Mothripple walked to the nursery with a small touch of pride mixed in with her usual anxiety and apprehension. Today she would finally get the help she needed so badly. Her stores of herbs were pitifully small, made up only of the clumps of coltsfoot and dandelion from her outing last night, which definitely wouldn't be enough to bring a cat back from the brink of death. If Hollyfrost's condition worsened while Mothripple was away from the medicine den, the ginger warrior might be beyond saving.
Thinking about Hollyfrost was apparently a bad idea, as Mothripple could already feel her paws begin to shake with worry. What if I didn't stabilize her correctly? What if her wrappings came undone and her wound reopened? She knew full well that Hollyfrost's cut had begun to scar, but what if the ginger she-cat had shifted into a different position?
Mothripple had no way to know how her patient was doing, and it terrified her.
By StarClan, Mothripple needed a few extra pairs of paws like she needed her next breath of air. The pale cream she-cat took a deep breath, allowing the fresh air to calm her shaking nerves as she approached the thorny bush that sheltered the Clan's next generation. She tried to remind herself that the answer to all her problems was sitting just a few fox-lengths in front of her, and all she had to do to achieve it was take a couple steps forward.
It seemed easy, but she couldn't help but worry what it would mean to take on an apprentice- no, two apprentices- when she was already on the edge of a meltdown every waking second. Besides, Mothripple didn't have the faintest clue on where to begin with their training. It all felt like too much work for one cat, and the only way to resolve that feeling was training the apprentices to help her. It was like some sort of vicious cycle, with no escape in sight.
How can I possibly handle this?
Mothripple realized the dangerous entanglement of her thoughts and let herself release a long, deep sigh, trying to visualize the tension leaving her body along with her exhalation. It was the same tactic she taught to anxious cats when they came to her with strained nerves and tensed muscles, so full of fear and worry that Mothripple was never sure in her ability to help them.
But she had helped them. Nearly every cat left her den feeling better than when they entered, despite all of her doubts. Mothripple was capable. She knew that. But why, then, did she feel so helpless?
With one last attempt at shoving her worries aside, Mothripple pushed her way through the thorny exterior of the nursery and felt its warm atmosphere settle deep into her fur as her paws touched the moss-covered ground.
All around her, fluffy-furred kittens tumbled across the nursery floor, chatting happily and play-fighting with all the boundless energy of youth. Mothripple couldn't resist a pleased purr at the sight of the energetic kits. She had helped deliver almost all of them. The medicine cat cast a quick glance at Sunblossom, whose new kits were finally beginning to wean off of her milk, and was glad to see that little Honeykit was picking at a chunk of fresh-kill with her brother, Smokekit.
"Mothripple!" meowed a smooth voice from her right. The she-cat turned to see Softpurr, the queen's long creamy fur shifting elegantly as she rose to her paws. Mothripple had always wondered where the genes for such an extravagant pointed coat pattern had come from. "Featherstar told me you might visit, though I must admit, I didn't expect you so soon. My kits are still playing—the rowdy little things—so it might be a while before you can get anything out of them."
Mothripple laughed. "They're certainly still young at heart."
Softpurr nodded knowingly with a gesture of her fluffy tail toward her litter, who tussled in a writhing mass of fur just a pawstep away from their mother. One of the she-kits sat, bored, at the sidelines. Mothripple's mother had died when she was just a kit, but she thought that all queens must share the same warmth in their gaze as Softpurr had when she admired her kittens. "They're beginning to outgrow the nursery. It's definitely time for them to leave."
Despite her decisive words, Mothripple sensed a touch of sadness in the long-furred queen. "Will you miss them?"
Softpurr shrugged. "Of course I will. Any queen would miss her kits. I'm excited to see them become apprentices, because I know they'll love whatever they learn, but…" she glanced at her paws. "I suppose I still want to be their mother. I want to keep them safe."
Mothripple understood the feeling, in her own way. It was how she felt every time a party went out to steal prey from DawnClan's territory, or how her heart dropped when she heard of a badger's nest found in DuskClan's forest. She wanted more than anything to protect her Clan, to keep them all alive and happy, to prevent another Hazelpaw.
