Dirtstreak and unknown
Becomes Muddywater
Kits:
Cedarkit
Male
Parents: Petalbark and Runningbranch
Becomes Cedarpaw, then Cedarclaw
Cinnamonkit
Male
Parents: Woodstar and Maplesilver
Becomes Cinnamonpaw, does not make it to being a warrior
Walnutkit
Male
Parents: Chestnuttuft and Sprucesquirrel
Becomes Walnutpaw, then Walnutspirit
Pecankit
Female
Parents: Chestnuttuft and Sprucesquirrel
Becomes Pecanpaw, then Pecanheart
Hickorykit
Female
Parents: Petalbark and Runningbranch
Becomes Hickorypaw, then Hickorydusk
Tawnykit
Female
Parents: unknown, adopted by Twigsting and Smallstick
Becomes Tawnypaw, then Tawnythorn
Elders:
Peanutstorm
Male
Mate: Ashnose (deceased)
Dirtyshadow
Male
Mate: Hollowlight
Hollowlight
Female
Mate: Dirtyshadow
BlossomClan
Leader: Lotusstar
Female
Mate: Roseyviper
Deputy: Roseyviper
Male
Mate: Lotusstar
Medicine Cat: Strawberrywind
Female
Mate: Coppermelon
Warriors:
Pigflank
Male
No Mate
Eveningrose
Male
Mate: Carnationcreek
Carnationcreek
Female
Mate: Eveningrose
Coppermelon
Male
Mate: Strawberrywind
Apprentices:
Magentapaw
Female
Mentor: Eveningrose
Parents: Eveningrose and Carnationcreek
Becomes Magentadawn
Fuschiapaw
Female
Mentor: Carnationcreek
Parents: Eveningrose and Carnationcreek
Becomes Fuschiadusk
Sweetpaw (medicine cat)
Male
Mentor: Strawberrywind
Parents: Strawberrywind and Coppermelon
Does not make it to being a medicine cat
Raspberrypaw
Male
Mentor: Coppermelon
Parents: Strawberrywind and Coppermelon
Ends up becoming the new medicine cat apprentice afer death of Sweetpaw, becomes Raspberrysnout
Tulippaw
Female
Mentor: Roseyviper
Parents: Lotusstar and Roseyviper
Becomes Tulipmist
Buddingpaw
Male
Mentor: Lotusstar
Parents: Lotusstar and Roseyviper
Becomes Buddingrose
Kits:
Tunakit
Female
Parents: unknown, adopted by Pigflank
Becomes Tunapaw, then Tunasmoke
Shrimpkit
Male
Parents: unknown, adopted by Pigflank
Becomes Shrimppaw, then Shrimpbreeze
Passionkit
Male
Parents: Eveningrose and Carnationcreek
Becomes Passionpaw, then a rogue named Rage
Peachkit
Female
Parents: Strawberrywind and Coppermelon
Becomes Peachpaw, then Peachdream
Hopekit
Female
Parents: Lotusstar and Roseyviper
Becomes Hopepaw, then Hopeshine
Cheerykit
Male
Parents: Lotusstar and Roseyviper
Becomes Cheerypaw, then Cheeryface
Heartkit
Female
Parents: Lotusstar and Roseyviper
Becomes Heartpaw, then Heartbloom
Budkit
Male
Parents: Eveningrose and Carnationcreek
Becomes Budpaw, then Budshimmer
Elders:
Springthistle
Female
No Mate
BreezeClan
Leader: Clearstar
Male
Mate: Sparklingwater
Deputy: Windyyew
Female
Mate: Breezybranch
Medicine Cat: Shimmerzap
Female
Mate: Oddcrystal
Parents: Speckleeye and Frogpelt (deceased)
Warriors:
Streamsplash
Male
No Mate
Parents: Nightgaze and Aspenstreak (deceased)
Sparklingwater
Female
Mate: Clearstar
Silkypelt
Female
Mate: Owlshine
Parents: Speckleeye and Frogpelt (deceased)
Owlshine
Male
Mate: Silkypelt
Parents: Nightgaze and Aspenstreak (deceased)
Oddcrystal
Male
Mate: Shimmerzap
Breezybranch
Male
Mate: Windyyew
Apprentices:
Diamondpaw
Male
Mentor: Oddcrystal
Parents: Shimmerzap and Oddcrystal
Becomes Diamondfang
Glimmerpaw (medicine cat)
Female
Mentor: Shimmerzap
Parents: Shimmerzap and Oddcrystal
Becomes Glimmerfaith
Windpaw
Male
Mentor: Windyyew
Parents: Windyyew and Breezybranch
Becomes a rogue named Lightning
Kits:
Waterkit
Male
Parents: Clearstar and Sparklingwater
Becomes Waterpaw, then Waterripple
Rainkit
Female
Parents: Clearstar and Sparklingwater
Becomes Rainpaw, then Rainfield
Shinekit
Female
Parents: Silkypelt and Owlshine
Does not make it to apprenticeship
Gustkit
Male
Parents: Windyyew and Breezybranch
Becomes Gustpaw, then Gustleaf
Skykit
Male
Parents: Windyyew and Breezybranch
Becomes Skypaw, then Skyrise
Elders:
Speckleeye
Female
Mate: Frogpelt (deceased)
Nightgaze
Male
Mate: Aspenstreak (deceased)
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RippleClan: Moon 7
Rustshade and Oilpaw struggle to cooperate.
[Image ID: Rustshade and Oilpaw face each other. The text box above Oilpaw says “Maybe I’d trust you if I knew what you were doing half the time!”]
“Are we on a walk or are we on a hunt?” Rustshade called back to his patrol. “Come on. Weedfoot and Downstar need food.”
“I’m freezing,” Oilpaw groaned. She walked beside Scrubmask through the snowy forest. They were near the Great Northern River that flowed along the northern edges of SlugClan, AshClan, and RippleClan. Oilpaw could see it through the conifers; a beautiful path of white foam over water that matched the color of the sky.
“Stay close,” Scrubmask said. “We’ll stay warmer that way.” Oilpaw rubbed against Scrubmask. Her long fur was like sitting by a fire compared to the chill stabbing through Oilpaw’s feet.
“Scrubmask, I want you to go through the trees,” Rustshade said, pointing his tail up. “Let’s search for gray squirrels.”
“Dad, why don’t we try the river?” Oilpaw asked. “There are bound to be some fish there.”
“I don’t want to risk frostbite,” Rustshade said with nary a glance toward the rushing water. “We have other tasks to handle today. We don’t have time to sit by a fire after the hunt. I’ll head further west. Scrubmask?”
“Into the trees,” Scrubmask sighed. She launched at the nearest pine and scurried into the branches. Her absence sent a cold wind across Oilpaw’s pelt.
“Oilpaw, look around this area,” Rustshade ordered. “Fennelspot said he saw some jumping mice near here.” With that, Rustshade pushed on and left his daughter in the cold.
“Oh, what do you know,” Oilpaw grumbled, kicking a pebble. “WheatClan cats don’t fish.” Oilpaw couldn’t smell any mice nearby. Why shouldn’t she look at the river?
Oilpaw stalked through the trees toward the graceful majesty of the Great Northern River. The river flowed smooth the further west Oilpaw looked, but as the water ran to the ocean, rocks tossed the water about and jutted out of the river. The river’s flow cut smooth lines through the stone that guided its path ocean-ward. A junco bounced around the edge of the river, leaving tiny marks in the snow underneath. Rustshade never said anything about hunting beside the river, now did he?
Soon after, Oilpaw had the dead junco at her paws and licked warm blood off her fangs. It was a solid catch, capable of feeding at least two of her little siblings, but it wouldn’t be a lot. That was when Oilpaw heard a loud splash to her right. A big fish flapped on one of the big, flat rocks that dotted the edge of the river. It was a brook trout as long as Oilpaw’s leg. Oilpaw would have been a poor hunter if she gave up a star-given opportunity like that.
Oilpaw pounced on the trout before it could flop back into the water. She dispatched it with a swift, albeit messy, bite to the back of the neck. She couldn’t help but purr as she placed the trout beside her junco. Now this was a good catch, and she barely had to wait a moment between the two! Now how to carry them back to camp…
“Oilpaw!” Oh great. Dad. Rustshade trotted out of the trees, eyes locked on the trout.
“I leave you alone for a moment, and you immediately go against my orders?” Rustshade snapped.
“I didn’t go fishing,” Oilpaw insisted. “The trout jumped out of the water. I swear! See, I’m not even wet!” Oilpaw held out her paws, but Rustshade pushed them down.
“I asked you not to bother with the river, and you still went here,” Rustshade growled. “Are you this rude with Weedfoot?”
“Weedfoot doesn’t give dumb orders,” Oilpaw hissed. She stood over her prey like Rustshade would steal it. “If we’re hunting, why shouldn’t we try the river?”
“When I’m leading a patrol,” Rustshade huffed, “you need to trust me.”
“Maybe I’d trust you if I knew what you were doing half the time!” Oilpaw yowled. Rustshade’s fur rose. Oilpaw nudged the trout onto her back, with the fish’s slick body carefully balanced along her spine.
“What are you doing?” Rustshade asked.
“Bringing my prey back to camp,” Oilpaw growled. “Your kits need to eat, don’t they?” She grabbed the junco before she could regret her words.
“Oilpaw, please wait,” Rustshade groaned. He reached for Oilpaw, but she slipped away, marching away from the river as her heart burned.
(Rustshade: 64, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Oilpaw: 11, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Scrubmask: 24, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
Burdockkit convinces Scrubmask to play with him while Clamkit talks to bugs.
[Image ID: On the right, Clamkit faces a tiny ant and says “Hi, little ant! I’m Clamkit!”. Below her, it reads + NEW TRAIT: INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY. On the left, Burdockkit chases Scrubmask, yowling “Can’t you run any faster?” Scrubmask says “Trust me. You don’t want that.” Under Burdockkit, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: SCRUBMASK, + NEW TRAIT: INTERESTED IN CLAN HISTORY)
(Burdockkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, interested in Clan history)
(Scrubmask: 24, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
(Clamkit: 1, female, kit, lonesome, interested in Clan history)
Although Carnationpaw recovered from her cold in time for the Gathering, Twinekit now has greencough.
[Image ID: Twinekit sits in a nest, with text underneath her reading + NEW TRAIT: QUICK TO HELP. Locustkit sits on the right, saying “Twinekit? Twiiiiiinnnneeekit! Come play with me!” Underneath him, it says + NEW TRAIT: MOSS-BALL HUNTER]
---
“Twinekit? Twiiiiiinnnneeekit! Come play with me!” Locustkit hovered outside of the medicine den. His little nose twitched as he leaned into the den. The full moon shone onto the den, as though StarClan wanted Locustkit to explore the mysteries inside.
“Nope,” Oilpaw chuckled. She snatched Locustkit by the scruff and dropped him a few tail-lengths back. “The medicine den is full of sick cats right now. We don’t need you getting sick too.”
“But everyone’s leaving, and I’m bored!” Locustkit groaned. “Twinekit said she’d play moss-ball with me tonight!”
“She’ll play with you once she gets better, alright?” Oilpaw sighed. Locustkit groaned dramatically and flopped onto the sand. Oilpaw couldn’t stop herself from laughing. When she forgot where they came from, her little siblings weren’t half bad.
“Remember, don’t strain yourself,” Fennelspot said from the Shiprock. He sat next to Downstar, whose belly had grown plump in the last moon. Oilpaw could almost feel the life radiating from her leader. Fennelspot groomed Downstar, but Downstar gently pushed him back.
“I know what to do,” Downstar said, laughing. “I can’t wait to show off in front of Autumnstar tonight. Two litters in RippleClan! He’ll be furious.”
“Please don’t fight Autumnstar,” Fennelspot groaned.
“I make no promises,” Downstar purred, gently bumping into her cleric. The rest of RippleClan gathered in the center of camp, grooming themselves before Downstar led them to the Leader’s Stone and the full moon Gathering. Rustshade was not in their small numbers, to Oilpaw’s surprise.
“Locustkit!” Burdockkit yowled from the nursery. “Help me out!” Burdockkit had Clamkit pinned in the snow. The golden molly squirmed under her brother’s hold. She spun around and nipped Burdockkit’s cheek. Locustkit ran at his littermates and pounced on the duo.
“Be good tonight, alright Oilpaw?” Weedfoot lingered just inside the medicine den. Her voice was congested and yellow phlegm dribbled down her nose. At least she wasn’t coughing her lungs out now.
“When am I not?” Oilpaw chuckled, fluffing her pelt. “I’m going to tell all the new apprentices about the Giant Frog of RippleClan.”
“Good for you,” Weedfoot hummed. “Fennelspot said I’ll be better soon, and I can join you on patrol again.”
“I’m looking forward to it!” Oilpaw said. Violent coughing bounced through the medicine den. Rustshade stepped out of the holy den.
