"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on." ~ Havelock Ellis
~ One Moon Old ~
Illness was heavy in the air of leaf-bare, the weather was damp and cold and prey was scarce and rail thin when it could be found. Amid this turmoil, Ruepelt gave birth to three kits: Webkit, Mosskit, and Mousekit - the runt of the litter.
Life was calm, almost normal, for Ruepelt and her kits. All illness that entered the Shadowclan camp was dealt with swiftly, and always, always, kept far away from the nursery. The kits grew, opening their eyes to the silvery sheen of snow over the camp - well, as much of the camp as they could see through the entrance of the well-insulated nursery. At night Ruepelt would let her kits peek their heads out of the nursery entrance to gaze upon Silverpelt while she told them about Starclan and how each of the kits had a fate given to them by their warrior ancestors.
Mosskit took a particular interest in Starclan and would peer up at his mother in their downy nest and ask her over and over if she knew the fate Starclan had for him.
“No, mosskit, Starclan only speaks to the medicine cat,” Ruepelt purred as she licked her brown spotted kit.
Mosskit looked at his mother with thoughtfulness and desire in his eyes, an uncommon expression for a young kitten,
“C-can we go and speak to the medicine cat then,” he would meow desperately.
Ruepelt’s fur would ruffle each time he asked, and she would dismissively tell him that the medicine cat was very busy at the moment. A half-truth told to shelter her kit, the medicine cat was busy, but only because illness had begun to lurk in Shadowclan's camp - a deadly predator stalking its prey.
~ Two Moons Old ~
Illness was a lingering haze over the camp, but life went on for Webkit, Mosskit, and Mousekit as they knew no more than the warm milky interior of the nursery - their small world for the time being. Ruepelt remained dismissive of Mosskit’s frequent requests to see the medicine cat and speak with Starclan.
“Not today, Mosskit…,” Ruepelt would meow.
“Maybe tomorrow…,” the she-cat repeated.
“The medicine cat is busy, Mosskit, leave it be,” she would purr and nudge her kit into his nest. Her responses became a chorus of their own in the melody of voices in the Shadowclan nursery.
At night, he would lie in his nest snuggled against his mother's warm pelt and amongst his brother and sister. Mosskit’s eyes were wide with hope as he stared at the specks of light that showed through the thick walls that kept the leaf-bare away from the kits and queens, he believed that if he wished hard enough Starclan would have to speak to him.
“Hello… is any cat there…,” Mosskit called into the void of his dreams. The void remained silent and he would wake in a tumble and - while disappointed - he knew that the day was new and he would have yet another day to try.
~ Three Moons Old ~
Shadowclan was making it through leaf-bare but the illness had finally sunk its teeth into the camp. The clan has managed to nevertheless, keep the illness away from the queens and kits, but it was only a matter of time before they too succumbed to the illness plaguing the camp. Coughs and wheezes become commonplace in the camp's usual bustle of sound. Most of Shadowclan’s warriors had ailments ranging from scratchy throats to hacking coughs and some of the elders had moved into the medicine cat’s den to be more closely monitored.
“Ruepelt, can we go outside,” Webkit, Mosskit, and Mousekit would meow to their mother. The combination of cold and illness kept most of the queens and kits inside the safety of the nursery. Ruepelt’s three kits, however, were much more sheltered than usual and had not left the nursery - besides glances through the exit - for their three moons of a life.
Ruepelt would look at her precious first litter and meow,
“Not yet,” the confidence slipping from her voice each time she told her kits no. With each day that passed, she knew the time she could keep the kits sheltered from the world outside was dwindling.
~ Four Moons Old ~
“Ruepelt, you need to let your kits out of the nursery,” the other queens would tell her as her kits grew yet another moon older.
During Mosskit’s fourth moon, his mother made a choice that would create the stars in his eyes but cost him his world. Much to Ruepelt’s dismay, the other queens were right - her three kits would be apprentices in about two moons, and they would be unprepared if she held them inside much longer.