The medicine cat placed her tail over Softpurr's, hoping to offer some comfort.
"I promise I'll keep Lowkit safe," Mothripple said softly. "if that's any consolation. I'm sure she'll be a wonderful medicine cat some day."
Softpurr smiled, her radiant blue eyes closing as she did so. "I'm sure you'll make a wonderful mentor, too."
I hope so, Mothripple thought to herself. I really hope so.
The sun bore down on the treetops, its light filtering through the heavy arms of the great willow as DuskClan—or, rather, what was left of it—gathered for the Clan meeting. More than half of the Clan's apprentices and nearly all of its warriors were busy guarding the graveyard, so most of the present cats were elders and queens. The few warriors and apprentices who were lucky enough to be out of the guard rotation at the time held themselves with heavy exhaustion from their constant rushing between camp and the graveyard.
Mothripple approached the base of the willow where the soon-to-be apprentices were lined up, two kits walking by her side. One was Lowkit, the tabby-point daughter of Softpurr, and the other was Flamekit, the ginger-furred son of Willowsneeze. As she neared the great tree's roots, the kittens left her side and moved to stand next to their denmates, all of them bristling with nervous energy—except for Lowkit, who seemed to be keeping calm.
The cream-furred medicine cat stepped back into the crowd, turning her eyes onto Featherstar. Her Clan leader quickly ran her gaze over the gathered kits, probably to make sure they were all present, and then began to speak from her perch on one of the willow's lower branches.
"Today we meet as a Clan stronger than ever before," she began. "And to add to our strength, today we welcome nine new apprentices into our ranks."
The crowd broke out in spats of mumblings and murmurs, all wondering why Featherstar had waited so long to apprentice the eager kits. The grey she-cat silenced the whispers with a rasping hiss, quiet spreading out like a tidal wave across the Clan. Featherstar continued her speech.
"As many of our warriors are not here at the time, this ceremony may be slightly… unconventional. I might also note that the future mentors of these hopeful kits are going to be increasingly busy guarding DawnClan, so the new apprentices may not start their training for a time."
Mothripple saw multiple worried glances exchanged between parents, and noticed that a few of the waiting kits seemed to lose the bright sparkle in their eyes.
The elderly leader flicked her tail impatiently. "Nevertheless, the ceremony will go on. Shall we start?"
A peaceful aura settled itself around the cats beneath the shade of the willow as Featherstar descended the great tree, slowly picking her way towards the kits. Her dull green eyes sparked with the rush of authority as she opened her mouth to speak the sacred words of induction.
"The kits that stand before you all have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for them to begin their training. I have carefully selected their mentors, and if StarClan approves, today will be the first day of these young cats' journeys to warriorhood."
Mothripple flinched. It was only a tiny detail, but Featherstar forgetting to acknowledge the medicine cat's future trainees felt as if she were ignoring the importance of healing in the Clan. She hoped that her future apprentices weren't too disillusioned by it.
"This great willow tree," Featherstar continued with a gesture towards the gnarled wooden limbs arching behind her, her voice as frail and raspy as the brushing of the tree's leaves against one another in the breeze. "has sheltered and nourished our Clan since the…'' she paused. "...beginning of time." Mothripple nearly laughed at how her leader replaced the word dawn with beginning, as if the name of her enemy Clan was some sort of poison that would stop her heart the instant it crossed her tongue.
"Just as it has in the seasons of the past, the willow will welcome our trainee warriors with a challenge." Featherstar began to pace around the gathered kits, all of whom had shaking paws and quivering tails. "You shall climb this sacred tree, and if StarClan approves of you, you will not fall."
The meager crowd waited in anticipation as the nine kits turned to face the willow. Though Mothripple had faith in StarClan, she was never sure of their ability to help small, clumsy kits ascend a tree. If any of them fell, the medicine cat knew that it would be her responsibility to save them. That thought alone sent a spark of tension through her paws.