“Fennelspot, did you say to wait before I give her catmint, or give it when she needs it?” Rustshade asked.
“Wait until we leave, at least,” Fennelspot sighed. He trotted up to Rustshade and touched noses with him. “Good luck tonight.”
“You’re staying behind?” Oilpaw asked her father.
“Fennelspot wants to make sure Downstar doesn’t strain herself,” Rustshade explained. “I’ll stay behind and look after the kits.”
“Oh,” Oilpaw muttered. “Well, like he said, good luck. Let’s go!”
“Hold on,” Rustshade called as Oilpaw turned around. Oilpaw groaned and faced her father. “I want to talk to you before you leave. Over here.” Rustshade nodded to the apprentice’s den. He trudged across camp while Oilpaw looked to her Clanmates for help.
“You’re on your own,” Weedfoot said, going back into the medicine den. Oilpaw groaned again and dragged her paws after her father. Rustshade lurked inside the apprentice’s den and sat next to Oilpaw’s nest.
“Are you still mad about that fish?” Oilpaw huffed. “It’s been days, Dad, let it go.”
“This is more important than a fish,” Rustshade grunted. His tone was tense and he sat tall and stiff. Oilpaw hopped into her nest as her fur prickled. Rustshade sighed deeply, his surprisingly gentle eyes meeting Oilpaw’s. “Tonight, when you get to the Leader’s Stone, I need you to speak with Sunstrike. Tell her Twinekit has greencough, and… it’s bad. Very bad.” For a moment, Oilpaw couldn’t breathe. Did her father actually admit something for the first time in his life?
“I knew it!” Oilpaw hissed. “I knew they were Mom’s kits! Did you steal them?”
“Oilpaw, you know I wouldn’t do that,” Rustshade snapped. He fought to keep his fur flat. He took another deep breath, closing his eyes.
“She told you she wouldn’t be your mate anymore,” Oilpaw growled. “She gave me up. And you had kits with her? Did you want to traumatize another generation? No, that’s not the question I want to ask. How in StarClan do you have them? Why aren’t they in WheatClan?” Rustshade scooted closer.
“When your mother couldn’t hide her pregnancy,” Rustshade whispered, “she left WheatClan and gave birth in the wild. As soon as the kits could start eating gruel, she brought them to me and went home. WheatClan thinks she was taken by humans. They don’t know the kits are hers.”
“You couldn’t stop yourself, could you?” Oilpaw hissed, stepping out of her nest. “How am I the responsible cat in this family? You two can’t control yourselves!”
[Image ID: Oilpaw and Rustshade face each other. Under Oilpaw, it says + DISLIKE: RUSTSHADE. Under Rustshade, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: OILPAW. The description box below them acts as a giant text box, with Rustshade saying “Oilpaw, Your mother and I... our relationship is complicated. We love each other as much as we hate each other. But we both care for you and your siblings, and we’re trying our best to give you good lives.”]
“Oilpaw…” Rustshade groaned. He slowly set his chin on Oilpaw’s head. Oilpaw shivered, but she didn’t pull away. “Your mother and I... our relationship is complicated. We love each other as much as we hate each other. But we both care for you and your siblings, and we’re trying our best to give you good lives.”
“So she put them in danger by giving them up?” Oilpaw muttered.
“She thought they would live better lives outside WheatClan,” Rustshade explained, “just like she thought you would be better with me in RippleClan.” Rustshade looked Oilpaw in the eyes and said, “We love you, Oilpaw. Please understand that.” Oilpaw couldn’t look away. She thought she was going to cry and throw up at the same time.
“I can’t talk to her,” Oilpaw gulped, stepping back and shaking her head. “I can’t do it.” Rustshade nodded softly.
“Alright,” Rustshade sighed. “I won’t force you to do this. Who knows, it may not matter. Twinekit might get better.” He moved closer, but stopped himself. “Enjoy the Gathering.” With that, Rustshade left Oilpaw to her confusing, conflicting thoughts.
(Locustkit: 1, male, kit, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)
(Oilpaw: 11, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Fennelspot: 64, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Downstar: 66, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Burdockkit: 1, male, kit, bossy, interested in Clan history)
(Clamkit: 1, female, kit, lonesome, interested in Clan history)
(Weedfoot: 56, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Rustshade: 64, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
#rippleclan#rippleclan clangen#clangen#warrior cats clangen#warrior cats#warriors#rippleclan story#oilpaw#rustshade#scrubmask#locustkit#burdockkit#clamkit#twinekit#fennelspot#downstar#weedfoot
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RippleClan: Moon 8
Although Weedfoot recovers from yellowcough, Twinekit dies of greencough.
[Image ID: Moonpaw faces Twinekit, who is now a StarClan cat. Moonpaw says “Hi, Twinekit. You’re okay now.”]
By the time the new moon arrived, Weedfoot and Oilpaw had to decide on RippleClan’s funeral traditions.
They would need a vigil for Twinekit, as all Clans did to mourn. It was Oilpaw who suggested dressing Twinekit in her namesake rather than just the death-shrouding herbs Fennelspot needed to make the small kit presentable. Carnationpaw crafted a simple necklace of cedar bark twine and placed it around Twinekit’s limp neck. Oilpaw tucked a few dry catmint leaves into the necklace too, as eternal protection against the disease that took her little sister.
Rustshade had been silent since Fennelspot stepped out of the medicine den and made his solemn announcement. He wordlessly agreed to all of the Clan’s ideas for how to properly honor a life that never truly began. When Fennelspot placed Twinekit in the center of camp, Rustshade laid beside her and did not move.
Scrubmask had to explain the situation to Burdockkit, Clamkit, and Locustkit. Burdockkit seemed not to grasp what Scrubmask meant. It took many painful questions before Burdockkit understood that no, Twinekit was not asleep, and no, she would not wake up. Clamkit went back to the nursery as soon as she could, and none of Downstar’s gentle coaxing could lure her out. Locustkit was the only one who cried, clutching a moss-ball as he laid at Rustshade’s side, head pressed into Twinekit’s fur.
Twinekit passed in the middle of the day, which meant RippleClan still had to go about their daily tasks. Oilpaw lingered as long as she could before Weedfoot, finally free of her wicked cough, took her and Carnationpaw on border patrol. Puddlespeckle joined Scrubmask on a hunt and brought back a humble mouse. Carnationpaw cooked it in the smoker and coaxed the kits to eat. She finally soothed Locustkit’s cries and sent him and his siblings to nap.
Rustshade, meanwhile, did nothing. No one could drag him away from his daughter, and no one wanted to. He stayed at her side, silent, until the last moments of dusk turned him into another red beam covering the camp. It was at that late hour, when the whole Clan rejoined Rustshade in his vigil, that Fennelspot asked an important question.
“Where do we bury our dead?”
It was a question no one had thought to ask themselves when they arrived at the shipwreck. They’d managed over half a year without any deaths, after all. RippleClan’s faces were empty of ideas. Oilpaw pretended to study the thick ceiling of clouds to hide her own lack of imagination.
“We’re the only Clan to live near the sea,” Scrubmask finally noted. “We could send the body out on the waves.” RippleClan’s empty faces filled with horror as all the adults stared at Scrubmask. Rustshade sneered at the pale ginger molly.
“We won’t disrespect her like that,” he growled. His voice was rough, as though he ate sand.
“LynxClan leaves their dead in the mountains all the time,” Scrubmask said, ignoring the outrage rippling through camp. “Twinekit’s spirit is gone. This is just her shell. We can’t disrespect her if she’s not here.”
“I think we need a different tradition,” Downstar sighed. She sat next to Rustshade and groomed his head until his face dropped and he relaxed back into Twinekit’s body.
“I have it,” Weedfoot gasped. She jogged across camp, almost knocking into Puddlespeckle. She jumped on the stones bordering the camp and flew over the brambles.
“Weedfoot, what are you doing?” Oilpaw called. A few minutes later, Weedfoot trotted through the entrance with a stone in her mouth. She dropped it at her paws.
“Our territory is full of stones and planks,” Weedfoot explained. “When someone joins StarClan, we can mark their resting place with this.” She patted the stone. “None of the other Clans do this. It would be a pure RippleClan tradition.” Rustshade stood. His joints groaned as he did so. He slowly approached Weedfoot and her stone. The rock was wet and glistened with salt.
“Can we have a few more?” Rustshade asked.
“Of course,” Weedfoot said. “I’ll be back.” She touched noses with Rustshade and hurried back out of camp.
“I suppose I’ll need to find a spot to bury her,” Puddlespeckle groaned, stretching.
“What?” Downstar scoffed. “No. I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with our elders burying the dead. I don’t think it’s good for your health.”
“It’s perfect for my health,” Puddlespeckle grumbled, turning on the pregnant leader. “You wanna know why AshClan elders bury their dead? Because we’re the furthest on our path to StarClan. When you’re the one putting a body to rest, it makes death a little less scary. We know what’s coming. So if we’re brainstorming traditions, that’s what I want RippleClan to do. Am I part of this Clan or not?” Downstar sighed. Her paw drifted over her swollen belly. Eventually, she nodded.
“Puddlespeckle,” Downstar declared, “it is your responsibility to put Twinekit to rest and choose a place for RippleClan to bury their dead.” She waddled to Puddlespeckle and touched her nose to his forehead. “Thank you.” For the first time Oilpaw could remember, Puddlespeckle’s eyes were soft as he bowed before Downstar.
Soon after, Oilpaw joined Rustshade, Fennelspot, and Puddlespeckle on a long walk through RippleClan territory. Puddlespeckle carried Twinekit by the scruff while Fennelspot carried a basket of stones. Oilpaw kept slipping on slick snow clinging to steep slopes, but the others were sturdy on their path. Puddlespeckle took the lead, as though he had buried the dead dozens of times.
“Here,” Puddlespeckle finally said through Twinekit’s scruff. He stopped at the top of a slope overlooking a more open field. The trees were fewer and farther apart below the slope. Oilpaw could imagine plenty of herbs and tall grasses growing there come the new year. If Oilpaw focused, she could see human dens far in the distance, toward WheatClan’s land.
The old tom led the group down the slope and into the field. He stopped at a spot where the snow was thin, merely speckling the dead grass. He set Twinekit’s body down and began to dig.
“Why here?” Oilpaw asked as Rustshade joined Puddlespeckle.
“It’s a corner of the territory you’re almost certain not to lose in any conflicts with other Clans,” Puddlespeckle huffed as dirt piled behind him. “This way, she’ll never be defiled.”
Puddlespeckle and Rustshade finished digging soon after. Fennelspot set his basket down and muttered a gentle prayer. Oilpaw picked up a few words and mumbled along. Puddlespeckle grabbed Twinekit’s scruff and set her in the hole. Rustshade stepped back as Puddlespeckle filled the hole back in. Oilpaw kept her eyes on the basket until Puddlespeckle was finished.
“Grab a stone, everyone,” Fennelspot sighed. He plucked a sea-worn stone from the basket and set it on the mound. Puddlespeckle and Oilpaw placed their stones beside Fennelspot’s. Rustshade crowned the pile with his stone, carefully placed on top.
“Hold on,” Oilpaw muttered, glancing back into the basket. “What’s this?” Oilpaw pulled a worn moss-ball out of the basket.
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Fennelspot sighed. “Before we left, Locustkit gave me his moss-ball. He wants Twinekit to have it. He said it would give her something to do in StarClan.” Rustshade groaned in a voice so soft that Oilpaw mistook it for wind at first. She put the moss-ball next to the rock pile.
“Let’s put this in a place of honor,” Puddlespeckle sighed. He moved the moss-ball on top of the rocks. “There we go. Rustshade, what do you think?” Rustshade nodded silently. He sat at the edge of the mound and rested his chin on the disturbed dirt.
“I’m gonna stay here with him,” Oilpaw whispered to Fennelspot. “Is that okay?”
“I think Weedfoot will understand,” Fennelspot sighed. He picked up his basket and made his way back up the slope. Puddlespeckle stopped by Rustshade and rested his tail on the ginger tom’s back. Rustshade purred softly and brushed his own tail against Puddlespeckle’s foot. With that, the rosetted elder followed Fennelspot home.
Oilpaw settled next to her father. She didn’t feel cold next to him, but her guilt dragged her down. How much anger brewed under Rustshade’s fur? Did he hate Oilpaw for not talking to Sunstrike? Sure, Rustshade could be a lying, stuck up hypocrite, but he was still Oilpaw’s dad. He still raised her when Sunstrike couldn’t.
“I can’t tell her,” Rustshade groaned softly. He turned his face away from Oilpaw and the rock pile. “I can’t face your mother now.” Oilpaw pressed her head into Rustshade’s side before she even thought to do so.
[Image ID: Oilpaw and Rustshade face a small stack of stones with a moss-ball on top. A transparent version of Twinekit stands behind the stones. Oilpaw says “I’ll tell her, Dad. You were right. She deserves to know.”]
