private baby mine - birthing

[MICHAEL!]

Michael thought he'd known fear. He'd felt his heart stall when he'd left his twolegs den, when he had realized his life would unknowably change if he continued past the door. He'd squinted in the sunlight, hesitated on the stone that grit beneath his paws, and managed to continue on. He remained frightened as he learned to navigate the world, had shook under the gaze of clan cats and spent countless nights wondering how he was going to get to the next. He'd been hungry, weather-beaten, scraped up, and bone-achingly tired and yet? nothing compared to how scared he was now.

It was hard to remember his kithood, Michael had been far too young when he'd been taken from his litter, but he could remember the stories that his parents used to tell him. The murmured telling's of love, family, and comfort. He couldn't really recall the exact words but he knew that their tales had been full of closeness and anticipation for the future. They'd been excited to see their kits grow. They wanted to see Michael grow.

Michael wanted them so badly. He wanted his parents, he wanted his twolegs, he needed someone. He needed someone to tell him that he'd be alright. He knew he was screwing things up but he was trying. He was trying so hard to make everything okay and he kept failing and he just needed to be okay. He just needed to be alright. He didn't want to be in the situation he was in, tucked into an old badgers den and swollen with kits he couldn't keep, but nothing could fix it. He couldn't fix anything for himself, he never had, but he could possibly, maybe, give his kits something better. He'd talked about, begged for, as much as that from Periwinkle. He hoped the clan cat followed through on his promise.

The day came and went in a timeless haze. The setting sun cast a glimmer over the edge of the sett and, ever so briefly, across three little kits. Two of them squirmed, cried out as though protesting their newfound existence, and one didn't. It should have been a joyous occasion, in another other life it may have been, but Michael was sobbing, breath halted and shuddering as he tried to see his kits through teary eyes. He hadn't seen anything this young before but he knew that they shouldn't be as small as they were. Their lives had barely begun and he'd already ruined them. He hadn't been able to eat well, he had been stressed, he'd been and done everything he shouldn't have. He was right to give them up. He would just hurt them more. He knew that one of them wasn't long for the world and it was his fault. He was the reason that they shuddered and gasped for air that hardly filled their lungs.

" I am.. I am so sorry. " He didn't know why he spoke to the kits, nothing made sense, but he couldn't stop. " I'm so sorry that I can't see you get old. I wish that I could but I've screwed up so badly. " They were so small. " My mommy didn't see me grow up. I'm so sorry that I can't watch you either. " Periwinkle was bound to do a better job than Michael could. He could make sure the kits didn't long for anything. He could keep them from knowing pangs of hunger and the harshness of the elements. They'd never know what it was like to be alone. Michael had to believe in him and take him at his word. What else was there?

Dawn was nearly upon them when the windclanner arrived. Michael was too tired to do anything but blink at him, curled tightly around the kits he'd soon lose. Periwinkle would know what to do now. It'd be okay. The kits would be okay.

@Periwinklebreeze.
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[Periwinklebreeze.]

OH, WHAT IT MEANS TO BE SOMEONE ━
THAT EVERYBODY HAS TO TALK TO━​

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periwinklebreeze ❀ 20 moons ❀ demi-boy ❀ windclan lead warrior ​

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Peri does his best to check in as often as possible - whenever his paws can carry him away from windclans borders without getting caught. Usually, that meant nighttime wanderings - and unfortunately, today was no different. He expects to return to the familiar sight of a round michael by himself, rabbit clutched in his jaws as an offering. He can hardly expect any cat to hunt for themselves when they're about to birth, and Michael... well, he's not the best hunter even without such a burden. Instead, blue eyes are met with the sight of squirming, mewling kittens - prey dropping with a thud. " Oh- oh, they're h-here, " he murmurs, voice quite. A moments pause, and then he frowns. They can't really put this off for long, not really. " I- they.... do you h-have name for th-them? I mean... they'll need clan names too but... if you wanted, " he offers, though his mind is already swirling with ideas.

The black one, scrawny and quiet, brings up memories of past conversations - a cat once called leech. He's not so cruel as to pass on such a burden though instead the name vulturemask echoes in his thoughts. 'Vulturekit for that one,' he thinks, though he's not quite ready to say it aloud. Another, white with little black spots, brings to mind the herbs and plants that decorated the medicine den. 'Bilberries - useless as far as medicine goes, but still a familiar sight upon the moors.' theres enough resemblance that for this one, too, he's already decided upon a name. But the last one? The tiny she-kit, curled up with markings that mockingly resemble his own? He struggles to think of anything but his own bloodstained past, the bitter shadow cast upon him by starclan. But... things hadn't always been horrible - no. He'd been happy once, curled up against leopard print fur as they toddled about, not a care in the world. Dustpaw had been, by far, the bravest cat he'd ever known - finding his way to windclans camp all on his own, boldly declaring them to be the best of friends. 'Fighting a fox in my stead' he thinks. Where Peri had laid trembling beneath snapping jaws, his bigger denmate had fought bravely - every bit a lionclan warrior from the stories he'd heard the older warriors tell. A fitting name to pass on to the last of the brood.

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

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━H E━H AD━N O━O N E━T H A T━H E━C O U L D━T A L K━T O━

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[BILBERRYPAW]

When he is born into a green world, it is with an absolute knowledge of nothing. Deaf as he is, he will not hear the whispered apology gifted to him and blind as he is, he will not know know the look of his face or any other: this is the price of his newness. He will not have the opportunity to learn such things for what will feel like lifetimes when compared to the comforting nothingness he had known before. In truth, it will be a matter of a halfmoon for his eyes and ears to unfurl—of less than.

Already, he is a quick study.

In this green world, pillowed by old paw-step pressed soil of a newly inhabited sett, this new being discovers his lungs. Although he has yet to learn that they are a set of two, he does discover the cool drag of air between his parted mouth and the subtle shift of his ribs as a hollow space is saturated with its intended fill for the first time. The first breath is hard-fought and well earned, the next that follows is easy, as is every subsequent in the chain.

He does not know that he was born wet; he will only learn about dry under a tender and coarse tongue. There is no world beyond this milk-and-blood sweetscented place, not to him. He does not know to worry about the endless somewheres beyond his scope or the countless worries over his uncertain future. What he knows is this: the pull of air into his mouth, an exhale that comes as a drawn out, newly discovered wail, and the first vestiges of dawn settling warmth into his fur—and it is enough, for now.​

loner kit | black and white harlequin | tags​

 

[Dustpaw!]

She would not remember the warmth of the body she nursed from, her memory would not even be a fading burning thing; she won't think of the tom who birthed her as her father. However in this small moment in time she knows nothing but the rising and falling of his body and the rasp of his tongue against her soaked fur, she doesn't understand the feelings of love and protection but she'd grow to understand it and the great sacrifice he was making.

She's a tiny feeble thing squirming where she lays her paws unable to do anything more then stretch out any which was, small paw pads curling as she drinks in her first meal gluttonously. Warm bodies move against her own, ephemerally recognizable as always being there and yet still strangers; they'd be afforded the title of "brothers" but she pays no mind to their presence for now only feeling it as she feels her fathers.

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• "speech"

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  Dustkit ✩ She/Her, Windclan Kit, 2 moons
  ⭃ short furred black smoke she-cat with high white and cloudy green eyes
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Kedamono ↛ @legmeatt on discord, feel free to dm for plots.​

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