Littlekit was the first to place his paws on the tree, quickly scurrying a few tail-lengths upwards like a ginger-and-white squirrel. The rest of his litter followed suit, Lowkit in particular carrying herself with an easy confidence. Mothripple wondered if the tabby-point she-kit had practiced the climb before the ceremony; she couldn't imagine herself approaching such a dangerous challenge with any measure of calmness if she hadn't prepared for it beforehand.
It reminded Mothripple of the first time she had set a broken bone. She'd seen Miststripe demonstrate the motions before, but actually putting the movements into effect was an entirely different endeavor. When she had watched her mentor, everything seemed perfectly simple— position the limb, carefully place two sticks alongside it, and secure the splint with a length of bindweed. But when Mothripple actually felt the future of her patient rest between her paws, it didn't seem quite so easy.
Now isn't the time to be thinking about medicine, she chided herself.
Soon enough, all nine kits had begun to scale the tree, their myriad of pelt colors sliding past each other like a school of shimmering fish swimming along a river of bark. Mothripple's eyes tracked the forms of her two soon-to-be apprentices as their claws slotted in perfectly with the ancient scratch-marks that scarred the surface of their ancestral willow.
Honestly, she was surprised with how easily the kits seemed to be making their climb; she remembered the fear that had followed her as she had climbed the willow long ago. Mothripple's mind had been full to bursting with ways that she could fall and snap her neck or shatter her legs, and it had taken substantial effort to quiet her worries enough to finish scaling the tree.
As if StarClan had heard her thoughts and decided that her life wasn't already packed with enough stress, Flamekit suddenly lost his footing as he tried to clamber onto a thick, low-hanging branch. His hind legs were left dangling helplessly below him, leaving only his foreclaws in contact with the tree. The air came alive with frantic energy as cats in the crowd below whispered worriedly to one another, wondering why their ancestors had let the kit's grip falter.
Mothripple kept her eyes trained on Flamekit as he tried desperately to pull himself upward, his claws hanging on to the gnarled bark for dear life. Come on, Flamekit, she thought, trying to send strength into his small muscles through sheer power of will. You can do this.
After another long moment of uncertainty, with strength given from StarClan, Mothripple, or the fiery soul in little Flamekit's heart, the young tom managed to pull himself upward. Mothripple felt the tension leave her muscles, and noticed that a young tortoiseshell she-kit that had been climbing beside Flamekit seemed to relax as well. She figured the she-kit must be Breezekit, Flamekit's sister, and her guess was confirmed when the kit scurried up the tree to sit beside the rattled ginger tomkit and began to speak quietly to him.
The crowd lost its nervous fervor, and focus returned to the rest of the kits. Most of Softpurr's litter were beginning to near the top of the tree, where a conveniently strong and level branch awaited the new apprentices. She watched with pride as Lowkit hooked her claws into the great branch, only a pawstep behind her brother Littlekit as his head became level with the top of the branch.
There were cheers from the cats gathered below as the ginger tom and his siblings made their way onto the bough, carefully tiptoeing their way through the pebbles that had been placed there in preparation for the next part of the ceremony.
Mothripple smiled for the young tom. Tradition dictated that the first kit to scale the willow was to be blessed with StarClan's strength throughout their training, and Littlekit seemed radiantly proud of this achievement. He held himself with all the confidence of a senior warrior, his eyes eagerly scanning the crowd below him.
She followed the kit's gaze and saw Softpurr sitting at the front of the crowd, her eyes glazed over with tears as she silently watched her beloved kittens rise into adolescence.
Mothripple hoped the tears were happy ones, but knew that most good things came at a price. Softpurr would see her kits grow happily and train to their heart's content, but she would become less relevant in their lives; so went the ache of motherhood. Even still, she admired the queen's bravery at facing a turning point such as this with a smile gracing her countenance.
Momentarily pushing the queen out of her thoughts, Mothripple began to make her way through the crowd. She passed Rippletide as he nudged Blazeheart forward with an honored dip of his head. Pride danced in the deputy's eyes when he glanced up at his kits, who were just then joining Softpurr's litter on the highest branch. The medicine cat nodded approvingly at the exchange; Blazeheart was an honorable and strong warrior, and an obvious choice for a mentor. She wondered which of Rippletide's kits the tom would be training.