“I’ll tell her, Dad,” Oilpaw gulped. “You were right. She deserves to know.” Rustshade curled himself around Oilpaw, like when she was a little kitten and settled by his belly for a nap. Oilpaw purred and rubbed against Rustshade as the codekeeper closed his eyes.
“Is this for me?” a small voice asked. Oilpaw’s heart spasmed. Her eyes locked onto the grave marker. Twinekit stood beside the stones, sniffing the moss-ball. Her twine necklace dangled against her chest. Her pelt was soft and lucious. When the light caught her fur at the right angle, it sparkled like a star. Oilpaw could see through her little sister’s body to the snow beyond.
Oilpaw didn’t dare to breathe as Twinekit grabbed the moss-ball. The moss-ball itself did not move; rather, Twinekit picked up an identical copy as transparent as Twinekit. Oilpaw looked to her father, praying he saw the miracle too, but he stayed oblivious, eyes squeezed tight as he fought through waves of grief.
“Are you ready to go now?” someone groaned. A familiar white figure trotted out from behind a tree. She was a molly with soft green eyes. Unlike Twinekit, this newcomer’s pelt was solid, but glistened with the beauty of a hundred stars. She left no paw prints in her wake.
“Look what Locustkit gave me!” Twinekit chirped through a mouthful of moss. The mysterious stranger laughed and batted at the moss-ball.
“I love it,” the stranger laughed, “but are you ready?” Twinekit shook out her pelt. Her form grew solid and starlight surrounded her, just as it surrounded the stranger. Twinekit nodded, earning another laugh from the stranger. Oilpaw forced her fur to stay flat. Despite her best efforts, her pelt spiked when the stranger locked eyes with her.
“So you can see me!” the stranger gasped. “I knew it! Do you remember me? You saw me on that beach patrol with the dog.” Oilpaw nodded stiffly. Shouldn’t she say something? She couldn’t make herself talk. “This is really interesting. I can’t stay long, but you should at least know who I am.” She pulled Twinekit close and fluffed up her chest. “I’m Moonpaw, mediator apprentice extraordinaire! If you can see me know, you’ll probably see a lot more of me. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”
Moonpaw nudged Twinekit along. Twinekit waved her tail goodbye, purring. Oilpaw carefully lifted her own, unsure of what her eyes told her. Moonpaw walked beside Twinekit, leaving stars in their wake. The pair walked behind a tall pine and did not appear on the other side. Oilpaw watched the tree for a long time, her breath quick and mind blank.
“We’ll be okay, Oilpaw,” Rustshade mumbled. He groomed Oilpaw’s head with half-open eyes. Oilpaw tucked herself closer to her clueless father. Her grief had been ripped away and replaced with a deep unease that squeezed her guts.
(Weedfoot: 57, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Oilpaw: 12, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)
(Rustshade: 65, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Fennelspot: 65, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Scrubmask: 25, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
(Burdockkit: 2, male, kit, bossy, interested in Clan history)
(Clamkit: 2, female, kit, lonesome, interested in Clan history)
(Locustkit: 2, male, kit, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)
(Downstar: 67, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Puddlespeckle: 134, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)
(Moonpaw: 10, female, mediator apprentice, childish, good hunter)
Downstar doesn’t feel ready to be the mom of four kits, but she promises the tiny flailing limbs at her belly that she’ll do her best, she swears on StarClan.
[Image ID: Downstar sits above four newborn kits; Halibutkit, an impulsive male; Duskkit, a troublesome female; Graykit, an impulsive female; and Shadowkit, a troublesome male. Beside Downstar, update text reads - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH]
---
For a while, Downstar thought the pain would never end. Her contractions started at some point in the middle of the night, and only grew worse over the course of the day. Fennelspot never left her side, helping her through each terrible spasm. According to him, the delivery was perfectly normal, but Downstar was certain she would lose one of her nine lives that day. She had the lives to spare; if she had to give one up to bring her children into the world, she would gladly do so.
Night blurred into day and back into night. Slowly but surely, each of Downstar’s kits popped out and settled by her belly. She was too focused on the next delivery to truly soak in the small body suckling next to her, but Carnationpaw, who stuck with Downstar as much as she could, assured her that each kit was beautiful.
“It’s a tom,” Carnationpaw said of the first kit when Downstar was too delirious to think straight. “He’s a sort of silvery-gray color. A mackerel tabby, I think. The color looks a bit like Weedfoot. Oh, wouldn’t it be cute to name him Weedkit?”
“I’ll name them later,” Downstar groaned through the stick in her mouth.
The second kit, a black molly, came out soon after her brother, just as dusk hit the camp. Her tiny paws kneaded and poked at Downstar’s belly in a violent search for milk. Downstar couldn’t help but laugh. It was like the small kit knew just what to do to distract her mother from the pain.
The third kit took a while to arrive. Twilight had almost faded completely from the territories before a little molly slipped out. Carnationpaw oohed and awwed as Fennelspot cleaned the squirming kitten up.
“Wow, Downstar!” Carnationpaw laughed. “She looks just like your first kit! Same colors, same stripes… you have a pair of twins on your paws!”
“In SlugClan,” Fennelspot said as he guided the kit to Downstar’s belly, “identical kits are a sign from StarClan. Their lives will be forever intertwined. They will complement each other well.”
Downstar’s fourth and final kit arrived just as Scrubmask and Rustshade returned from night patrol. The little tom was black, like his oldest sister, but had stocky stripes and a lighter tint to his fur that better matched his other sister.
“Not a single ginger pelt in the group,” Carnationpaw chuckled. “That’s impressive.” As the pain began to fade and her Clanmates’ congratulatory purrs filled the nursery, Downstar studied her beautiful kits. They were so alive. Each one wiggled, squirmed, and mewled as loud as they could.
“We couldn’t have asked for a better delivery,” Fennelspot purred. He rubbed against Downstar’s head. “How do you feel?”
“Overwhelmed,” Downstar laughed. “I was certain something would go wrong.” But it didn’t. She was a model mother, but would that last? Could she lead both a new Clan and four new lives?
“What will you name them?” Carnationpaw asked, leaning close to the kits.
“It’s better to wait,” Fennelspot said. “Sometimes, StarClan sends one of its spirits down in the form of a kit to guide the others before returning to the sky. It would be insulting to name someone who already has a name.”
“Do you mean one of them could die?” Carnationpaw gulped. “But you said they were all healthy!”
“They are!” Fennelspot stammered as Downstar’s heart ached. “The nature of birth is tricky. It’s best to wait a quarter moon before giving them proper names. I’m hopeful, though. They all look strong.”
“I already have names for them,” Downstar admitted.
“I’ll tell the Clan you’re doing well,” Fennelspot sighed, nuzzling Downstar once more. “You can have visitors in the morning.”
“I promise I’ll help however I can,” Carnationpaw said, licking Downstar’s ear. “I’ll make sure your kits are never lonely.” Downstar nuzzled her apprentice as a deep purr rippled through her. Fennelspot guided Carnationpaw outside and left Downstar in the cool dark of the nursery, illuminated by the small fire built just beyond the den.
“You’ll be Halibutkit,” Downstar mumbled, nuzzling her oldest son. “It’s a type of fish from the ocean. I found one washed on the shore when we settled in camp. It’s a good omen for RippleClan.” The black molly squealed, as though offended that she did not get her name first. “I’m getting to you, little Duskkit. Do you like that name? You were born at dusk. I think it fits.” Next, Downstar studied her gray daughter. “You’ll need a good name so I don’t confuse you for your brother. How about Graykit?” Graykit mewled softly and continued her suckling.
Downstar studied her youngest for a while. He looked so much like the proud, sturdy tom who trained her, who taught her how to care for others, who gave her a life for that very purpose.
“Is that you, Shadowsun?” Downstar whispered. She sniffed the dark gray tom’s sleek pelt. “Did you come to guide my kits? Or are you your own tom?” She licked the kit’s head. The lookalike squealed and flailed his little legs about. “Well, if you’re staying here, I’m going to call you Shadowkit.” Downstar tucked her paws under her and rested her head, never taking her eyes off her four kits. It was a big responsibility, but she had managed as leader so far. She would do her best as a mother, too.
(Downstar: 67, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Fennelspot: 65, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Carnationpaw: 10, female, caretaker apprentice, compassionate, splashes in puddles)
(Halibutkit: 0, kit, male, impulsive)
(Duskkit: 0, kit, female, troublesome)
(Graykit: 0, kit, female, impulsive)
(Shadowkit: 0, kit, male, troublesome)
#rippleclan#rippleclan clangen#clangen#warrior cats#warrior cats clangen#warriors#rippleclan story#downstar#oilpaw#weedfoot#rustshade#twinekit#puddlespeckle#halibutkit#duskkit#graykit#shadowkit#fennelspot#carnationpaw#locustkit#moonpaw#burdockkit#clamkit#scrubmask
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RippleClan: Moon 4
Downstar takes Carnationpaw as an apprentice to eventually become a caretaker.
[Image ID: Downstar and Carnationpaw face each other. Underneath Downstar, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: CARNATIONPAW. Under Carnationpaw, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: DOWNSTAR. Above Carnationpaw, it says LEVEL UP! CARNATIONKIT -> CARNATIONPAW, SWEET -> COMPASSIONATE.]
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“Okay, we got your feathers in the apprentice’s den, and you’re all groomed,” Oilpaw huffed, smoothing Carnationkit’s head. “Sorry you don’t have a parent to help you with this stuff.”
“It’s alright,” Carnationkit sighed. “I’m just worried. I don’t know what to train as!”
“You’ll be fine,” Oilpaw scoffed. “The Clans have a plan for that. Downstar will put you somewhere she thinks you would like. You can always change roles as you train.” The small Clan stirred as their youngest members chatted in the center of camp. The autumn chill had properly arrived, turning the ocean gray and the leaves of the eastern forest into a mimicry of the sunrise. Scrubmask entered camp from her shift guarding her sleeping Clanmates and noticed the two young cats.
“How long have you two been awake?” Scrubmask yawned.
“I wanted to get my nest set up before my ceremony!” Carnationkit chirped. “That way I can get right into training!”
“Oh, right,” Scrubmask grumbled. “That’s today.” Sure enough, Downstar trotted out of her den and climbed the rock in the heart of the shipwreck (which Oilpaw had named the Shiprock, much to Downstar’s excitement).
“All cats old enough to catch their own prey,” Downstar yowled, “gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Scrubmask sighed and settled down for the meeting. Weedfoot left the warrior’s den and sat next to her apprentice.
“Where’s my dad?” Oilpaw asked, glancing back at the warrior’s den.
“I’m not sure,” Weedfoot sighed. “He left when the sun set, and he hasn’t come back. He was always a fan of night-time hunts, so I’m not too worried.”
“He’ll miss the ceremony,” Oilpaw groaned.
“Hello, everyone,” Downstar called, drawing the small group’s attention. “We all know what today is, I believe. When we first discovered our shipwreck home and found Carnationkit tucked within, we knew our first mission as RippleClan would be to raise her as one of our own. And now it is time to make her an apprentice of our Clan. Carnationkit, have you decided where your paws are taking you?”
Weedfoot nudged Carnationkit forward. The soon-to-be apprentice stared into Downstar’s deep amber eyes. What would she think of Carnationkit’s decision? Would she see her as an irresponsible kit, as she’d made clear so many times before?
“I don’t know, Downstar,” Carnationkit muttered. She stared at her sandy paws. “Everything seems amazing to me, but I don’t know what I’d be good at.”
“I see,” Downstar hummed. “Will you look at me, Carnationkit?” Carnationkit steadied herself for more disappointment and looked up. Downstar hopped off the Shiprock and approached her. Every muscle in Carnationkit’s body tensed.
“A few moons ago,” Downstar said, “I received a dream from StarClan. They put me in a field of flowers that protected me from wild dogs. I didn’t recognize the flowers at the time, but now their species is clear to me. They were carnations. Those carnations took care of me, and I believe that you will take care of this Clan, Carnationkit. Would you like to train to be RippleClan’s first caretaker? You will watch over future kits of this Clan and maintain our camp and territory. You had no mother to shelter you in our nursery, but now you can shelter cats yourself. What do you say?”
“I’ll do it, Downstar,” Carnationkit said with a lump in her throat. Pride swelled through her and a purr escaped her lips.
“Well then, Carnationkit,” Downstar purred, standing tall, “you’ve reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your caretaker name, you will be known as Carnationpaw. I will be your mentor.”
“Really?” Carnationpaw gasped.
“I was a caretaker back in SlugClan,” Downstar chuckled. “I’m the only one who could do it. It will be an adventure for both of us.” Downstar touched her nose to Carnationpaw’s. Had she ever gotten this close to her before?
