PIPITLEAF | RC EX-MEDDIE

Kestrelstep never thought of herself as a cat with any maternal instincts, but the fact was quickly disproven once she gave birth to her first litter. Only one kit made it, but she was strong and noisy--a good sign for new kits. Fogthorn was never too far away from his mate and only child, checking in so frequently that the other queens began to chase him out. Swankit graduated to Swanpaw on a dazzling greenleaf day, her gray and white coat shimmering, and Kestrelstep knew she wanted more kits. So as she watched her oldest daughter progress in her training, the mother gave birth to two more.

Doekit and Pipitkit were fairly small, but the medicine cat, a cranky older tom named Stonethroat, assured her they were in good health. Pipitkit's journey began surrounded by close family. Even as a kit, the little brown and white she-cat idolized her sisters. The oldest, Swanpaw, was beautiful and feminine--not to mention gifted in fishing. Doekit was always more graceful, more approachable, than Pipitkit. She lacked the poise and any exceptional markings that were bestowed on her sisters, but it did not make her bitter. She loved them with her whole heart.

It had been three moons and six sunrises exactly when Pipitkit first laid eyes inside the medicine cat den. She had been planning to sneak in for days, and when the perfect time arrived, she took it. Stonethroat was out collecting whatever green stuff he needed for that day and her sisters were practicing fishing techniques near the apprentice's den. And so Pipitkit left stealthily (or as stealthy as a clumsy little kit could be) and slid into the dark den, eyes wide in attempt to take it all in. Messy stacks of leaves and roots and flowers littered the floor, and the overwhelming scent of earth flooded her nostrils. After what felt like hours, Stonethroat's raspy voice broke through her reality. She supposed she should feel guilty, but instead she turned on him, throwing question after question his way. For his part, he did answer each and every one, albeit grumpily, until it was time for his evening meal. Pipitkit was shooed from his den, but she made sure to visit the next day. And the next. Oh, and the day after that, too.

Stonethroat liked to remind Pipitpaw he only chose her so she would stop badgering him on a daily basis. But she saw the softness behind his hard expression, and she merely laughed and retorted with her own sarcastic comment. Training with RiverClan's medicine cat was always the best part of Pipitpaw's day because it satisfied her deep-rooted curiosity. She was not a cat to hold on to questions--if she had one, she would ask it. The little she-cat's memory was incredibly sharp and she caught on to new ideas quick, pleasing Stonethroat in her studies.

The moons passed in a blink, she felt, and soon enough her sister was sitting in front of the Clan, fur shimmering in the light, as she accepted Doepelt as her warrior name. She was a sight to behold, and Pipitpaw felt pride for her sister swelling in her chest. Her sisters were the most important relationships in her life. They never forgot to include her in their adventures, even if they had to wait for her to come bursting out of the medicine den covered in cobwebs, and they always made sure she knew she was important to them, too. Pipitpaw truly lucked out with her siblings.

So the young cat was not even remotely prepared to have Doepelt laid out on a bed of moss, struggling for breath after a slip down a steep portion of the riverbank, saving her apprentice's life in the process. Pipitpaw was frantic--completely mindless of her moons of training. Stonethroat had to remind her to settle down, or nothing could be done. Turns out, there was nothing to be done anyway. Doepelt had broken something in her chest that was keeping her from taking in breath. So she sat, curled up with her dying sister and Swanflight, ears pressed hard against her skull as if that would block out the death. It hadn't, she died before the sun rose.

Half a moon later, Stonethroat gently touched her forehead with his nose, declaring her new name to be Pipitleaf, for her natural healing talent. It raised her spirits, knowing Doepelt would be proud of her for reaching her goal. Life took off from there, with many cats to heal and even more herbs to collect. Stonethroat was with her through it all, with her burly blue pelt and shining gray eyes.

All sense of normalcy came to a skidding halt when ThunderClan was run out of their territory by a group of vicious cats with too much confidence. RiverClan, of course, decided to issue a challenge to the group, which she argued to her mentor about. It was senseless. It would only end in death, or worse. Stonethroat simply shook his head, but said nothing to refute the plan. The consequences came, and with it they took her mentor's life. She was forced to flee like the rest of her Clan, which landed her in ShadowClan's camp, shaking and exhausted. She fulfilled her duties, however, and treated as many wounds as she could.

They were told the refugees could stay, but she was rendered all but useless when she was told to train as a warrior. Pipitleaf balked at the idea, but she was assured that they already had a medicine cat and didn't need another. She was furious, still is, and it boils close to the surface now a days. Not to mention her training is going horribly, and her frustration is doing nothing to help. Her only solace is Swanflight, who keeps her tethered to this ragged band of cats. For now, she can only keep her chin and up try to regain some semblance of pride and usefulness.