Flamekit and Breezekit had reached the branch as well, their chests heaving with the effort. Soon enough, the mentors lucky enough to be present had emerged from the crowd and took their place below the great tree, their future apprentices perched far above them.
Featherstar had the audacity to yawn widely before continuing the ceremony, which sent a rare tremor of anger through Mothripple's paws. The old cat turned to face her Clan and spoke with the grating tone of claws scraping against rock. "StarClan has deemed these kits worthy of their training, and now they and their mentors shall exchange a pledge of fealty." Their leader glanced at the empty spots where most of the future mentors should have sat, and the Clan followed her gaze. How would the apprentices be named without their mentors present?
An elder from the crowd echoed Mothripple's thoughts. "How's the ceremony supposed to happen with half the Clan on guard duty?"
Murmured agreement spread through the Clan as mothers and denmates alike shared their worries in low, uneasy whispers. An angry spark flashed in Featherstar's eyes, and her posture became rigid.
"Silence!" she snapped, a growl underlying her order. The crowd obeyed, and Featherstar cast a glare over her subjects. "As I have said, the ceremony will continue regardless of the cats that cannot be present." Something dangerous crept into her gaze, a dark and vengeful shade that sent a twinge of unease through Mothripple's already-shaking paws. "We will not allow DawnClan to prevent our time-honored ceremonies. We have finally gained the upper paw over them, and our traditions shall not be impeded because of it."
The threatening tone in their leader's voice kept DuskClan silent as Featherstar raised her head towards the kits clinging tightly to the willow's great limbs. "The brave and ferocious Nightheart will have the honor of training Littlekit, who was the first to scale the great willow this day."
Mothripple cringed, aware of Nightheart's reputation for impatience and rude remarks. Littlekit didn't look necessarily pleased about Featherstar's choice either, but he nodded valiantly and took the next step of the ceremony.
One moment Mothripple saw a movement in the ginger tom's paw, and the next, a small stone plummeted down from the willow, landing with an empty thud at the roots of the great tree. The rock sat in quiet stillness, patiently waiting for Nightheart to step forward and receive it. But judging by the silence of the crowd, the black-furred she-cat was guarding the graveyard that day, and there would be no mentor present to receive the stone.
The stone was meant to symbolize the bond between mentor and apprentice, and should have been received by the mentor at the ceremony. They would then keep the stone throughout their apprentice's training, only to return it when the apprenticeship was complete. It was also meant to show responsibility; if a cat couldn't keep track of one simple stone, then they probably weren't suited to train a young cat in the ways of the Clan.
Featherstar nodded approvingly. "Nightheart will receive the stone upon her return. Now that this young tom has been entrusted to a mentor, from this day until he receives his warrior name, he shall be known as Littlepaw. Let StarClan see and approve this apprentice, and let him be welcomed into the training ranks of the Clan."
The crowd chorused cries of "Littlepaw!", and Mothripple watched with eerie detachment as the rest of the warrior apprentices were named. Willowpaw had been apprenticed to Creamfur, Mudpaw to Windywing, Poolpaw to Blazeheart, and Breezepaw to Nightstripe.
The only kits remaining were Swankit, Olivekit, Flamekit, and Lowkit, two of which Mothripple would be training herself. Almost all of the new apprentices had to drop their stones towards the absence of their new mentors, and they struck the ground with an unsatisfying thump that echoed the disjointed energy of the ceremony as a whole.
As the next mentor was named, Mothripple allowed a rush of excitement to liven her heavy mood. "The sharp and honorable Tinyfrost will train Swankit as his apprentice."
The medicine cat grinned at the sound of her brother's name; he had always wanted to train an apprentice, after nearly four seasons of warriorhood without one. Neither of the siblings were sure why it had taken Featherstar so long to make him a mentor, but it didn't matter. Now he'd be given a young cat to train, and alongside his sister, no less!