“Carnationpaw!” Oilpaw and Weedfoot cheered. “Carnationpaw!” Though the celebration was tiny, in Carnationpaw’s heart, there might as well have been a hundred Clanmates cheering her name.
(Carnationpaw: 6, female, compassionate, splashes in puddles)
(Oilpaw: 8, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Scrubmask: 21, female, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
(Weedfoot: 53, female, charismatic, very clever, steady paws)
(Downstar: 63, female, adventurous, valuable insight, very clever)
Puddlespeckle challenges Weedfoot to a sparring match.
[Image ID: Puddlespeckle and Weedfoot face each other. Underneath Puddlespeckle, it says + DISLIKE: WEEDFOOT. Above Weedfoot, it reads LEVEL UP! STEADY PAWS -> FORMIDABLE FIGHTER.]
---
“I know some of the Clans will consider this a dirty move,” Weedfoot sighed, “but this is a staple trick in AshClan. All you have to do is get some dust or sand under your paw and…” Weedfoot whipped her paw through the sand covering camp. The sand flew in Oilpaw and Carnationpaw’s faces.
“Ow, that stings!” Carnationpaw whined, rubbing her eyes on her shoulder.
“Did you have to demonstrate like that?” Oilpaw laughed. She shook out her bright ginger pelt and rubbed a paw over her face.
“Effective, right?” Weedfoot chuckled. It had been about a quarter moon since Carnationpaw joined the apprentice’s den and the camp was covered in fallen leaves blowing in from the east. Downstar had a lot to do as leader, leaving her with not as much time as she wanted to train Carnationpaw in skills that required long training sessions, such as combat. Luckily, Weedfoot had her own apprentice who just so happened to need someone more her size to practice on.
“Now that your enemy is distracted,” Weedfoot continued, “you can tackle them.”
“But we aren’t going to kill them,” Oilpaw proudly declared, “even though Fennelspot told me, apparently, there’s this long branch in your neck that’s full of blood and if you hit it just right—”
“The Code of Thorn & Ivy may support that move,” Weedfoot interrupted, putting a tail over Oilpaw’s mouth as horror filled Carnationpaw’s eyes, “but RippleClan will never intentionally kill another Clan cat like that. Your goal is to beat your opponent enough that they run away or are no longer able to fight back. Now, Carnationpaw, try to flick sand into Oilpaw’s eyes. Oilpaw, make sure to close your eyes.”
“I’m no mouse-brain, I know,” Oilpaw chuckled, obeying her mentor. Weedfoot stepped back. She swiped her paw in the air to show Carnationpaw what to do. Carnationpaw nodded. She slipped a paw into the sand and flicked it up. The sand fell back in a clump.
“It’s okay, keep practicing,” Weedfoot said. She made the motion again.
“You’re teaching AshClan fighting techniques now?” Puddlespeckle strolled out of the elder’s den, eyes following Carnationpaw’s swipes.
“Hi, Father,” Weedfoot said with a low nod (an AshClan custom for greeting parents that Weedfoot couldn’t stop using). “They aren’t strictly AshClan techniques. All the Clans use them.”
“My father was famous for the dust swipe technique,” Puddlespeckle huffed. “If anyone should be teaching these kits how to fight, it’s me.”
“I’m sorry, Father,” Weedfoot sighed, “but I’m running this training session. If you want to help, why don’t you see if Fennelspot needs anything?”
“Bleh,” Puddlespeckle spat. “There’s nothing I can do there. If you want these apprentices to learn how to defend themselves, they should see a real AshClan warrior in action.” Puddlespeckle lifted his chin. “Come on then. Attack me. Show these little mollies what’s expected of them when they go toe-to-toe with another Clan.”
“Father, most fighting moves would go over Carnationpaw’s head,” Weedfoot groaned. “She’s only just begun training.”
“I want to see you spar!” Oilpaw chirped.
“Of course,” Weedfoot sighed with a soft chuckle and a shake of her head. She stretched out her legs and steadied her paws on the shifting sand. “Alright, Father. Let’s see what we can teach them.” Weedfoot barely finished speaking before Puddlespeckle lunged at her.
The two were identical blurs of rosetted silver dancing through the sand. Puddlespeckle had a hunter’s grace, lunging for Weedfoot’s neck and dragging her down. However, Weedfoot would not be moved. Even as the sand shifted underneath her, her paws stayed firm. Each blow held the same grace as her father’s attacks, but with a precision Puddlespeckle could not match.
When the sand began to settle and the apprentices could see clearly, Weedfoot had a paw on Puddlespeckle’s neck. The old tom hissed and shoved her off.
“Guess you’re better than I thought,” he growled. He glared at the apprentices and added, “I hope you got something out of that. Now I gotta clean sand out of my pelt.” Puddlespeckle trudged back into the elder’s den as abruptly as he arrived
“You need to teach me all of that,” Oilpaw said. Weedfoot didn’t hear her. As Weedfoot’s heart settled down, her eyes lingered on the elder’s den and the shadow huddled inside.
(Weedfoot: 53, female, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Carnationpaw: 6, female, compassionate, splashes in puddles)
(Oilpaw: 8, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Puddlespeckle: 130, male, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)
#rippleclan#rippleclan clangen#clangen#warrior cats#warrior cats clangen#warriors#rippleclan story#puddlespeckle#carnationkit#carnationpaw#downstar#weedfoot#oilpaw#scrubmask
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RippleClan: Moon 3
Oilpaw thinks Fennelspot isn’t very considerate of others until he surprises her with something nice. Oilpaw has recovered by now.
[Image ID: Oilpaw and Fennelspot face each other. Text to the side of Oilpaw reads - CONDITION: SHOCK, + PLATONIC LIKE: FENNELSPOT. The following conversation between Oilpaw and Fennelspot plays out in blue boxes over their heads:
Oilpaw: “Are you… being nice to me?”
Fennelspot: “No…”
Oilpaw: “Are you secretly a nice person?”
Fennelspot. “No. Leave.”]
---
“You would think a tom who talks to the dead would believe us when we say we see a giant frog walking through the forest,” Oilpaw grumbled as she and Carnationkit, only a moon from her own apprenticeship, practiced their paw-drilling. Carnationkit was a natural. It only took her a few minutes to make smoke rise from her fireboard. Meanwhile, Oilpaw had been working for an hour and she might as well have tried to start the fire with her mind.
“Well, it’s a weird story,” Carnationkit said. The breeze caught the smoke and blew it in her face. Carnationkit coughed and dropped her spindle.
“I know that, but it really scared me!” Oilpaw groaned. “He could have been a bit more considerate. Even Weedfoot needed something to calm her down! He’s such a weird cleric. I got to meet the WheatClan cleric, Bubblemoon, at the Gathering yesterday. He’s way cooler than Fennelspot. I can’t believe he used to be Fennelspot’s apprentice.”
“Fennelspot was probably a different tom when he lived in WheatClan,” Carnationkit sighed.
As though the pair had summoned a warrior of StarClan, Fennelspot emerged from the small white ship that sat against the main shipwreck, RippleClan’s medicine den. He called, “Oilpaw! Come here for a moment.” Oilpaw sighed and put down her drill.
“Wish me luck,” Oilpaw chuckled before heading to the medicine den.
Inside, Fennelspot had his collection of herbs sitting on the broken wood and stones that gutted the white ship. Baskets, firkins, and even a few pots lined the walls with all of Fennelspot’s valuable medical mixtures. Part of Oilpaw wanted to test the effects of each mixture on herself, if Fennelspot wouldn’t kill her for it.
“Weedfoot has you practicing fire-starting, right?” Fennelspot asked. The tom fiddled with drying leaves resting in the upper crannies of the den.
“Yes…” Oilpaw said carefully, like Fennelspot was trying to bait her into a trap.
“Well,” Fennelspot gulped, “if you’re going to keep failing, you might as well practice an easier method.” He plucked something shiny from his shelf of herbs. It looked like one of the flat rocks Downstar built the oven out of, but made of crystal.
“What is this?” Oilpaw gasped.
“Glass,” Fennelspot explained. “WheatClan sometimes steals this from the humans. I got a few shards from Bubblemoon at the Gathering. If you hold it up to the sun and point the reflected light onto the wood, it should start to burn after a while.” Oilpaw ran a paw over the smooth surface of the glass.
“Are you… being nice to me?” she asked.
“No…” Fennelspot mumbled. “Just sparing you some humiliation.”
“Are you secretly a nice person?” Oilpaw chuckled.
“No,” Fennelspot whined. “Leave. I have things to do.” Oilpaw picked up the glass and trotted out of the den with her tail high in the air. Maybe Fennelspot wasn’t so bad!
(Oilpaw: 7, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Fennelspot: 60, male, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
Puddlespeckle rethinks his life choices.
[Image ID: Puddlespeckle sits in the middle of the screen with + DISLIKE: WEEDFOOT underneath him]
---
Carnationkit was old enough to watch herself without Puddlespeckle hovering over her. She was basically a little apprentice at this point, helping with whatever camp chores Downstar and her cronies asked for. So Puddlespeckle was stuck in the elder’s den on a grotesquely pleasant early autumn day.
Puddlespeckle had a good view of the rest of camp from his nest. Fennelspot, Downstar, and Weedfoot shared tongues in the shadow of the shipwreck, muttering about something or other. StarClan, it made him sick. A SlugClan cat was his leader now. And worse, his own daughter was subordinate to her. He turned his back to the Clan.
Maybe he should have refused Weedfoot’s pleas. He could have stuck it out as a loner. Perhaps, as Weedfoot and her little Clan of traitors formed their Clan, Puddlespeckle could have returned to AshClan and begged Autumnstar for forgiveness. Sure, he was right to exile Puddlespeckle, Weedfoot hurt their Clan and he was her father. They needed to root out the wet leaves so the ashes could burn again.
It was too late now. Puddlespeckle gave his daughter another chance. Look where it left him. A useless elder in a useless Clan.
(Puddlespeckle: 129, male, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)
Carnationkit plucks a bird and puts the feathers in her nest.
[Image ID: Carnationkit sits in a nest covered in white pixel feathers. The text under her reads + DISLIKE: DOWNSTAR, SCRUBMASK. A text box to the left reads “Carnationkit, what happened to this bird?” A text box above Carnationkit reads “Uh… mange?”]
---
Carnationkit tucked the feathers along the edge of her lone nest in the nursery. Each one was long, white, and silky. She rubbed her face against the feathers and settled deep into the nest. Blurry memories of a warm belly and a gentle voice drifted to the surface when Carnationkit touched the feathers. Maybe they would bring a little life back to the empty nursery. With one wall against the jagged shipwreck and one wall formed from water-smoothed stones, the barren den trapped Carnationkit inside with nothing but that small, fluffy nest to keep her company.
“Carnationkit,” someone called, “what happened to this bird?” Downstar and Scrubmask appeared outside the den. Scrubmask carried a seagull whose pink skin peeked out from its feather-bare wings. The two older mollies locked their eyes on Carnationkit’s feathers.
“Uh…” Carnationkit gulped, covering her treasures, “mange?”
“Carnationkit, please don’t play with the prey,” Downstar sighed. “If you want feathers, let me know and I’ll pluck the bird. Bird feathers can carry disease if you aren’t careful.”
“Please don’t take them,” Carnationkit whined. “They’re really soft! The nursery gets cold at night!” Carnationkit pulled her feathers close and hid them under her chin.
“I won’t take them,” Downstar groaned, “just… please don’t play with the prey. Alright? It’s a rule in the code.” Downstar shook her head and slipped away. Scrubmask stared at Carnationkit in a way that made her fur prickle. Eventually, the quiet warrior followed Downstar back into camp.
“I just wanted some company,” Carnationkit grumbled, burrowing her nose in her feathers.
(Carnationkit: 5, female, sweet, splashes in puddles)
(Downstar: 62, female, adventurous, valuable insight, very clever)
(Scrubmask: 20, female, gloomy, good hunter, fast runner)
#rippleclan#rippleclan clangen#clangen#warrior cats#warrior cats clangen#warriors#rippleclan story#carnationkit#downstar#scrubmask#oilpaw#fennelspot#puddlespeckle
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RippleClan: Moon 6, Part 1
Downstar announces she is expecting kits.
[Image ID: Downstar sits in the center of the screen. Underneath her, it reads + CONDITION: PREGNANT. Six dialogue boxes surround her, saying the following: “Congratulations, Downstar!” “Are you sure you can keep working?” “Great. More kits.” “Wait, who’s the sire?” “Oilpaw, you can’t ask someone who their sire is.” “What about my training?”]
Downstar could feel the approach of snow in the clouds above. Despite sunhigh sending all of RippleClan into their dens for a midday nap, Downstar couldn’t help but feel alive as she looked over the Clan from the medicine den. What would her new home look like covered in snow? Would the ocean send a wicked chill over the area, or would their makeshift dens keep them warm? Downstar still had friends in the other Clans, they gave her advice on tanning the hides of prey and turning them into warm flooring or something to stick to the wall, but RippleClan needed its own artisan to learn these things, not a leader playing pretend. And now, with everything Downstar had to do… she prayed she made the right choice.
