This wasn't how their story was supposed to go.
When Hopscotch had met Tesla, it had been love at first sight. A handsome housecat with the most unusual tail she'd ever seen and vivid blue eyes that seemed to see through her very soul, she'd been drawn to him instantly. They'd started talking - idle pleasantries at first, but soon enough it had become something more meaningful. She'd spent less time wandering the alleyways in search of scraps and more time sitting by his side, sharing the meat scraps his housefolk left out, playing in the garden and chasing the birds and lizards anything else unfortunate enough to cross their paths. When the nights grew colder and the prey scarcer she'd known she could rely on him, and she had.
The kit were an unexpected complication. They'd been dancing around each other for moons, their feelings plain to see, but no mention had been made of any permanence - their worlds were simply to different. Until they'd been blessed - her stomach growing rounder and her nausea a dead giveaway. She'd worried it'd be the end of them - instead, Tesla had been overjoyed. They decided she'd join him in his housefolk's stone nest - a steady supply of warmth and food was what was best for the kits, and while she'd be sad to be attached to the vine-like contraption that tied him to the yard instead of roaming free, it wasn't as if she hadn't spent most days by his side anyways.
The only problems was the timing - Tesla had echoed the same concerns she'd heard from other housecats, the ones who ran away from home when with kit. The fear of the twolegs taking the she-cats to the cutters and stealing their kits from them too soon. Neither of them would risk that, and so she was to wait in her den until it was time for them to come. Those days had been the hardest to bear - weeks of hiding in the alleyways and living off of scraps once more, a chill in her bones that never seemed to leave. And then the day had come, and she'd set off to see her lover, joy in her own dull blue eyes.
He wasn't there.
The nest was still - silent and empty, the air stale. The red monster was gone, the cat flap locked tight. Even some of the flowerpots had disappeared. Tesla was gone - without even a goodbye.
How was she going to care for her kits without him? The panic is tangible - an acrid taste filling her mouth as she stares blankly at the spot they'd spent so many moons together. It's this that gives her the idea - of the countless conversations, many had centered around the odd group of housecats and strays and alley cats alike, a rag-tag bunch that had spoken of 'clans' and living in the woods where the prey was plentiful. They'd been looking for members, hadn't they? There had been massive battle scarred toms and cunning loners, certainly they'd be able to help!
As the sun sets on the horizon, she'd set off with a new sense of determination, forcing her paws onwards despite the short-ness of breath. Finding the forest is easy enough - squeezing through the fence gap a bit harder, she'd grown rounder than she'd thought, her belly heavy with kits. The real problem had come in navigating the woods - every tree and rock and stump looked the same to her, and her senses had been dulled by the acrid taste of asphalt and tar, burning rubber and rotting garbage ever present in the twolegplace. The shadows seem to leer at her, and her paw steps quicken - anxiety coiling in her gut. Perhaps this hadn't been the best idea after all.
She bursts into the moonlit clearing, flanks heaving as she struggles to catch her breath, when the first pang hits. Eyes go wide and she stumbles at the force of the contraction, a whimper slipping past her pale lips. "No," she chokes out. It's too soon - she can't have her kits, not yet, not here. She doesn't even know where here is - there could be any manner of predator, of danger. She'd meant to find the forest clan not whatever this place is.
She has no choice though, she can barely drag herself to the roots of the massive trees before she collapses in pain as the contractions worsen - the pangs and spasms sending searing pain through her body. A quiet scream is ripped from her throat as her vision darkens and she tastes blood - she must have bit her tongue. She lies there in pain for what seems like forever and no time at all at once, before an odd sound breaks the silence.
"H-hello?" the panicked voice snags her attention, and with what feels like too much effort her dull gaze flicks to the strange feline before her. A skeletal thin scrap of fur stands before her, haunting green gaze glowing in the darkness. She cannot speak, cannot do anything but cry and wait the pain out again, but she finds herself relieved. Help had finally arrived. Frantic paws press against her pelt, garbled words she can't make out through the haze and the feel of another's tongue rasping frantically against her cheek has her blinking her eyes open - when had she closed them? "Please... wake up... I cant- I don't... know what to do!" Head lolls to the side, peering at herself in some sort of detached state - when did the kits get here? "Lick them... backwards," it's the advice her own mother had passed onto her so many moons ago, when she'd still been around.
So many of her friends are dead... is she going to join them?
She feels as though she's floating in a bubble as she watches, a faint smile in her lips despite the desperation of the cat before her. A hysterical chuckle escapes her, and when the other molly - for the figure before her is a she-cat, she finally notes, she has only this to say "You're a clan cat, right?" she doesn't think to specify which clan the feline before her is from. A startled nod is answer enough, and she voices the question that's been on her mind the entire journey. "Will you take them? Protect them?" she knows she's dying - she can feel her strength fading away, the color leeching from the world as blood ebbs from her wounds, staining the ground and the paws of the warrior before her.
"I... I will- wait!" she doesn't; she can't. Head hits the ground as her breathing finally stops, a hollow echo of a smile left on her face, and Hopscotch is no more. She's content in the knowledge that her kits will be looked after, will be safe.
Rat stares blankly, hollowly, at the still warm body pressed against her. Blood soaks her pelt, rendering her chilled in the night air, and tiny kits squirm and wriggle against her. This is not how she'd imagined the night going - she'd simply wanted to go for a quick hunt, a nighttime stroll. Her usual routine for sleepless nights had not been so routine after all when she'd stumbled upon the molly mid kitting. She'd wanted to run for help, but there had been so much blood. The blue tabby had barely even been responsive - the lone kit birthed before her arrive still wrapped in it's mucus sack, still and unbreathing. She'd thought them both dead before the molly had finally spoken.
She'd followed the directions blindly - panic rushing her strokes and movements. She'd startled when the tiny body at her paws had taken it's first breath - a wailing cry that seemed to echo in the stillness of Fourtrees. She'd repeated the process over and over again, three more times before it was over. There was no time for relief, no time for the joy of new life, because the strange feline before was quickly slipping away. The promise was drawn from her lips without a second thought, and before she can even argue the queen is gone - eyes glassy, flanks still, her body already beginning to cool.
She screams at the unfairness of it all - Why her?
She's not sure how long she lays there, sobbing into the queens fur - her cheeks are damp with blood and tears even as she struggles to her paws. The newborns are tiny - so tiny, she's terrified they'll break. They're clutched gently in her jaws as she takes step after step - placed beneath the hollow roots, sheltered, away from the blood that coats the grass and makes it slick, her own paws slipping.
She buries the molly who's name she'd never learned - gives her a grave marker and a name within the confines of her own mind. "Don't worry, I'll take care of them... I swear," is her choked promise, reiterated one last time, and she's gathering up the kits again - her kits. She turns her back on the forest and all that it holds, her paws carrying her to moorlands she knows so well. She will take them home.
