Clayclan

Mottledpaw was sure that it would be impossible to ever feel smaller than she did right then. Though it was not yet Leaf-fall the air felt frigid and still, like it was frozen in place. The forest that surrounded her was grey and still as if it were carved of stone, the leaves dull green and sickly yellow, so far from the Green-leaf vibrancy that had decked her old home of Aspenclan. Just thinking of her old clan was enough to make Mottledpaw want to curl up and wail. As disasters went, the one that befell Aspenclan had been spectacular, pure and utter chaos with an unknown source. Mottledpaw had run without thinking, losing her adoptive mother and sisters in the fray. Once the adrenaline had worn off and she was free of the smoke and the shock, the apprentice had been left with nothing but a sense of emptiness and loss. It was like being abandoned for the second time, but now it was her fault. The little shecat trembled among the tree roots where she was sheltering, fighting back tears and wishing to Starclan that she wasn't so alone. "I understand," came a soft, soothing voice. Mottledpaw lifted her muzzle from where it had been buried in her paws to find a faded bicolor shecat smiling gently at her. "I lost my family too. It's hard and I miss them." The cat had such a bittersweet look in her eyes that Mottledpaw's questions of "Who are you?" and "Why are you talking to me?" died in her throat. Instead, she finally let herself cry. "I miss them. I miss them so, so much,"Mottledpaw sobbed. The older cat said nothing, but she curled herself around the mourning apprentice and held her as she cried, intangible but present nonetheless.

The next morning, Mottledpaw woke up thirsty and convinced that the previous night she had dreamed a Starclan cat had come to comfort her. It had been a good dream, draining the tears and sorrow from her body, though admittedly her head now felt fuzzy and her joints dry and creaking from dehydration. She still felt hollow and empty but at least now her body had a goal besides runaway as fast as you can, and for now, that would have to do. The shecat blinked her crusty eyes and tasted the air on her dry, cracked palate as she rose to her paws. There was a river nearby, though it tasted mostly of mud, and Mottledpaw began her stumbling path towards it, only to run abruptly into- or rather through- another cat. "Gah!" Mottledpaw let out a cry of shock as she passed through freezing cold fur, tripped over her own paws, and wound up with her muzzle buried in the soft silt. "Squirrel scat," she cursed, and the immediately regretted disobeying all of Cloudmask's teachings about swearing. Her mother would be disappointed she chided herself, but darker part of her mind told her that her mother wasn't there anyways. Suitably annoyed the shecat picked herself up and turned to give the other cat a piece of her mind, only to find the same faded shecat who had visited her last night. 'You- oh-" Mottledpaw gaped like a fish. "Me,"the shecat agreed. "I'm Flaxpool. Formerly of Beechclan, now of the dead." The matter-a-fact way Flaxpool confirmed she was in fact dead, set Mottledpaw off balance for a moment. Even when she found her voice again, there was only one thing she managed to ask. "Do you have any water?" Flaxpool smiled and flicked her tail for the young shecat to follow her.

Growing up a warf cat, Gustpond had fish oil in his veins. Of course, there was a real difference between catching fish in the majestic surf and catching fish in Clayclan's sorry excuse for a river. According to the various ghosts that hung around Driftstep, Resinstar, and himself, the river hadn't always been in the sluggish, muddy state it was now. Neither had the trees looked so brittle and sickly. Sorrelstar, according to their resident medicine cat, had been quite offended by Gustpond's disdain, but thankfully accepted the tom's profound apologies. Which was good; Gustpond didn't want to be run out of another home, especially not when he had promised to help Stormripple, though currently the faded tom was helping him. Stormripple was weaving around his living friend, checking his posture and correcting it where need be. "Your stance is looking much better Gust...pond." As usual the tom's mew caught on the last part of Gustpond's new name, obviously thinking of Dunpond. Gustpond had offered to change it as soon as he noticed it was bothering his friend, but Stormripple had assured him he was happy that Gustpond was carrying the suffix of his dead mate. "You can always call me Sirocco you know," Gustpond whispered to his friend for the fifth time. For the fifth time Stormripple shook his head. "Too confusing. Remember, you can't talk when you're fishing in the river. There aren't any waves to hide your mew." Obediently Gustpond hushed up and turned his attention back to the water, only for someone to come barreling out of brush and throw all of his stealth out the figurative window.

The barreler, a calico shecat who looked to be less than a year old, paid Stormripple and Gustpond very little mind. Now for Stormripple, being invisible and all, this was to be expected, but Gustpond on the other paw was not a tom to be overlooked. He watched as the calico stopped besides the water's edge, cursed at the mud on her paws, scowled at the state of the river, and began to drink anyways. "You should slow down if you don't want to get a cramp," Gustpond purred easily as he padded up to the shecat, who finally took a break from gulping down water to look him over. "I'm thirsty," she said, as if that were exclamation enough. Gustpond noted the puffiness to her eyes but didn't comment on them. Instead he just smiled, relaxing his stance to show he meant no harm. "Are you hungry too? I'm a clan cat and our camp is nearby, I'm sure everyone would be happy to meet you. You could eat or rest or run away whenever you felt like it." The shecat eyed him with a tired weariness, and Gustpond got the feeling she was only keeping up the act of being difficult to distract herself from her real difficulties. He understood. After a quick whispered conversation over her shoulder, with a Beechclan ghost no doubt- it seemed to Gustpond the cats around here were crawling with them, the calico nodded and deigned to follow Gustpond to the trees where Clayclan made their camp.