“You can wait to announce it,” Fennelspot said. He startled Downstar by appearing behind her.
“No, this is good news,” Downstar said, steadying herself. “We could use something to fight off the winter lethargy.”
“No, I mean wait until sunhigh passes,” Fennelspot groaned, peering at the cloudy sky. “Everyone’s asleep.”
“It’s fine,” Downstar said with a bit more confidence. She brushed her tail down Fennelspot’s shoulder. She jogged out of the medicine den and leaped onto the Shiprock.
“Everyone,” Downstar called, “gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” It took a minute for anyone to leave their dens. Carnationpaw stared at her leader and mentor with sleep dragging her eyes shut. Weedfoot nudged Rustshade and Scrubmask into the open. Carnationpaw had to drag Oilpaw out of her nest.
“I’m tired,” Oilpaw groaned. “It’s cold. Why are we meeting now?”
“I know, I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t wait to make this announcement,” Downstar chirped. She glanced toward the elder’s den. Puddlespeckle did not appear.
“Good news or bad news?” Scrubmask asked, gently cocking her head.
“Excellent news,” Downstar purred. “I know our numbers are small. I wish more of our friends had joined us in founding RippleClan, but I wouldn’t trade a single one of you. Still, our numbers need to grow. I am pleased to announce that I am expecting kits!” Downstar brushed her tail over her belly. RippleClan’s eyes sparkled as they locked in on Downstar’s stomach.
Weedfoot was the first to break the silence. She laughed, with half of the laugh taken up in a purr. She climbed the Shiprock and pressed against Downstar so hard, the tortoiseshell leader thought her deputy would knock her off.
“Congratulations, Downstar!” Weedfoot cheered. “I… oh StarClan, babies! Can, can I…” Weedfoot reached a paw to Downstar’s belly.
“You may not feel much,” Downstar laughed, but she let her friend touch her belly. Weedfoot purred and nuzzled the life growing inside Downstar like she was her mate.
“Great,” Scrubmask said. “More kits.” Downstar could never tell when Scrubmask was being sarcastic or genuine, but she chose to believe she was genuine this time around.
“Are you sure you can keep working?” Rustshade asked as Downstar hopped off the Shiprock with Weedfoot. The ginger tom approached Downstar like she was a cougar. There was a strange shift in his eyes Downstar couldn’t fully place.
“I’ll be fine, Rustshade,” Downstar purred. “Fennelspot will keep an eye on me.” Fennelspot nodded fervently, standing beside Downstar.
“Wait,” Oilpaw said, cocking her head, “who’s the sire?” The fur on everyone’s pelts prickled.
“Oilpaw, you can’t ask someone who their sire is,” Fennelspot growled. He stepped in front of Downstar with a hard glare.
“I know she doesn’t have to answer,” Oilpaw gulped, eyes bouncing around the Clan, “but she doesn’t have to stay silent either. I was just curious.” Oilpaw rubbed a paw into the sand.
“Can you tell me about the Code of Kits & Queens?” Weedfoot asked gently. She joined Oilpaw’s side and rested her tail on her apprentice’s.
“No cat can put a kit in danger or look away when they are,” Oilpaw recited. She stared at Downstar’s belly when she spoke. “A kit’s origins may not be questioned. It is up to the parent to declare parentage, and they cannot be forced to do so. All kits are welcomed into a Clan as full-blooded Clanmates.”
“Why do we have this law?” Weedfoot asked.
“Because LynxClan killed the half-Clan kits of one of their artisans and gave her the dishonor title of Thornheart,” Oilpaw mumbled, “to remind her how her love caused pain.” Oilpaw’s ears dropped and she bowed her head.
“And it allows diverse blood into the Clan,” Fennelspot huffed. “If a molly wants to mate with an outsider for the sake of supplying kits for the Clan, they may do so and will not be shamed. If Downstar wanted to reveal the sire, she would have.”
“Sorry,” Oilpaw sighed. Downstar approached Oilpaw and groomed her ear.
“You’re forgiven,” Downstar chuckled. “I’ll need a good kitsitter once they’re born. Are you up to the task?” Oilpaw nodded, earning a chuckle from her father and mentor.
“What about my training?” a meek voice asked. Carnationpaw lurked at the edge of the group, watching Downstar with wide eyes. “How can you be my mentor if you’re resting in the nursery?”
“It’s alright,” Downstar insisted. “There’s a lot we can do while I recover. And you’ll be able to join Rustshade and Fennelspot on their patrols.” Downstar tried to rest her tail over Carnationpaw’s back, but the long-furred molly moved just before Downstar could.
“I’m happy for you, Downstar,” Carnationpaw said softly. “Would you like me to prepare the oven?” She stared at the large stone structure while Downstar’s skin squirmed.
“Good idea, Carnationpaw,” Weedfoot said. “I think we’re all hungry.” She led the young apprentice up to the oven. Weedfoot glanced back at Downstar, but all the leader could do was stare at Carnationpaw and think.
(Downstar: 65, female, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Fennelspot: 63, male, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Weedfoot: 55, female, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Scrubmask: 23, female, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
(Rustshade: 63, male, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Oilpaw: 10, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Carnationpaw: 8, female, compassionate, splashes in puddles)
[Image ID: Rustshade overlooks four newborn kits. From left to right, each kit has text under them reading NEW PLAYER: LOCUSTKIT, MALE, TROUBLESOME: NEW PLAYER: BURDOCKKIT, MALE, BOSSY; NEW PLAYER: CLAMKIT, FEMALE, LONESOME; and NEW PLAYER: TWINEKIT, FEMALE, NOISY)
---
Just two days after Downstar’s announcement, the clouds broke and snow covered the Clans like the sky was shedding its fur. The ocean growled beyond the camp as snow weighed on the shipwreck. Snow replaced sand and buried the roof of the medicine den. The hissing wind lulled the Clan to sleep like a queen’s gentle purrs. No one worried about guarding the entrance; who would try to strike in such brutal weather?
A small fire crackled just outside the warrior’s den, where the entire Clan huddled through the cold night. There weren’t enough of them to justify more than one fire. It was something of a treat for the apprentices, who wouldn’t move into the den for at least a few moons, but Oilpaw couldn’t sleep.
She and Carnationpaw shared a nest near the edge of the group, huddled together to stay warm through the storm, but Oilpaw could only lay with her eyes open, half-pressed into a mouse pelt Carnationpaw brought from the apprentice’s den. Her tail twitched as she tried to force sleep to visit once more.
“I’m done with this,” Oilpaw grumbled under her breath. She carefully detached herself from Carnationpaw and looked over the sleeping Clan. Downstar and Fennelspot shared one nest, while Scrubmask, Weedfoot, and Puddlespeckle huddled beside one another. Rustshade was supposed to be in Downstar’s nest, but his scent had faded; he hadn’t been in the nest for a while.
Oilpaw stepped around her Clanmates and grew closer to the fire. The fire has grown weak as the night progressed and the snow closed in. Oilpaw blew on the coals and the light flared. The fire illuminated the faint pawprints leading out of the warrior’s den and to the camp exit, not the dirt place like Oilpaw expected. Oilpaw trudged to the exit as snow bit her eyes. Rustshade’s prints led toward the human settlements in the southwest; WheatClan territory.
“Dad?” Oilpaw called meekly. The wind stole her voice. She shook the cold out of her paws, steadied her will, and followed the fading trail south. Something outside her mind urged her paws on. Call it curiosity, call it a push from StarClan, whatever you want, but Oilpaw had to follow the trail, even as her nose grew cold and snowflakes clung to her whiskers.
She found him by the edge of the trees, a stark ginger figure among the brown bark and white snow. Rustshade had his back to Oilpaw and stared deeper into the forest. Somewhere beyond the trees, WheatClan tended the land that would eventually pool with a few special crops overflowing from the human territories. Somewhere out there were distant relations Oilpaw could barely remember. Somewhere out there was Rustshade’s past.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Oilpaw yowled over the wind. Rustshade’s head snapped around. Wide and wild heather eyes dug into Oilpaw. Rustshade shifted just enough for Oilpaw to see what rested at his paws.
Four kits, about as long as Rustshade’s leg, squirmed together in the snow. Their claws, unable to retract, caught clumps as they wobbled about. Big blue eyes, only half-able to see, clung to Rustshade and to one another. They were diverse in color—golden, sandy, dark red, lilac—but all clearly littermates. That was as apparent as the sharp, shattering expression on Rustshade’s face.
“Dad…” Oilpaw gulped, “who are they?” She stayed where she was and held Rustshade’s attention. For a few moments, it was like they were the only ones standing in the snow, with nothing but bitter wind between them.
“They can’t walk far,” Rustshade finally said. “If you’re careful, you can carry two at once.”
“Dad, who are they?” Oilpaw said with more force.
“Oilpaw, do as I say!” Rustshade hissed. He snatched the dark red and lilac kits’ scruffs. The dark red one, a tom, looked just like Rustshade, but without the paler sheen.
“Oilpaw do say,” the dark red kit chirped, even as he shivered. Something about that simple command from a kit that wasn’t even a moon old, who still had the deep blue eyes of a newborn and the unsheathed claws that marked his age, flung Oilpaw from the storm of swirling thoughts back to that of swirling snow.
Oilpaw raced to the other two kits, a sandy-colored tom and a golden molly, and copied the way her father carried two scruffs in his mouth at once. Oilpaw was certain one of them would fall out, but they stayed still. A familar scent wafted off their pelts. As soon as Oilpaw had the two kits, Rustshade took off. Oilpaw kicked up snow behind her and burned her legs trying to keep up.
The father/daughter duo were back in camp in a few moments. Rustshade went straight to the warrior’s den, silent as ever, and Oilpaw followed. Rustshade placed his two kits on a velvety soft vole pelt Weedfoot scored from LynxClan trade. Rustshade dragged a nest close to the fire and placed the kits in it beside him. He settled them by his belly. Oilpaw instinctively put the other two there as well. The lilac kitten, half-asleep, squealed when her brother settled next to her. She wrapped her tiny limbs around the sandy tom, who was already dozing off.
“Can’t an elder get any sleep?” Puddlespeckle grumbled. He lifted his head and his sleepy eyes settled on the kits.
“Hi!” the dark red tom called. Rustshade shushed him and nudged him toward his quiet golden sister.
The simple greeting woke the entire Clan. Slowly, everyone’s eyes settled on the strangers at Rustshade’s belly. Weedfoot pulled herself out from under Scrubmask and sat next to Rustshade. All of RippleClan scooted closer. Oilpaw found herself shoved beside her father as Downstar cast a long shadow through the den. The glow of the fire made her eyes glimmer.
“Is no one going to ask him where he got these four?” Oilpaw finally snapped. “I… Dad did you steal these guys?”
“Do you really believe I would do that?” Rustshade grunted.
“We all know you didn’t give birth to them,” Oilpaw scoffed.
“He didn’t steal them,” Weedfoot said softly. She crouched to the kits’ level. With the warmth of the den and the fire, even the chatty red tom was asleep. “What are their names?”
“The red one is Burdockkit,” Rustshade explained quietly, with a tenderness to his voice Oilpaw only remembered from her few moons in WheatClan. “The sandy tom is Locustkit, and the kit keeping him trapped is Twinekit. Clamkit is the runt.” The Code of Kits & Queens rang through Oilpaw’s head as everyone examined the new additions to the Clan. StarClan, if there was ever a time to break the code…
“How old are they?” Carnationpaw asked, peeking out from behind Puddlespeckle.
“A little under a moon old,” Rustshade purred.
“StarClan, Rustshade, these kits can’t eat prey yet!” Puddlespeckle groaned. “Fennelspot, you’ve been working on pottery, haven’t you? Tell me we’ve got a pot for the oven.”
“Bubblemoon gave me a small one when we spoke at StarClan’s Shrine,” Fennelspot gulped, glancing at the medicine den across camp.
“Well, grab it!” Puddlespeckle snapped. He shoved Fennelspot out of the den. “These kits are cold and hungry. Carnationpaw, you’re a little fire starter, aren’t you? Get the oven on. We’re making kitten soup.” Carnationpaw looked to Downstar, and the tortie leader nodded. Carnationpaw hurried to the storage den within the shipwreck where she could find dry materials to light the fire.
“What’s kitten soup?” Oilpaw asked.
“An old AshClan recipe for kits who haven’t been weaned,” Puddlespeckle huffed. “You take some prey juice, boil it with water, and soak some moss in it. The little mouse-brains think it’s their mother half the time and drink it up. It’s nothing compared to milk, but if you don’t have a molly who can nurse, it’s the best you can do.”
