Clayclan

Staring at the frost-caged crocuses filled Shard with a deep-set sorrow. The purple flowers hadn't even bloomed properly when the first snap-freeze had hit and trapped them permanently in an icy coffin. The shecat tutted and lifted her muzzle from the freezing ground, shaking droplets of melted snowflakes from her long white fur. It was the flowers own faults really, anyone who knew anything about crocuses (and one would think the flowers themselves would be familiar with their own biology) knew that they bloomed after the Cold Times began to melt into the Bud Times. These blossoms had simply been to eager, and now they payed the price; frozen between moments like the whole of this windless forest seemed to be. "Frustrating is it not?" came a creaking purr from behind Shard. The shecat whirled around to find a pale brown cat far older than she gazing at her with shockingly green eyes. The old shecat seemed unperturbed by the threatening stance Shard had adopted, simply glancing down at her unsheathed claws with a rasping chuckle. "Who're you?" Shard demanded. "And how long were you staring at me?" came as a self-conscious afterthought. "Not a threat," soothed the green-eyed cat. "And don't worry, I am hardly one to think that your preoccupation with order is odd. In fact, I think the two of us have a lot more in common than you might think Crocusgaze." While now convinced that the stranger was in fact not a threat, Shard couldn't help but feel like something was off about this shecat, even as she sheathed her claws. "That isn't my name," Shard found herself replying. "And Malloweyes wasn't mine. But I think you'll find that those are the kind of names that clans employ, and you do want to join a clan don't you dear?" Shard hadn't noticed that Malloweyes had gotten closer until the older cat was close enough to touch her with her flicking adder-like tail tip. Instead of flinching as her instincts suggested, Shard blinked thoughtfully. She had heard of clans from various Raider tales, communities of cats who lived according to a strict code. When she had left her rouge group Shard hadn't consciously chased after those stories, though they had come to mind every now and then. Now, being reminded of them once again, Shard found herself attracted to the idea of an orderly group of cats. Perhaps she did indeed want to join a clan. That contemplated, the shecat opened her muzzle to ask Malloweyes if there were any clans in the area only to find the green-eyed cat gone. "Strange," murmured Shard, no, Crocusgaze to herself, but before she could go searching for the shecat crunching footsteps and jovial laughter from another direction interrupted her. "Oh hey there!" came a tom's voice. "I'm Resinstar, and you must be an angel."

Driftstep's relief was a personal one when Resinstar returned to camp with a new clanmate to introduce. After all, she couldn't exactly tell Sorrelstar that she was glad her son's Bound was too busy flirting and showing Crocusgaze around to bother her. While the medicine cat knew very well that flirting was basically the way Resinstar said hello, it didn't make the compliments any more enjoyable, not to mention that Driftstep always felt rather guilty turning Resinstar and Claywhistle away when they wanted to chat with Sorrelstar, even if it was completely not her fault that she had more important things to do than sit around and translate jokes. So yes, Crocusgaze's arrival was a guilty pleasure for Driftstep, right up until Resinstar decided to introduce the new warrior to Clayclan's medicine cat. "Crocusgaze, I'd like you to meet Driftstep and Sorrelstar. Driftstep and Sorrelstar, I'd like you to meet Crocusgaze." By the fact that Crocusgaze didn't look at Resinstar like he was crazy during the introductions nor accuse Driftstep of lying when the shecat greeted her and belayed Sorrelstar's hello as well, the medicine cat was willing to bet that their new member had already been informed about the whole ghost situation. Which was good as Driftstep wasn't sure she would have been able to explain it if she had to, even with Sorrelstar's gentle advice. Though of course the existence of ghosts did prompt a certain question. "Crocusgaze and who?" Driftstep inquired. She felt a little bit guilty for hoping Crocusgaze's ghost wasn't anyone related to Sorrelstar, but not guilty enough to feel disappointment when Crocusgaze replied "No one." No, the shecat's response just served to confuse Driftstep. "No one?" repeated the medicine car in surprise. Driftstep turned her attention fully to Crocusgaze, really looking at the shecat for the first time. She was objectively a very pretty cat, with well-maintained long white fur and a brown mask, but there were muscles beneath that pelt too. Something about her appearance, or maybe the clipped way that she spoke, reminded Driftstep very strongly of a cat she knew. Her stomach flipped as Crocusgaze spoke again and Driftstep drew herself up to her full, though still rather diminutive, height. "I don't have a ghost," the shecat clarified calmly, seeming to not have had her world flipped upside down the same way Driftstep just had. "And you shouldn't sort similar looking herbs together. You might mistake them." Driftstep swallowed shakily. "I'll keep that in mind," she managed with a heavy tongue, turning pointedly back to her herbs. Ignorant to the revelation that had occurred to Driftstep, Crocusgaze and Resinstar departed to tour other parts of the camp. Driftstep didn't dare breathe until they were out of earshot. "Something's wrong," mewed Sorrelstar. It wasn't a question. "Yes. Crocusgaze looks just like Rime, the leader of the rouge group that's hunting me."

