Warrior Puppet Pals In: Graypaw's Disease

New PPP! Which means new WPP! Yay!--Shaf Girl  02:32, 28 April 2009 (UTC)

Firepaw: Hi, I'm Firepaw the ThunderClan apprentice. What a beautiful day here at the ThunderClan camp for old stuffy fleabags!

Graypaw: Everyday is beautiful with you here, Firepaw! But...

Firepaw: But what, Graypaw?! What could be wrong?!

Graypaw: I've got a secret problem, Firepaw.

Firepaw: Disgusting!

Graypaw: You don't even know what it is, Firepaw. It's ticks.

Firepaw: What in the name of StarClan?!

Graypaw: It's wild ticks.

Bluestar: Did somebody meow ticks?!

Graypaw: I meowed ticks. How did you know?

Bluestar: Firepaw, you need to help your Clanmate. Another spreading of ticks is the last thing Yellowfang and Cinderpaw need.

Firepaw: Ah, Cinderpaw....huh, what? Oh, okay, fine.

Bluestar: Now, since StarClan seems to magically send ticks down in his fur everytime his heart beats, you must venture over to the warriors' den and seek the help of Whitestorm, my little nephew who, like me, should be in the elders' den by now. He'll know what to do.

Graypaw: Oh, thank StarClan! (leaps into the air)

Firepaw: Don't do that! Let's go. (goes into the warriors' den with Graypaw) Ugh! It smells like crowfood!

Graypaw: What in the name of StarClan is that?

Firepaw: What? (sees a giant white furry lump)

Graypaw: It's a giant, white, furry...piece of moss! May I scratch my claws on it?

Firepaw: Yes, do as you wish, you sick kit. Wait, no! Look, it's moving!

Whitestorm (aka the big white furry lump): (wakes up and growls)

Graypaw: Hello, old Whitestorm, I need your help--(is cut off as Whitestorm turns around, his head hitting Graypaw, sending him into a pile of real moss)

Whitestorm: Oh, uh...

Firepaw: We've come for your parasite advice, Whitestorm.

Whitestorm: Uh...what?

Graypaw: (meow muffled by the moss) I've got wild ticks, Whitestorm, and I need your help.

Whitestorm: Oh, well, uh, let old Whitestorm take a little catnap...(begins to fall back to sleep)

Firepaw: You just took a catnap! (scratches Whitestorm) Get up, you fresh-kill-filled piece of crowfood! And yes, I know that made no sense!

Whitestorm: (gets up) Oh, well, alright, who...

Firepaw: Right here! (pulls Graypaw up from moss) Take a look! (pulls back of Graypaw's hair, showing ticks) Clans of little foxes have already bred in Graypaw's already filthy pelt.

Whitestorm: Oh, well, now, apprentices, listen here...(begins to sing the Tick Song):

To be continued