“You would need fresh prey, right?” Scrubmask said. “I’ll catch something.” The quiet molly vanished from camp before anyone could agree with her idea.
“How do you know this recipe, Father?” Weedfoot asked.
“How do you think we fed you when your mother died?” Puddlespeckle scoffed. He turned to Rustshade and added, “You keep those kits warm, you WheatClan reject.” Puddlespeckle hurried outside as Fennelspot dragged the oven pot toward Carnationpaw.
“I suppose we’re starting our day early,” Downstar chuckled. She touched her nose to Rustshade’s head and said, “Congratulations, Rustshade. Oilpaw, go check on the nursery. Make sure it’s ready for our new guests.”
Oilpaw couldn’t be happier to get away from the half-grown masses at her father’s side. Maybe the rest of RippleClan recognized the scent, maybe they didn’t. Weedfoot knew, Oilpaw was certain of it, the look in her eyes when she saw those kits was ripe with unknown conversations and unclear truth. Oilpaw knew where these kits came from. She knew it as well as she knew her own pelt.
They were her mother’s kits.
(Oilpaw: 10, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Rustshade: 63, male, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Burdockkit: 0, male, bossy)
(Locustkit: 0, male, troublesome)
(Twinekit: 0, female, noisy)
(Clamkit: 0, female, lonesome)
(Puddlespeckle: 132, male, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)
(Fennelspot: 63, male, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Weedfoot: 55, female, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Scrubmask: 23, female, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
(Carnationpaw: 8, female, compassionate, splashes in puddles)
(Downstar: 65, female, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
#rippleclan clangen#rippleclan#clangen#warrior cats clangen#warrior cats#warriors#rippleclan story#downstar#oilpaw#puddlespeckle#rustshade#burdockkit#locustkit#twinekit#clamkit#carnationpaw#weedfoot#scrubmask#fennelspot
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RippleClan: Moon 6, Part 2
Carnationpaw finds footprints on the beach during patrol and realizes they are Downstar’s!
[Image ID: Carnationpaw stands on the right facing Downstar on the left. Downstar is facing away from her apprentice.]
“I know you have questions, too,” Oilpaw groaned as she and Carnationpaw wandered the beach south of camp. “How can you not? How can he just show up in camp with four kits and no one is allowed to question him? We wouldn’t do anything to him!”
“I don’t know, Oilpaw,” Carnationpaw sighed. “They’re cute kits. No one’s come running up demanding their kits back. Maybe it’s not worth the fight.”
The two apprentices got to take the lead on dusk patrol the day after the big storm. Weedfoot trailed behind them with one eye overlooking the cold ocean. The water along the shore lapped at the thick snow. It left a strange line between sand and snow in its wake. Carnationpaw’s long fur caught snow along her legs.
“One of these days, I’ll make him tell me the truth,” Oilpaw grumbled. She kicked at the snow and sent a flurry across her path. When the snow fell and left small holes in the crisp white surface, something else caught Carnationpaw’s eye.
“Oilpaw, look,” she whispered. “Paw prints!” Sure enough, a neat row of paw prints trailed away from the ocean and toward the woods beyond. Carnationpaw sniffed the prints in the snow. All she could smell was the ocean.
“Did you find something?” Weedfoot called, jogging up to the apprentices.
“A trail!” Carnationpaw explained. “I thought we were the only ones patrolling this area.”
“Follow the path,” Weedfoot suggested. “Oilpaw and I will wait for you here. Yowl if you need us.”
“Shouldn’t we join her?” Oilpaw asked.
“It’s alright, I can handle this,” Carnationpaw promised. “I’ll be back soon!”
Carnationpaw cut a line through the snow. She glanced back at her patrol companions. Weedfoot said something into Oilpaw’s ear, but Carnationpaw couldn’t hear her. The younger apprentice continued on and tried to build her confidence. Maybe Weedfoot was testing her? Why else would she stay behind like that? The paw prints were oddly neat, after all, like the visitor pranced through the snow rather than walked.
Carnationpaw followed the trail further into the trees. Dusk turned the snow pink and the dark tree trunks crimson. As she got out of sight of the beach, light glimmered through the trees. A small, tame fire crackled in a safe spot between the trees. A simple rock circle kept the fire contained. Downstar sat beside the fire, with her pale ginger patches turning bright ginger in the light.
“Downstar?” Carnationpaw called. Downstar perked up at the sight of her apprentice.
“You found my tracks,” Downstar chirped. “Good job, Carnationpaw. Sit with me.” Her tail patted a spot beside her. Carnationpaw glanced back at her trail, but Downstar said, “Don’t worry about your patrol. They’ll continue without you.”
“I thought you were getting Rustshade’s kits settled in,” Carnationpaw said. She slowly settled by her leader. The fire turned the snow stuck to her legs into slush.
“I have,” Downstar explained. “When I was being trained, my mentor, Shadowsun, took me out for a night of survival training. We practiced scavenging for fire starters, roasting prey, and preparing shelter. It was one of my favorite memories.” Downstar had a small pile of kindling beside her. She took a few crumbling leaves and threw them into the fire. “Tonight, we’re going to set up a camp by this fire.”
“Are you sure?” Carnationpaw asked.
“I’m pregnant, not dying,” Downstar purred. “I chose you as my apprentice, and I’m going to be a good mentor, whether I’m nursing or not.”
“Oh,” Carnationpaw said softly. The fire snapped at the fresh kindling. Heavy smoke drifted into the dark sky. Carnationpaw stared at the glowing embers eating at the leaves.
“We’ll gather materials near our camp to set up a nest,” Downstar explained, scanning the dark trees. “From there, I want you to catch some prey and prepare it for simple open-fire cooking. Then you’ll guard me as I sleep, and you can wake me up around… Carnationpaw?” Carnationpaw’s shoulders shook. She hunched over herself as she tried and failed to bite down pathetic sobs.
“This isn’t going to last,” Carnationpaw cried.
“What do you mean?” Downstar asked. She quickly wrapped her tail over Carnationpaw’s back.
“Eventually, you’ll have other cats to focus on,” Carnationpaw sobbed. ‘You, you’ll have to leave and I’ll be left alone!” Carnationpaw hiccuped as she spoke. StarClan, she sounded like a kit. “No one has time for me. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” Carnationpaw struggled to breathe. The fire’s heat suffocated her. “No one has time for me, no one has time for me!”
“Carnationpaw, you’re okay!” Downstar ran her tail down Carnationpaw’s back as she spoke softly. “We all care about you.”
“I’m not important,” Carnationpaw gulped, stuttering after each word. “I’m never the important one. I’m no one’s favorite. I, I, you took me to the Gathering last moon, and, and the WheatClan apprentices heard that you found me in the shipwreck, and, and they said no one wanted me and it’s true. I wanna be the most important person in someone’s life, but I never will be!”
Carnationpaw cried into the fire. It felt like the fire had reached her heart. Downstar purred as she rubbed Carnationpaw’s back. The warmth of the flame and the nagging chill of the snow overwhelmed Carnationpaw’s senses. It was all she could do to listen to Downstar’s gentle words.
“No one else can define your importance. You are important, Carnation, no matter what you do.”
(Oilpaw: 10, female, historian apprentice, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Carnationpaw: 8, female, caretaker apprentice, compassionate, splashes in puddles)
(Weedfoot: 55, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Downstar: 65, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
Weedfoot caught yellowcough and Carnationpaw has a cold.
[Image ID: Weedfoot and Carnationpaw are in the background. Under Weedfoot, it reads + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH. Under Carnationpaw, it says + CONDITION: COLD. Fennelspot stands in the foreground. The text box above him says “We’ve been here for six. Moons. How do we already have yellowcough?!”]
(No story with this one, folks, just the update!)
(Fennelspot: 63, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
(Weedfoot: 55, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Carnationpaw: 8, female, caretaker apprentice, compassionate, splashes in puddles)
#rippleclan#rippleclan clangen#clangen#warrior cats#warriors#warrior cats clangen#rippleclan story#downstar#oilpaw#carnationpaw#weedfoot#fennelspot
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RippleClan: Moon 5
Rustshade doesn’t notice when Oilpaw leaves camp alone.
[Image ID: Rustshade and Oilpaw have their backs to one another in the center of the screen.]
---
“These are the leaders of Ashy-AshClan,” Oilpaw sang softly, pacing around the apprentice’s den, “Smokestar, Baystar, Sedgestar with the plan. Cougarstar got rabies, Turkeystar got fleas, Fuzzystar wouldn’t take responsibility. Pelicanstar fought the evil in his Clan, but Autumnstar brought them all back again!” Oilpaw panted as she ended with a little flourish. She turned to Carnationpaw, who laid belly-up in her nest. “I think I got it! How’s your studying going?”
“How do I know what I remember about kit care is right?” Carnationpaw groaned. She kicked her paws over her head. “What if I’m remembering something that isn’t true?”
“Maybe I can get my dad to test your memory!” Oilpaw suggested. “If he’s around, at least. Lately, he’s barely in camp.”
“No, he’s here,” Carnationpaw said, rolling over. “I saw him enter camp a little bit ago. I think he’s in the warrior’s den with Weedfoot.”
“Finally,” Oilpaw huffed. “We’ll talk after our exams!” Oilpaw jogged across the quiet, chilly camp.
The last leaves had drifted off the trees many days ago, leaving a nest of twisted branches in the distance behind the ginger apprentice. Sunhigh, that terrible time of day, inched close and clouded Oilpaw’s mind. Cold wind blew from the ocean and sent a shiver through Oilpaw. She picked up the pace and slowly approached the warrior’s den.
The den wasn’t the same rocky nook or shipwreck haven as the others, for none of the existing dens were big enough to hold all the future warriors of RippleClan. Instead, the whole Clan worked together to move rocks and brambles around a large open space that overlooked the sea. Downstar and Weedfoot carefully placed sturdy rocks and shipwreck wood around the den to form a roof, with a few support rocks firmly tucked into the sand. Maybe one day a bush would grow over the roof like in the apprentice’s den. But that would take many moons.
“You’re endangering her, Rustshade,” Weedfoot huffed inside the den. Oilpaw paused outside. She craned her ears to better listen. Since when did Weedfoot chastise a full-grown tom?
“I know that,” Rustshade groaned. “But it’s too late. The Clan has their suspicions, even if the code prevents them from asking. You’ve met her. This isn’t something she can handle alone.” Oilpaw bristled. Who was her dad talking about? Certainly not Oilpaw. No, Rustshade never thought of the daughter he took from WheatClan, the one whose mother gave her up without a fight.
Oilpaw stepped back and glanced around camp. No one else was around. She squared her jaw and snuck to the camp exit. She wasn’t going to wait around for Weedfoot or Rustshade, and if she spent any more time in camp, she would go insane.
(Oilpaw: 9, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Carnationpaw: 7, female, compassionate, splashes in puddles)
(Weedfoot: 54, female, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Rustshade: 62, male, sneaky, learner of lore)
While out alone, Oilpaw is lured by a tunnel under some disturbed sand.
[Image ID: Oilpaw faces a tunnel in the sand. The tunnel is a cat-trap tinged red along the bottom. Moonpaw lingers in the upper right corner.]
---
“WheatClan’s leaders from the current to the first,” Oilpaw chanted as she jogged along the beach north of camp. “Let’s figure out which one was the worst! Sanderlingstar is doing alright. Podstar lost her teeth but never had a bite. Grebestar was boring, Pollenstar was nice, Tinystar… uh…” Oilpaw stopped. What did Tinystar do? Oilpaw groaned and racked her brain.
The ocean lapped at Oilpaw’s tail. She yelped at the cold and jumped back. As she shook the water off her tail, something glimmered in the corner of her eye. The perpetually cloudy skies had a small break that let the sun shine on a large pile of disturbed sand up the coast. It almost looked like a den.
Oilpaw jogged up to the den. Or was it a tunnel? The sand ate the light inside. The inner walls of the den-tunnel glistened and formed cross-hatch patterns. Rust ate at the bottom of the den. Oilpaw could smell something inside… food? It smelled like Downstar’s grilled fish, but better. She put a paw inside.
Something new shimmered in her eye. Oilpaw stepped back and looked south. A white cat lingered along the beach, watching Oilpaw. Green eyes met aqua blue without fear or hesitation.
“Hey!” Oilpaw yowled. “You can’t be here! This is RippleClan territory!” Oilpaw raced toward the cat and left stretched pawprints in the sand. The white cat strolled toward the trees beyond the beach. Oilpaw sped up. The white cat slipped behind a tree. Oilpaw spun around the tree… but saw nothing. The white cat was gone. In fact, Oilpaw didn’t smell any other cat nearby.
“What…” she muttered. A soft jingle fluttered from the beach. Oilpaw tensed as a small dog, no bigger than Oilpaw herself, scrambled along the shoreline. A jingling collar signaled its approach. Oilpaw stayed behind the tree. What was the word for a dog kittypet? A puppypet? That didn’t sound right.
