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"Shellheart is going to tell a story," Mudfur said. "You should listen."
Spottedpaw looked to where the elder was sitting, Greypool's litter waiting patiently. Stonekit and Mistykit, found abandoned, had no memory of a life before RiverClan. She was not so lucky.
"Go on," Mudfur said. "He won't wait for you."
She sighed, padding across camp. The soil was sandy, and she still wasn't used to how it felt in her claws.
"Spottedpaw!" Shellheart said. "I'm happy to see you're joining us."
She shifted, uncomfortable. "Mudfur said you were telling a story."
"He is!" Mistykit cheered. "Are you going to listen?"
The kit was only a few moons old, and she stared up at Spottedpaw with pleading eyes.
"Yes," she said. "Now be good."
Spottedpaw sat down, tucking her paws underneath her, and Mistykit clung to her side like catchweed.
"What story should I tell?" Shellheart asked.
If she was in ThunderClan, Spottedpaw would ask to hear the story of Shiningface. It was her favorite story, and she longed to hear Larksong or Weedwhisker describe when Shiningface sat vigil, the moon catching her pelt like clear water.
"Tell us about Whitepoppy," Mistykit said.
"No!" Stonekit said. "That one is boring. Tell us about Sweetstream."
Shellheart purred, as Stonekit and Mistykit lost their composure, tumbling over each other. He caught Spottedpaw's eye. "How about I tell you the story of the River?"
"We've already heard that one," Stonekit complained.
"It's a good story," Shellheart said. "You can stand to listen to it again."
In the beginning, there was only the River.
Yes, this river. Hush, now. Let Spottedpaw listen.
In the beginning, there was only the River. It started in the Moon, cascading down the Great Stones, flowing past the High Stones — and that's why the Moonstone has its power, because it's connected to the moon itself through the River.
The River flowed down, winding through the land, branching in many places, mixing with other bodies of water. But one strand of it remained pure.
Do you all remember the story of how the Moon created cats? Good.
Unlike the still water of ponds, and the salt water that surrounds the edges of the world, the River was clear and fresh. It carried with it fish, and its rapid current protected its banks, sheltering them from harm. Most of the creatures of the world were afraid of it, not daring to get close enough for the River to see them.
But, out of all of the Moon's creations, cats were the most bold, and the most clever, and the most curious. The most curious and the most clever wanted to know all of their territory, and they decided to approach the River. They lived in the Great Stones, you may remember, and there, the River was huge and rapid, faster and wilder than any creature dared cross.
But they stuck to it, following it through High Stones — and in those days, the River surrounded High Stones, making it impenetrable for all but the River's chosen — and, being keen trackers, they followed the purest branch, all the way to a hollow where the water way was narrow enough and calm enough to cross.
No, they didn't know how to swim. They had to jump. Yes, they made it — don't warriors come into camp every day? Ah, Spottedpaw, it was our camp. But hush, I'm getting there.
They cleared it, and found, enriched by the River's flow, a lush hollow with grass and soft soil, perfect for them to live in. They had never seen such a place, as the Great Stones were cold and unforgiving, not an ounce of softness in them. But there was no prey, as nothing but a cat was bold enough to cross the River.
They made their home there, but they knew without prey, they would have to eventually leave.
The River, fascinated by a creature who dared to cross it, watched the cats with interest. They were indeed clever, learning to make nests that would float when the River flooded, and creeping through the cover of night so surely that only the Moon could see them. The River decided that the cats should stay, but someone needed to teach them how to hunt and swim, or they would leave.
The River studied the cats, and decided to take on the form of a cat, able to demonstrate fishing and swimming. Using the strength it drew from the Moon, it shaped itself into a silver tabby, with blinding blue-green eyes. It knew, when it did so, that it would not be able to do this again. To transform, it would have to sever its connection to the Moon. But the River decided that this was a worthy endeavor, for the cats deserved to stay in the oasis they found with their bravery.
Taking pity on the River, the Moon left some traces of its power in the water as the River transformed. The Moon knew the River was protecting her children, and she left the water imbued with divine, fragments of the River flowing through it in silvery streaks. Then, she bid the River farewell, and the connection was cut.
The River, now, just River, found being a cat was everything he thought it would be. His pelt glistened like his old waters, and he could see far more than ever before. Just as he had ran over stones as the River, he could slip through the undergrowth like a stream.
He introduced himself to the other cats, although he did not tell them his true self. They were happy to find another cat living here, and River showed them how to hunt the fish and swim, so that generations of cats could grow here.
Well, Stonekit, it wouldn't be very fun if I told you all the stories at once. And look, Mistykit is yawning. I can tell you the story of Ripple and Dusk tomorrow.
Right. So River became a leader to these cats, and he outlived many of them. He took several mates, and all of his children bore his glossy pelt, able to swim better than the others. These cats who bore his blood were very close with one another, helping raise each other's kits.
When River passed away, he named his eldest daughter, Dawn, his successor, and his only request was that they sent him down the River.
Dawn honored her father's request, and as they watched, his body was returned to water, becoming the River once more. They knew, then, that those with his blood, bore the blood of the divine.
This became obvious with their connection to water. As time went on, only cats with the River in their blood could see the water spirits the Moon made, and they were the strongest swimmers and the best fishers. When the cats eventually outgrew their hollow, there was no question that only the River's cats would stay. And from then, they were known as RiverClan.
Yes, the other cats made ThunderClan, WindClan, and ShadowClan, but those are all different stories. They all had their reasons. No, Mistykit, don't bother Spottedpaw about it. I can tell you those stories another time.
For generations, it proved only a drop of the River was needed to infuse a cat with it. Queens who had kits with cats outside the Clan — and that wasn't forbidden, in these days — found their kits were born with the same glossy pelts and fascination with the water. And cats who left the Clan — which is always a tragedy — would have kits who, generations later, would be drawn to the water, feeling it running through their veins, even if they didn't know why.
With his last sentence, Shellheart lifted his head, looking straight at Spottedpaw. His gaze was warm, but insistent. The kits were asleep by now, curled on top of each other, but Spottedpaw couldn't imagine how. She felt wide awake.
"The River is divine," he said. "It runs in all our blood."
She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he continued, "Even you, Spottedpaw, carry the blood of the River." He blinked, slowly. "You wouldn't belong here if you didn't, but look. Greypool's kits are sleeping by your side, same as any other cat, and don't think I haven't seen the way you watch the water. You carry the divine in you."
Spottedpaw's ears flattened, and she felt flush.
Shellheart purred, reaching out one paw to tap her affectionately. "You belong here," he said. "The River flows in you."