“Today, momma,” Webkit, Mosskit, and Mousekit meowed excitedly with fawning eyes when Ruepelt told them one morning that they were going to take a walk around Shadowclan’s camp. Finally!
She took her kits out into the camp during the afternoon- when the sun lessoned the chill of leaf-bare. The coughing and wheezing filled the kits’ ears and they knew something was wrong.
“Ruepelt, is Starclan mad at us?” Mosskit asked in fear.
Ruepelt’s fur fluffed and she felt a surge of fear ripple through her lean body. No, no, no her darling kits could not know the reality of it all - at least Mosskit’s question was something she could answer honestly.
“No, Mosskit. Shadowclan has done nothing to anger our warrior ancestors, leaf-bare brings illness sometimes, but the medicine cat has it all under control,” she purred as she quickly huddled her kits back into the nursery. That night Ruepelt began to cough, at first lightly - a tickle in her throat - but by the end of the next day she was hacking. For the safety of the other queens and kits, Ruepelt and her litter were moved to the medicine cat’s den.
~ Five Moons Old ~
By the start of the fifth moon, Webkit had died, even as the firstborn and largest kit, his body had been unable to overcome the illness that had ravaged it.
Ruepelt slept most of the day now, her breath coming out in heaves and choked rasp, she hated herself and blamed herself in entirety for the death and pain of it all. Even amid the suffering, Mosskit would ask the medicine cat to tell him stories of Starclan, about the herbs they were using, and any number of similar topics - he wanted to be just like the medicine cat: loyal, useful, diligent, caring, the most selfless member of the clan. His wish for Starclan to bless him grew and his dreams became a cacophony of whispers and images of events yet to occur. Had Starclan finally accepted his wish, his need, was this his destiny?
By the end of Mosskit’s fifth moon, Ruepelt had been buried next to Webkit. Mosskit and Mousekit had recovered; however, Mousekit’s lungs remained weak and her breaths shallow.
~ Six Moons Old ~
Mosskit and Mousekit had mourned their lost kin but life in the clan had to go on.
“Mosspaw! Mousepaw! Mosspaw! Mousepaw!” the clan chanted as the orphaned kits became apprentices. Mossfreckle was happy to be rid of the nursery and its milky smell and hazy light that seemed to cast Ruepelt’s form on every woven branch. The apprentice's den was closer to the medicine cat anyway, he thought to himself.
“Mosspaw, slow down,” Mousepaw panted, her breaths coming out as wheezes - the medicine cat had done all she could to rid the she-cat of her illness but they feared it would always linger. Mosspaw worried for his sister, he had learned enough from listening to the medicine cat - during his time in their den - to know that she was not doing well. He slowed his pace and sent up a prayer to Starclan to help heal her.
Mosspaw woke in a panic, his dream had been a warning of some sort - a listless and sinking feeling. He looked over to Mousepaw hoping to hear the reassuring sounds of her breathing which always softened at night - he preferred her this way, she seemed as healthy as her kithood when she slept.
He listened, then watched, then worried. Mosspaw got up to check on Mousepaw as he did not see the telltale rise and fall of breath, he stalked over to her silently and nudged her with his nose.
“Mousepaw,” he meowed almost inaudibly.
“MOUSEPAW,” he half spat half whispered.
Oh, Starclan help her, he thought as he nudged his sister again - she was gone.
~ Seven Moons Old ~
During the day, Mosspaw worked with his mentor to complete his training - he worked quickly and diligently to get it done quickly. He knew he was being useful to the clan as an apprentice, eventually, he would be a warrior and could fight for the clan… he did not want to fight though and he could not help himself from watching wistfully as the medicine cat went about their task: collecting herbs, healing cats, holding the clan together, speaking with Starclan.
When Mosspaw was not training, he would do all he could to help out around the clan. He would take kits out to play, speak with more lonesome clan mates, and try to solve problems - he did all he could to embody the traits of the medicine cat he looked up to.