"Remind me again why I'm learning how to climb trees in the middle of a building snowstorm?" Mottledpaw complained as she shivered against the cold grey bark of the beech tree which she was latching on to. "So you're prepared for any kind of weather of course! This is nothing compared to the squalls I weathered on ships back home." Gustpond's voice was proud but far away, and not just because the wind was picking up. The tree creaked under her as Mottledpaw inched her way further up the trunk, but she doubted it was because of the wind or her weight. The trees on Clayclan territory were simply weird, more like stone pillars than live plants. The apprentice's claws were starting to hurt from jabbing them into the thick bark. Determined to get to the branch and rest, Mottledpaw misjudged her next step, unable to get a hold. She was left scrabbling for a good few heartbeats before she finally righted herself. "Mottledpaw!" Gustpond's mew was tinged with panic. "Are you alright?" "Fine, fine." Her breathing was ragged but gradually coming under control. Mottledpaw didn't want her mentor overreacting over her when all that happened was she got a little shaken up. "If you say so, but we can always go out again once the snow has stopped." Flaxpool, who had been floating besides Mottledpaw, nodded her agreement. "Be smart about this Mottledpaw. You don't need to overexert yourself." The apprentice brushed off both worried warriors and continued climbing. They didn't get that she needed to do this. She was already twelve moons, old enough to have gotten her warrior name over in Aspenclan if it hadn't... The shecat's breath hitched thinking of what had happened to her old clan and she nearly missed her next pawhold. Instead of letting herself dwell on Aspenclan's fate Mottledpaw engaged Gustpond in conversation. "What qualifies you to teach climbing Mr. ship-cat," teased the apprentice. Her mentor, always happy to talk about himself, purred and launched cheerfully into a response about mast-climbing with his siblings and how his sister Mistral would spoke him halfway up the main mast with the frogs she caught. Frogs, according to Gustpond, were evil incarnate, or at least that was what Mottledpaw thought he said. Most of her mentor's words ran together or were torn away by the wind, but it was enough for Mottledpaw to hear the familiar tone of his voice and know that he was down there looking out for her. When the shecat finally summited the beech tree to the cheers of Flaxpool and Gustpond, it occurred to Mottledpaw just how well her mentor would suit the role of deputy.

Taffy had to wonder to herself how so much snow could fall without a sound. Sometimes, when she was still a kitten, she would curl up all snuggly and toasty with Pillbug and Duet for the night and then wake up the next morning to find the entire world transformed into a winter wonderland. When Taffy got older piles of toys took the place of her brother and sister, but still the snow would come as quietly as it had before. Even now, no longer a house pet, the softly falling snow was still a welcome constant. Though admittedly now, in the shelter of a hollow log rather than her house, it was far colder and lonelier. The soft white cat rolled in her doze, half-asleep even as she groomed her tangled belly fur. It was impossible to be fully awake in such cold weather, but Taffy was shocked rather close to that by the voice of another cat. "What in-? Who-? Where-?" A series of incomplete questions rolled off the tongue of a faded tan and white shecat. The stranger's tail phased through the log as she turned in frantic circles, and that was when Taffy decided she was probably dreaming. "Who're you?" demanded the bleary Taffy. "Are you here to whisk me away to a world of dancing sweets?" The shecat before her didn't look like a wooden soldier, but one never knew. Especially not around pine tree and presents season. "Here to-?" Confusion morphed into realization and soft kindness on the stranger's face. "You're a kittypet aren't you? No I'm not the Nutcracker. But what are you doing in a log surrounded by flowers and-" the shecat who knew the names of things wrinkled her nose at the pile of various animals that Taffy had proudly caught. "Rotting prey." There was a note of pity to her mew that Taffy didn't quite know what to make of. "I like collecting things," the shecat offered sheepishly. "And I'm not a kittypet anymore. I live on my own." Taffy neglected to mention that she had named her prey at some point and on occasion conversed with it. She had seen enough shows on her housefolk's magic box to know that talking to things was generally a bad sign. Instead the shecat just shivered pathetically and watched as her guest's eyes melted into milky cocoa. "I'm dead even I'm cold in here. Let me take you to my old clan they- They may or may not be there, but hopefully the warm tunnels are still standing."Warmth sounded good to Taffy, she was beginning to lose feeling in her paws and her conversation with the supposedly dead shecat seemed to be happening many miles away. "Can I bring my things?" Taffy asked, her mew sounding strange and lethargic to her ears. A flash of something sparked through the dead cat's warm eyes as she purred a promise to retrieve Taffy's things as soon as they could, and began to lead the shecat through the snow.