She scanned the crowd eagerly for his cream-and-brown patched pelt, and felt her heart sink as long moments passed without her brother coming forward. Featherstar signaled for the ceremony to continue, and that little twitch of her leader's tail alone seemed to shatter any hope that had gathered inside Mothripple. Tinyfrost was going to miss the ceremony.
When Swankit's pebble fell to the roots of the tree, the soft thud that it sounded felt like more than a disappointment.
Mothripple understood why her leader didn't want to wait for the apprentices to be named—StarClan knew the medicine cat was desperate for some extra help—but now she had been robbed of the experience of seeing her brother receive his first apprentice. More importantly, Tinyfrost would face his first mentorhood without the comforting rhythm of ceremony to begin it, and would never get to see that stone, filled with the promise of loyalty, fall down from the sky towards him.
But the world didn't seem to care. Swanpaw's new name was chanted, and the cycle of tradition carried on.
Mothripple shook her head, trying to clear away the clouds of grief and confusion that enshrouded her thoughts. It's just a ceremony. It doesn't matter. But she couldn't shake the image of her brother returning to camp, his cold demeanor briefly melting to show a sweet, excited tom as he learned of his new apprentice, only to have that smile stolen away once he realized that he had missed the sacred vow of fealty.
Her worries were interrupted as Featherstar began to speak. "The next two apprentices shall share one talented mentor: our medicine cat, Mothripple."
There were appreciative cheers as Mothripple stepped forward in a daze. Her head was still fuzzy with frustration at her brother's absence, and she barely registered anything that was happening until, suddenly, she was at the base of the willow.
Tilting her head backwards, she could barely make out the shapes of Flamekit and Lowkit. They pushed their way past the other apprentices, ducking under fronds and maneuvering around knots, until the two kits reached their position. A pang of guilt sounded within her; it felt wrong that she had the privilege to experience the naming of her first apprentices, when her brother, who she knew was infinitely more capable, didn't.
She took a deep breath as she saw one of the kits grab a pebble with their teeth. You can do this, Mothripple thought desperately. The motions are simple. Much easier than performing a procedure on an injured cat, and you do those all the time. But if it were as easy as she told herself it was, why did she feel like running away?
Before she could further contemplate her escape, the two stones were plummeting through the air toward her, and it was all Mothripple could do to not flinch when one of them grazed her ear. She turned her gaze downwards to look at the pebbles once they had landed, and she heard her own breathing hitch.
Though she knew they were only stones, it felt as if she were looking at two entire futures, lying quietly in front of her. They were futures that she was to protect. Their safety would become her responsibility. Maybe it was that normal touch of apprehension that seemed to follow her everywhere she went, but suddenly, the prospect of training two apprentices became much more real than it had ever felt like before.
She wasn't just going to be receiving help. She would be training these kits to care for future generations of the Clan, so that they, too, would one day train a new set of healers. The health of the Clan—not just in the present, but for infinite seasons into the future—rested solely on her shoulders.
Though the nagging doubt that had nestled itself into a corner of her mind hadn't quieted, she felt oddly confident. All of her training had been leading up to this point—each cat she had treated, every word of comfort she had murmured, and every moment spent being taught by Miststripe—it had prepared her to take on this challenge.
With shaking paws and a calm heart, Mothripple stepped forward, and dipped her head to the ground. She had to tilt her mouth to the side to bite onto the thin length of grass that had been carefully tied onto the pebbles, allowing her to raise the stones without swallowing them. She turned to face her Clan, and felt a joyful wave of pride wash over her.
Her Clanmates—her friends, her patients, her family—all of them were releasing yowls and cries of encouragement. Even with half of them absent, the Clan was united, and for once, Mothripple was hopeful. Hopeful that they would prevail over DawnClan, that their territory would grow, that their violent border battles would finally cease. She was hopeful that kits would stop going days without prey, that warriors would no longer hunt on empty stomachs, that she wouldn't have to try to treat cats that came to her with no ailments other than an agonizing hunger. More than anything, she was hopeful that they would overcome it together.
This was the clan she loved.