“Thank you, Mosspaw,” one cat would meow.
“What a helpful cat you are,” another one would add.
He was quite a well-known cat by this time - not so much for himself but for his actions and aid.
Night, however, was the time he took to be selfish - well, as selfish as such a selfless cat could allow themselves to be. Mosspaw would stare up at Silverpelt - and the three stars he swore showed up for his lost kin - and would promise to the stars that he would do all he could to become someone who could heal that cats of Shadowclan, praying that Starclan would give him a chance to accomplish the fate they whispered to him in his dreams.
Mosspaw would then haul himself into his nest, exhausted from training and helping and hoping. He would close his eyes and open them to the sights of his dreams - the once void was now a world of warnings, omens, and words spoken by long-dead cats.
~ Eight Moons Old ~
Mosspaw went through training swiftly, being a warrior was not his fate but he would do all he could to be the best at it because the best warriors were the ones who did the most for the good of the clan.
He had learned to hunt so he could bring back fresh kill anytime he was free and he taught kits to hunt leaves so that they could be not only entertained but prepared as well. He had learned to climb because he knew that the required lesson would make him more useful. Mosspaw learned to fight so he could protect Shadowclan. While he was calm, thoughtful, and gentle, he would always be the first cat to offer to go on raids - the clan needed cats to fight for its protection, for its wellbeing. He was always up for a patrol, often offering to take a clan mate’s spot if he thought they needed to get more sleep or seemed too busy to patrol.
Mosspaw knew more than any cat that he was sidestepping his fate but he knew all he could do was wait patiently.
“Soon, soon, soon,” the voice of a long-gone cat whispered in his dreams, hazy visions of flowers and plants and stars flashed through his mind.
Mosspaw would often wake to the prode of an annoyed apprentice’s paw.
“Mosspaw, you need to knock off the whines. You are as loud as a monster and as concerning as an owl’s screech,” his fellow apprentices would meow before stalking out of the den to complete their respective tasks.
~ Nine Moons Old ~
Mosspaw had completed his training and required tasks to become a warrior - he was proud of himself for becoming a more useful member of Shadowclan, he wanted to do all he could for his clan. The clan needed more warriors desperately anyway.
The leader of Shadowclan called upon Starclan to look upon him, telling their warrior ancestors that he had trained hard to understand the ways of the noble warrior code and that they commended him to them in turn.
“Mosspaw, from this moment on you will be known as Mossfreckle. I know you will serve your clan well, young warrior,” the leader meowed. Mossfreckle bowed his head and licked his leader's shoulder respectfully. From the place he stood, he could see the medicine cat’s den which sent a pang of longing straight to his heart, a hawk sinking its talons into a kit.
“Mossfreckle, Mossfreckle, Mossfreckle!” his clan mate’s chants filled Shadowclan clearing.
Mossfreckle graciously accepted his clan mates' licks and purrs of congratulations, but their words were drowned out by his thoughts. He needed to sleep but he would have to wait until he finished sitting his silent vigil at the camps entrance that night.
The morning after his naming ceremony, Mossfreckle was allowed to end his vigil as the dawn patrol made its way out to camp. He meowed back quickly to cats who greeted him, he had no time to converse or share tounges that morning - he needed to escape into the omens of his dreams.
“SOON,” his warrior ancestors howled in the hallows of his mind, awakening him from his fitful slumber with a jolt. What was coming soon?
~ The Present ~
Lostspark is looking for an apprentice! Mossfreckle wondered if he had heard the news right - he wondered if he would finally be able to fulfil the fate Starclan had promised him.
“Lostspark,” Mossfreckle greeted the Shadowclan medicine cat with a respectful bow of his head,
“I have come to offer myself to you for consideration as your apprentice.”
He looked up at her with stars in his eyes,
“Please let me fulfil the fate Starclan has written for me.”