Whatever the right word for the dog was, it skittered up to the tunnel. It sniffed Oilpaw’s prints and the cross-hatch inner wall. It wandered into the dark. A loud snap echoed across the beach. The dog yipped and yowled underneath the sand.
“Woah,” Oilpaw gasped. She ran back to the tunnel. An unseen cross-hatch wall now blocked the entrance to the sandy den. The dog slammed against the walls, crying. The sand crumbled away. What Oilpaw thought was a tunnel was actually a den made of metal. A bowl of fish chunks sat in the back of the den. The dog overturned it in its panic.
“Thanks for taking the hit for me,” Oilpaw muttered, unable to look away. Had she not chased after the white intruder… Maybe it was time for Oilpaw to head back to camp.
(Oilpaw: 9, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(???: ???, ???, ???, ???)
When Oilpaw gets back, Downstar gives her some advice.
[Image ID: Downstar and Oilpaw face one another. Over Downstar, it says LEVEL UP! VALUABLE INSIGHT -> TRUSTED ADVISOR]
---
Oilpaw scanned the entrance to camp. She couldn’t tell if anyone was nearby, for the entire area smelled like her Clanmates. The entrance was another of Downstar and Weedfoot’s constructions, similar to the warrior’s den. The pair dragged huge bramble thickets from the forest and settled them along the stone walls of camp. The brambles ran so deep that you could only land on the stones if you made a flying leap and prayed. The brambles only parted by the dirt place and the entrance. Oilpaw could only half-remember Downstar and Weedfoot triumphantly placing the brambles around camp and entering with pelts full of thorns. If Oilpaw wanted to get back into camp, she’d have to go through the entrance and pray.
She strolled into camp, hoping she looked nonchalant. Carnationpaw tended the oven flame while Scrubmask shared tongues with Rustshade. Oilpaw’s ears perked up. If she went straight to the apprentice’s den, maybe she could pretend she’d been napping through the blinding sunhigh hours and find Weedfoot for her assessment.
“How was your walk?” Downstar stood outside the apprentice’s den.
“Holy balls!” Oilpaw hissed as her back arched. “Downstar?”
“Did you have fun outside?” Downstar purred, flicking her ears to the entrance.
“I’m sorry for leaving camp, but everyone was busy,” Oilpaw huffed, smoothing her fur. “I was sick of waiting for Weedfoot.”
“Next time you sneak out of camp,” Downstar chuckled, shaking her head, “at least tell a friend where you’re going.”
“Wait, the next time? Aren’t you supposed to yell at me?”
“That would be rather hypocritical of me. Do you know how many times my mother or mentor had to drag me back to camp?” Downstar playfully shoved Oilpaw’s head down. “Just be smart about it.”
“So…” Oilpaw carefully slipped around Downstar and got a few steps close to the apprentice’s den.
“Oh you still have to answer to Weedfoot,” Downstar laughed, blocking Oilpaw’s path. She pointed her tail to her den. “She’s waiting for you in my den. If you’re polite, you’ll only get a quarter moon of sunhigh duties.” Oilpaw groaned and shoved her head in the soft sand.
(Oilpaw: 9, female, charismatic, morbidly curious)
(Downstar: 64, female, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
Puddlespeckle eavesdrops on Weedfoot.
[Image ID: Downstar and Weedfoot face one another in the upper right corner. Puddlespeckle lurks on the left. Underneath him, it reads + DISLIKE: DOWNSTAR, WEEDFOOT]
---
“I don’t like it,” Weedfoot sighed. “How are we supposed to trade with SlugClan and LynxClan if AshClan has to escort us to every meeting?”
“Agreed,” Downstar groaned. She sat in her boxed-in nest, itching her raw pads. “Walking outside the Clans isn’t an applicable solution. I don’t want to do that ever again.
“Autumnstar’s just taking his anger out on us,” Weedfoot scooted into the box and settled beside her friend and leader. “We can’t live under his paw like this. Downstar, I know we don’t want to solve all our problems with violence, but LynxClan gets to follow the border between SlugClan and WheatClan to visit AshClan, so we should be allowed to as well. Eventually, we’ll have to fight AshClan.”
“With what warriors? Maybe if everyone else was here…” Downstar ran a paw across the box floor. “WheatClan likes us. We would have to cross through their territory, but maybe Rustshade can convince them to be our escorts for now?”
“If you’re willing to risk run-ins with the humans. Downstar, I’m serious.” Weedfoot put her paw over Downstar’s. “I know what AshClan is like. They won’t give us any aid they don’t think we earned. It’s part of their history.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a fire.” Weedfoot’s heart spasmed as Puddlespeckle lurked outside the den.
“Puddlespeckle, were you listening to our conversation?” Downstart huffed, getting out of her den.
“Many generations ago,” Puddlespeckle grunted, entering the den with a sneered lip, “when there were only three Clans, a great fire ravaged the territory. The Clans were ruined. Every leader lost their remaining lives. The Clans did not know what to do. In trying to help one another, they lacked the resources to even help themselves. Smokestar took our Clan further east and established a new home in the ashes. Everything they’ve earned, they’ve fought for. They maintain their land through the blood of their ancestors, and curse the stars, they’ll defend it.”
“Father…” Weedfoot sighed.
“Of course AshClan wants to keep an eye on us!” Puddlespeckle growled, thrashing his tail. “We took their land! Only a fool would try to fight AshClan. You’ll just burn like the rest of your friends.” Bile coated his last words. He stalked away before either molly could say a thing.
It would have been better if Puddlespeckle hit Weedfoot.
(Weedfoot: 54, female, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Downstar: 64, female, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Puddlespeckle: 131, male, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)
#rippleclan story#fennelspot#RippleClan#RippleClan Clangen#Clangen#warriors#warrior cats#Downstar#Oilpaw#Rustshade#Weedfoot#Puddlespeckle#Carnationpaw
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RippleClan: Moon 9
Oilpaw becomes a historian named Oilstripe.
[Image ID: Oilstripe sits in the center of the screen. Below her, it reads LEVEL UP! OILPAW -> OILSTRIPE, MORBIDLY CURIOUS -> GHOST SIGHT]
There were ghosts in the crowd when Oilstripe got her name. Oilstripe tried to ignore them as Downstar spoke of the first graduation ceremony in the history of RippleClan, set on the first day of the new year, but it was hard when they sparkled at the edge of the crowd and cheered louder than her living Clanmates.
Truthfully, Oilstripe couldn’t have asked for a better day to earn her name. The snow had melted into a few stubborn piles along the brambles lining camp. She could step outside and not shiver.
Moonpaw and Twinekit lurked behind Rustshade and the kits. They pranced at the edge of the crowd, singing Oilstripe’s name. They weren’t there when she became an apprentice, why were they here now? Or had they been there, and Oilstripe simply didn’t see them?
“Good job, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot purred. She shoved herself against Oilstripe, knocking her attention away from the dead. Downstar carefully climbed off the Shiprock, still sore from birth. Puddlespeckle had her four rowdy kits at his side. They were barely a quarter moon old, so they weren’t doing much, but they squirmed, kicked, and nibbled at Puddlespeckle’s side. Oilstripe would have laughed if she wasn’t so freaked out.
“Weedfoot—” Oilstripe gulped, but Weedfoot shoved her tail in Oilstripe’s mouth.
“No talking!” Weedfoot laughed. “You need to sit vigil outside camp until dawn.”
“But—” Oilstripe groaned through a mouthful of tail.
“No exceptions,” Weedfoot chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s the first day of the new year! We’ll all be in camp to keep you company. Now get settled.” Weedfoot looped around Oilstripe and gently nudged her to the exit. Oilstripe searched for the dead, but Moonpaw and Twinekit were gone. As Oilstripe passed her family, Rustshade nodded at her, purring softly. Oilstripe nodded back, swallowing the stone in her throat.
(Oilstripe: 13, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)
(Moonpaw: 10, female, mediator apprentice, childish, good hunter)
(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)
(Weedfoot: 58, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Downstar: 68, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Puddlespeckle: 135, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)
(Rustshade: 53, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore) (I screwed up his age for moons I’m sorry)
Oilstripe and Rustshade actually get along better today. They share a meal.
[Image ID: Oilstripe and Rustshade face each other. Under Oilstripe, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: RUSTSHADE. Under Rustshade, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: OILSTRIPE.]
---
Oilstripe’s mind burned when Weedfoot stepped out of camp the next morning and eyed the young ginger historian. She probably looked like a wreck. Her eyes begged to close, but she forced them open with the same fire that fueled her thoughts. When she locked eyes with Weedfoot, the gray deputy paused, back arching for a brief moment.
“Wow,” Weedfoot chuckled, relaxing. “And my father said I looked exhausted after my vigil. How do you feel, Oilstripe?”
“Confused,” Oilstripe said before she could stop herself. Her voice was harsh from a lack of use.
“Confused?” Weedfoot repeated. She sat beside her former apprentice. Her paws kneaded the sand. “Why is that?”
“I, uh,” Oilstripe stammered, ears going flat. “I was just thinking about that secondary apprenticeship thing you told me about! You know, the whole informal education, pursue your passions, bond with other Clanmates thing?”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Weedfoot assured her. She began to groom Oilstripe’s fur. “You just have to ask yourself who you want to be and what you love to do. You don’t have to know immediately, and you can always try something else.” Oilstripe nodded absentmindedly. Weedfoot studied her sagging face. “Hey. Is there something else you want to tell me about? You haven’t been yourself since Twinekit died.”
“It’s not grief, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Oilstripe scoffed. “Honestly, it feels like she never died.” Well, that wasn’t completely true. Her death was a solid, hard reality in Oilstripe’s mind. It was more like she never left.
“Carnationpaw’s making soup,” Weedfoot sighed. “It’s squirrel and mushroom soup. It should be enough to feed the Clan for the day. Get some soup and get some rest.” Oilstripe shook out her pelt and followed Weedfoot back into camp.
The oven smoked with the remnants of Carnationpaw’s cooking fire. A large pot sat in the center of camp beside a big snapping turtle shell. The shell had some squirrel and mushroom soup inside. Rustshade sat beside the shell, gently lapping up the warm soup. When he saw Oilstripe, he patted the spot beside him. Dragging her paws and glancing around for signs of star-dusted cats, Oilstripe joined her father as Weedfoot and Scrubmask left camp.
“Oilstripe is a good name,” Rustshade said. “It reminds me of the patterns oil makes above water.” Oilstripe sat in a loaf beside the shell-bowl and lapped at the soup. The warm broth soothed her hard soul. It thawed the questions digging at her guts.
“Hey, Dad?” Oilstripe asked with a crackling voice. Rustshade focused his ears on his daughter. “Do you ever feel… haunted?” Oilstripe stared at her dim reflection in the broth. She was right, she did look like a mess. Rustshade’s attention was fully focused on Oilstripe. “I mean, a lot of your friends disappeared or left or, or died when you were trying to form RippleClan, and now Twinekit’s gone… what do you think about that? Do you feel like they’re watching you? Does… does it scare you? What do you think they want? Why can’t they leave you alone?” Oilstripe braced herself for Rustshade’s confusion. He would find out what Oilstripe saw, he would think she was losing it, everyone would be jealous and scared and mad at her—
“I think that’s comforting,” Rustshade said.
“You do?” Oilstripe gulped. She stared at Rustshade.
“If my friends are watching me,” Rustshade sighed, glancing at the yellow-blue clouds, “then they’re making sure I’m okay. They want to make sure I don’t feel alone.” Rustshade put a paw on his furry chest. “I do feel haunted, but not in a bad way. If anything, I’d like to know the dead are checking in on me. It lessens death’s sting.” It could be comforting? Oilstripe supposed that could be true… but she wasn’t a cleric. Fennelspot didn’t see the dead all the time. What was she supposed to do with this strange sight?
“Dad, Locustkit left a hairball in our nest!” Clamkit cried from the nursery.
“It wasn’t me!” Locustkit huffed.
“The fur’s creamy, Locust!” Burdockkit huffed. Oilstripe snorted as Rustshade rolled his eyes.
“Thanks for sitting with me,” Rustshade purred. He turned to the nursery and called, “Locustkit, we don’t leave our hairballs in nests!” Rustshade trotted to the nursery. Oilstripe took a deep breath. She ate a bit more of the soup, smoothed out her fur, and marched to the medicine den.
“Fennelspot?” she called. The ginger and white cleric carefully brushed some powdered medicine into a small bowl. He placed a thick lid over the bowl before turning to Oilstripe.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” Fennelspot said, scanning Oilstripe. “Do you need something to help?” Oilstripe sat in front of Fennelspot, sitting as tall as she could.
“I want you to teach me about the dead,” Oilstripe said.
