Welcome to the sixth edition of the WattyWarriors Fan Magazine; a magazine where you can find recommended authors of warriors fan-fictions, short stories, and even contests! If you are looking for some good fan-fictions, this is the place to be.
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"Ripplestep."
"Ripplestep, wake up."
"Let me sleep, Thunder," the tabby tom murmured, shifting in slumber. Soft moss slid along his thick gray fur and the sounds of the waking world fought to break through the muffled shield that sleep had created.
A low, calm voice spoke. "It's time to wake up, Ripplestep."
The RiverClan deputy groaned and muttered a response, his words half intelligible and slurred with sleep. "Not you too, Shadow. Just...a moment more..."
Abruptly, something cold and moist pressed into his fur, and he jerked into wakefulness, startled by the haze of rest into thinking that one of the Voices had touched him with their nose.
But then his sleep-misted eyes and mind cleared, and he recognized the silvery striped pelt and flashing pale blue eyes, so very like his own, of his littermate. "Troutheart," he said, lifting himself up to his haunches, ears swiveling to catch the snatches of conversation from the awakening cats all around.
"Ripplestep," his brother said. "You've got to go, Minnowstar's calling for you."
Ripplestep stretched luxuriously as he considered his brother. Troutheart met his gaze, but held it for no longer than a second, snapping his eyes away to a point beyond him in the den. He'd started to do that lately. Never make eye contact. Talk awkwardly. Was he alright?
Finally, he finished and began to pad towards the den entrance. Troutheart hesitated, but eventually followed after him.
"This deputy job is so cumbersome," stated a smooth and beautiful voice, marred only by the undertone of annoyance. "Never lets you properly rest anymore, how's a cat to be a proper warrior if they're never allowed a wink?"
A soft laugh lapped at Ripplestep's ears. "Duty requires sacrifice, River. Any good warrior knows that."
"Oh, shut up, Shadow," River snapped back. "You're always so overbearing about these things."
Ripplestep chuckled at the Voices as he ducked out from under the den entrance. Ottercreek, who was standing just outside, gave him an odd glance, and Ripplestep remembered abruptly that nobody else was like him — nobody else was special enough to hear the Voices. He couldn't let them all know about them, they were his Voices.
The world outside was dry from lack of rain, lazy sunlight from the early sun already hovering over the RiverClan camp, and Ripplestep's paws kicked up small clouds of dust as he padded to where Minnowstar sat in front of the tangled reeds that made up her den, her thick-furred tail curled with an elegance and grace that no other cat could possess. As he neared her, Ripplestep once again wondered at the she-cat. She was young, very young — she couldn't possibly have been more than four or five seasons out of her apprenticeship — and yet, the feline had managed to climb through the ranks and become an excellent leader.