With a light heart, she turned to face the willow, catching sight of her new apprentices as they proudly puffed out their chest. The Clan called out "Flamepaw! Lowpaw!" and as Mothripple joined in, she felt at home.
Soon enough, their moment was over, and Mothripple retreated into the crowd to hear her leader name the final apprentice.
"Now then, there is only one kit remaining," Featherstar rasped, her face as stern and emotionless as ever. "Olivekit, you shall be brought into warriorhood by the skilled, yet humble Hollyfrost."
Mothripple felt every drop of the tranquility she had felt just heartbeats before drain from her body.
"What?" she blurted, unable to stop herself. Heads swiveled to look at the medicine cat in surprise, clearly confused by her outburst. She shrunk slightly under their gaze, but continued. "H-Hollyfrost is still recovering. It'll be days before she's able to stand again, and probably moons before she can hunt! It's—"
"That's not a concern of mine," stated Featherstar, silencing the medicine cat. "An injury from that barbarian Ashscar isn't going to prevent a valued warrior from creating the next generation of DuskClan."
Mothripple felt the uncomfortable heat of anger begin to flow through her veins, and she rose to her feet. This isn't fair. "I know you don't want the Clan to be weak, Featherstar, and neither do I, but this is impossible! Nothing less than a miracle from StarClan would heal Hollyfrost in time for her to train an apprentice."
Featherstar locked eyes with Mothripple, her ancient gaze as cold as ice. "Then you'd better hope for a miracle."
"That's—I can't just—"
"I didn't ask for your opinion, Mothripple. You asked for help in performing your duties, and I've given it to you. Now I expect you to do your job. Is that clear?"
Every muscle in Mothripple's body ached with frustration. Her leader was so obviously ignorant of how healing worked, but she was still in command; Mothripple had no choice but to comply. "Yes, Featherstar," the medicine cat acceded, speaking the words through clenched teeth.
As Olivepaw's name was echoed and the crowd began to disperse, Mothripple furiously contemplated a new treatment for Hollyfrost. Once she was able to gather more herbs with her apprentices, she could make a poultice of goldenrod, marigold, and horsetail to aid the wound's healing, but beyond that, the best she could do was to keep Hollyfrost comfortable and hope for the tissue to rebuild itself quickly. Featherstar was asking her to do the impossible. It simply couldn't be done.
Maybe it was time to ask StarClan for help.
Before she could even consider joining the rest of her Clan as they returned to their respective dens, Mothripple caught sight of her leader's dull grey tail disappearing behind the other side of the willow. As if possessed by something much braver than herself, the medicine cat found her paws carrying her to the side of the tree closest to her, the pebbles she held clicking quietly against one another as she walked.
Mothripple pressed her pelt to the broad trunk of the tree and perked her ears to listen.
"...only been two days, and we're already short on warriors," a voice was saying. She recognized the low, commanding rumble as Rippletide's.
"I'm aware. This is a calculated risk," meowed Featherstar. Mothripple would have recognized her leader's voice anywhere.
"Featherstar, what if a badger comes to the camp? You saw the crowd at the ceremony today. We're barely equipped to fend off an attack."
"Rippletide, you needn't remind me of things I already know. I have it handled."
She heard the frustration rise in the deputy's voice. "How? How could you possibly have this handled? DawnClan hasn't left yet, and judging by the guards' reports, they aren't going to pack up anytime soon. Do you have some sort of... plan to force them out?"
"Out? DawnClan isn't going anywhere."
"What do you mean? You said there were mountains beyond the junkyard that they could travel to."
Featherstar laughed, an unsettling rattle that sent a chill down Mothripple's spine. "You clearly haven't met the lovely cats who live in the mountains. They prowl the peaks like lions and sharpen their claws on the corpses of monsters. I doubt they'll allow those overfed DawnClan podges on their territory."
"B-But…" Rippletide stuttered. "You said they could choose." His voice was small, as if he were a kit trying to comprehend a lie.
"Oh, Rippletide, your innocence is charming," Mothripple heard Featherstar rise to her paws. "It was never my intention to let them live." Ewww