(Oilstripe: 13, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)
(Weedfoot: 58, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Rustshade: 53, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Clamkit: 3, female, kit, lonesome, interested in Clan history)
(Locustkit: 3, male, kit, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)
(Burdockkit: 3, male, kit, bossy, interested in Clan history)
(Fennelspot: 66, male, cleric, insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)
While Burdockkit and Clamkit sunbathe, Burdockkit bullies Duskkit and Graykit.
[Image ID: Burdockkit and Clamkit sit together on the left, while Duskkit and Graykit sit together on the right. Clamkit says “Burdockkit, they don’t even eat prey yet.” Below Duskkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK WITTED. Below Graykit, it says + NEW SKILL: CAREFUL LISTENER]
---
“Sunhigh is so boring,” Burdockkit groaned, rolling onto his back. He left a soft indent in the snow-mixed sand outside the nursery. He nuzzled into the sand and stared at the bright sky. “Why can’t we go do things?” Burdockkit kicked the air.
“Because everyone’s tired,” Clamkit sighed. She laid in a sunbeam near the edge of the sandy dip leading into the nursery. The rest of RippleClan copied her, sharing tongues and dozing off in the first warm sunbeams of the new year. “Dad says cats are… uh… we don’t like being active in the middle of the day.”
“Don’t you wanna hear more stories from Oilstripe?” Burdockkit whined, sticking out his tongue. “I wanna hear about the Ripple War! Why can’t we do things at sunhigh?”
“I just told you why!” Clamkit huffed. “We’ll hunt down Oilstripe later.” Clamkit yawned and further nuzzled into the sand. Burdockkit groaned loudly. His tail kicked up what little sand had dried in the noon sun.
Loud, clumsy footsteps stumbled out of the nursery. Duskkit and Graykit wobbled onto the sand. Their wide, unfocused eyes scanned the camp. Duskkit’s steps were big and awkward, like she couldn’t bend her joints. Graykit laughed and copied her sister. She immediately face-planted into the sand.
“Ha!” Burdockkit cackled, rolling over. “What did you think would happen?” Graykit cried softly as her tiny, barely usable legs pushed her up. Duskkit tumbled to her distressed sister and nibbled on her pelt.
“Burdockkit, they don’t even eat prey yet,” Clamkit sighed. “Be nice to them!”
“Dad said we could walk just fine when we were their age,” Burdockkit snorted. “Why can’t they?” Graykit cried a little louder as she tried to blink sand out of her eyes. Duskkit stopped her play-fighting and stared at Burdockkit with all the anger a kitten her age could muster.
“Dummy!” she yowled. “Stupid dummy! Stupid, stupid, stu… tailface! Dummy tailface! Stupid!” Graykit’s crying turned to laughter. Clamkit gasped dramatically. Burdockkit stared at the half-blind kit, never blinking. Duskkit spat out her last insult. Burdockkit couldn’t take it; he laughed as loud as he could, his belly aching from the sheer hilarity. He kicked his feet as he cackled like a mad-cat.
“Duskkit, Graykit, what are you doing?” Downstar stepped out of the cool shadow of the nursery and glared at her tiny daughters.
“Stupid dummy tailface,” Duskkit said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Burdockkit fell into another round of unstoppable giggles as Downstar’s pupils shrunk.
“Who taught you those words?” she gasped.
“Oil!” Graykit babbled through her chuckles. Downstar glared across camp to where Oilstripe dozed with Weedfoot.
“Oilstripe, please do not teach my daughters bad words!” Downstar yowled. Oilstripe jolted and didn’t realize who was yelling at her for a few minutes. Weedfoot groaned and yawned as her napping companion stirred.
“I didn’t teach them anything!” Oilstripe whined.
“I can’t breathe!” Burdockkit gasped before his violent laughter took over again. Downstar sighed and grabbed Duskkit by the scruff. She took her daughter back into the nursery, ignoring the best moment of Burdockkit’s short life. Graykit trotted after her, tripping over her own paws.
(Burdockkit: 3, male, kit, bossy, interested in Clan history)
(Clamkit: 3, female, kit, lonesome, interested in Clan history)
(Duskkit: 1, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)
(Graykit: 1, female, kit, impulsive, careful listener)
(Downstar: 68, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Oilstripe: 13, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)
(Weedfoot: 58, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
Shadowkit bonds with Scrubmask while Locustkit and Halibutkit hang out.
[Image ID: Scrubmask and Shadowkit stand in the lower left corner, while Halibutkit and Locustkit are in the upper right corner. Above Scrubmask, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: SHADOWKIT. Above Shadowkit, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: SCRUBMASK, + NEW SKILL: CAREFUL LISTENER. Below Halibutkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK WITTED.]
---
Downstar dropped Duskkit back in her nest. Graykit tumbled in next to her sister and buried herself in the moss. Downstar groaned, stretched, and crawled into the nest. Her daughters quickly latched onto her for another meal.
“Sorry about that,” Downstar whispered, “what were we talking about?” Scrubmask had volunteered to watch the kits while Rustshade took a sunhigh patrol. The cream and white molly sat in Rustshade’s nest. Somehow, in the few moments Downstar was outside, Scrubmask had fallen asleep and Shadowkit had crawled over to her. The stocky kit chewed on Scrubmask’s tail like it was a piece of prey.
“Shadowkit, get back here,” Downstar purred.
“‘e’s fine,” Scrubmask mumbled, turning over. Her tail moved in the process. Shadowkit huffed and followed her tail around the nest and continued to devour the young warrior. If Downstar’s youngest son was over there, where was her oldest?
Downstar leaned forward as much as she could without disturbing her suckling kits. Locustkit lingered behind Scrubmask, dead to the world. The tiny spotted tom purred in his sleep. Halibutkit laid beside him, equally content. Downstar purred and curled tighter around her daughters.
Life in RippleClan was everything she ever wanted.
(Downstar: 68, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Duskkit: 1, female, kit, troublesome, quick witted)
(Graykit: 1, female, kit, impulsive, careful listener)
(Shadowkit: 1, male, kit, troublesome, careful listener)
(Scrubmask: 26, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
(Locustkit: 3, male, kit, troublesome, moss-ball hunter)
(Halibutkit: 1, male, kit, impulsive, quick witted)
While on patrol, Weedfoot, Scrubmask, and Rustshade find a loner with a mangled tail.
[Image ID: A tortoiseshell sits on the left, while Weedfoot, Scrubmask, and Rustshade stand on the right. Below the tortoiseshell, it says NEW PLAYER: PARSLEY, 103 MOONS, FEMALE, RIGHTEOUS, GREAT SPEAKER, + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]
---
“So this is where you claim to have seen the giant frog?” Scrubmask asked, lazily scanning the rocky terrain near the AshClan border.
“Claimed?” Weedfoot scoffed. “I did see it. Why would I make that up?”
“Maybe you were tired,” Scrubmask hummed. A cool wind brushed through her fur and carried Rustshade’s scent from further ahead. The tom in question appeared from behind a tree, shaking out his leg.
“The border’s marked,” he reported. “AshClan scent is thick on the other side.”
“They want us to remember this used to be their land,” Weedfoot sighed. Well, now it was her land. RippleClan’s land. AshClan didn’t deserve it, not after what they did. Weedfoot took in the scent of the area. AshClan smelled like stones and thick forest. The scent still clung to that portion of the territory, but a new, salty smell drifted it over it. The smell of RippleClan. One day, all of the AshClan scent would fade from the land and Weedfoot could bask in the pure joy of her new home. She would forget all the pain and strife of living in AshClan and relax knowing she found a better place to live.
“Weedfoot,” Scrubmask said. Weedfoot opened her eyes and grounded herself in the moment. Scrubmask’s nose twitched and sniffed the air. “There’s an odd smell nearby. Neither AshClan nor RippleClan.” Weedfoot stiffened and tasted the air. Scrubmask was right; somewhere to the southwest, a stiff and sour smell drifted through the territory.
“Rustshade,” Weedfoot said quietly, “check it out.” Rustshade nodded and crept through the early spring growths, silent as could be. He left a few muddy paw prints behind him. Now that the territory was slowly shifting from winter to spring, Rustshade could no longer blend in with dead leaves and foliage. That didn’t seem to concern him nor slow him down, however, as he crept toward a small hole, big enough for a cat to squeeze in, underneath the roots of an oak. Rustshade peered into the shadows and flicked his tail for the rest of the patrol to come closer. Weedfoot and Scrubmask slipped around the oak tree and joined the ginger codekeeper.
There was a tortoiseshell huddled under the tree. They had a dark ginger pelt with three large splashes of dark gray. Huge bites littered their gray tail and stained it red. Cobwebs clung to their single white paw as they dabbed at the wounds. A tortoiseshell with one white paw… Weedfoot knew this molly!
“Parsley?” Weedfoot asked. The tortoiseshell, Parsley, startled, wild eyes locking onto the patrol.
“Now I know I am out of AshClan territory,” Parsley huffed, holding her tail close. “I know your colony’s rules. You don’t need to bother me out here!”
“This isn’t AshClan,” Scrubmask grunted. “This is RippleClan.”
“Another one?” Parsley groaned.
“Do you remember me?” Weedfoot asked. She bounced off the roots covering Parsley and stood in front of the loner. “I’m Weedfoot. We met a few times at the border.” Parsley peered at Weedfoot for a few seconds. Suddenly, she gasped.
“Why, Ms. Weed!” Parsley said. “I didn’t recognize you for a while there! Your Clan has more than its fair share of cats with a pelt like yours, after all.”
“I’m not a part of AshClan anymore,” Weedfoot explained. “I’m the deputy of RippleClan. We’re a new group.”
“That sounds quite important,” Parsley said. “Good for you!”
“Weedfoot, who is this loner?” Rustshade asked.
“Rustshade, Scrubmask,” Weedfoot said, nodding at each cat in turn, “this is Parsley. She’s a loner who used to hunt along the edge of AshClan territory. She lives in the human farmlands.”
“More like used to, Ms. Weed,” Parsley groaned. “There I was, comfy in the hay, when this huge dog comes marching into the barn like it runs the place! As soon as it sees me, it tries to eat me for lunch. Just about took my tail off.” Parsley weakly lifted her tail and flinched when it moved too much.
“Those wounds are severe,” Rustshade sighed. “Fennelspot could attend to those.”
“Well now, I know the rules of your Clans,” Parsley said, shaking her head. “You don’t like sharing your resources with folks outside of your little groups. I don’t blame ya for it, it’s good to support your own, but I don’t want ya getting in any trouble with your leader.”
“RippleClan is different,” Weedfoot purred. “The three of us left our old Clans because we wanted to be kinder and welcoming to loners and kittypets.”
“Among other reasons,” Scrubmask muttered.
“Downstar would gladly shelter you for as long as you need,” Weedfoot said. “I promise we’ll take care of you.”
“Well that’s mighty kind of ya, Ms. Weed!” Parsley laughed. “You always were a nice cat, that’s for sure. Will you do me one small favor first?”
“Do you have other injuries?” Scrubmask asked, sniffing Parsley through the roots.
“Oh no,” Parsley assured the group. “I crawled in here to put a bit of cobweb on my tail, and well…” Parsley wiggled and shifted, bumping into the roots. “I think I’m stuck now.”
(Weedfoot: 58, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Scrubmask: 26, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
(Rustshade: 53, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Parsley: 103, female, loner, righteous, good speaker)
#rippleclan#rippleclan clangen#clangen#warrior cats#warriors#rippleclan story#downstar#weedfoot#duskkit#graykit#shadowkit#burdockkit#clamkit#rustshade#scrubmask#oilstripe#parsley
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Meet Wasppaw, one of the Ashes in the Water. He’s mentioned in Moon 2 when Weedfoot teaches Oilpaw some Clan history.
Traits: 11 moons old, he/they (demiboy/Demi-tom), codekeeper apprentice, bold, good hunter.
Wasppaw was Paleshade’s apprentice, studying to be a codekeeper. He was entranced by Weedfoot and Paleshade’s ideals of accepting more loners/kittypets into the Clan, less relationship moderation, and stronger diplomatic connections between Clans with a lowered reliance on combat solutions. They proudly stood by their mentor when the Ashes in the Water declared their intention to leave and invited others to join them. Sadly, he was killed by Autumnstar himself in the ensuing battle.
It was hard for him and the others to get into StarClan, because many of its active members were torn about allowing a new Clan to form. However, recognizing these disparate elements would cause chaos in their Clans, StarClan decided to support the RippleClan mission and allow all the Ashes in the Water into StarClan. Paleshade was the only one to not have a trial.
#rippleclan#rippleclan clangen#clangen#warrior cats#warrior cats clangen#warriors#RippleClan lore#Wasppaw#ashes in the water
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So since caretakers and StarClan tied in the last vote, I am sharing both of them. That means, technically, this is the vote for the fifth lore post!
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Oilpaw, my newer oc who used to be an adoptable !!
She’s edgy
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