private GET YOU THE MOON [ ✿ ] SECOND WORDS

[LAMBKIT]

// takes place not long after he and Ramkit say their first word

Even after his initial protests, there comes a point where he can't fight it anymore. The heaviness of his eyelids blinking slower and slower, the tiredness of his limbs weighing him down, and it's not long before he's nestled once again into Butterflytuft's side with his sister, dozing peacefully. His paws twitch as he sleeps, a dream where he is older, stronger, a spitting image of his father with a golden hued pelt and in this dream he hunts. For his clan, for his family.

Even while he sleeps though, he is partially aware of his surroundings. The soft murmur of voices, the sound of feet padding about softly, of other kittens squealing as they tumble about. The nursery would never be as quiet as that first place had been, the one he barely can remember. He is roused by two voices, familiar but not. They talk in hushed tones, words he doesn't yet understand mixed with a couple he does. He blinks tiredly, vision coming into focus as he rubs his eyes with the back of one paw, face splitting open into a wide yawn and when he sees who's here, a smile erupts onto his lips, bright and filled with joy. "Mama!" he chirps, but his blue eyes are unfocused, and it's unclear who exactly he's speaking to. Orangestar, or the tortoiseshell she-cat sitting so close to her. He beams at them both.

@butterflytuft @Orangestar @SLATESNARL @RAMKIT

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ- but I’d stand in the garden with you

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  LAMBKIT SKYCLAN KITTEN ; HE / HIM
  SLATE X ORANGESTAR LITTERMATE TO TBNKIT ; HALF BROTHER TO CHERRYBLOSSOM, OWLHEART, GLIMMERSUN, TAWNYCLAW & EGGBOUNCE
  

  A fluffy cream coated tom with mismatched white socked toes, a white marking blazing a trail down his face, and striking blue eyes.

  ✿ easy in battle + no formal training
  ✿ difficult to befriend
  ✿ Peaceful + healing power-play allowed, anything else with permission only
  

 

[RAMKIT]

Ramkit hides her face in the ruff of Lambkit's chest, her claws gnarled in the moss and nettles beneath them. He dreams of endless hunting, providing for his family and home - she dreams of terrors that she can cut down in a single slash. Untamable shapes and masses that threaten blurs - of which resonate something in her heart, even ifnshe cannot discern much beyond the bleariness of them. Brutalized by her own long claws and expertly crafted attacks. She wakes with a frustrated mewl as her brother shifts, angry that her dream has ended and the adrenaline was only a farse.

Blue eyes lift to find Lambkit, and she has half a mind to simply reorient herself and hide in Butterflytuft's fur instead. However, just beyond her brother are masses of black, white, and orange. Like he, her memory is fallible. Unlike he, she's held fast to the details she could. These cats are important. These cats are Mama and - "Dada...!" Her tone is uttered with a sigh between syllables, her breath-bound musing doing little to assuage the tiredness in her little bones. She yawns, stretching out her forelegs to grip more of the moss.

"Dada," she mumbles again. "Seeeeeeee.....puh," she says shortly after, closing her eyes to them all.
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[butterflytuft]

Butterflytuft chatters softly with her leader and her mate, and she is very close to telling them the wonderful news of the milestone when the sleepy voices of Lambkit and Ramkit fill the nursery. Heart swelling, she listens as their tiny murmurs wrap her in a warmth as comforting as the nest beneath her. And suddenly, she hesitates, looking from them to their parents. There is no reason she should say anything. Why take this from them? It is then she decides that she will make them believe that these are their first words. Her gaze flickers between Orangestar and Slatesnarl, lingering for a heartbeat on their reactions, and she knows in an instant she'll play along. For their mother's sake, and for their father's pride, she'll let moment play out naturally. The pure, unfiltered joy of hearing your kit's voice for the first time is a gift too rare to tarnish.

She lets out a soft purr, leaning her head closer to Ramkit and Lambkit. "Oh, Orangestar," She murmurs with delighted wonder, "did you hear that? They said Mama and Dada." Her gaze shifts to Slatesnarl next, warmth shining in her sunflower-yellow eyes. "They said your names!" The queen nuzzles each kit gently, brushing her tail over them as if sealing the memory in the nursery's holly walls. Her heart aches with tenderness as she watches their parents. The kits are so lucky, she thinks, to be surrounded by so much devotion.

As Lambkit smiles and Ramkit lets out a sleepy sigh, she glances back at her leader, her purr deepening. "They're growing so fast," She whispers softly, her expression betraying her gentle awe. "Before we know it, they'll be racing around camp." For now, though, she's content to bask in this fleeting, precious moment of peace.
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[SLATESNARL]

It all still feels wrong. Long-term queens have been a clan custom for as long as Slatesnarl could remember and they played vital roles, caring for orphans and helping to look after the babies when their own parents were unavailable or otherwise too spread-thin. However, to him, they had always been just that — substitute caregivers of unfortunate children. His kits already had a mother, one who was more than capable of raising them without another's help. Orangestar had explained to him many times, that she was simply too exhausted and busy to give Ramkit and Lambkit the attention they needed, but Slatesnarl would never fully understand. The Maine Coon had not put up much of an argument past that, though, knowing that he was also to blame for this litter being born in the first place. He still could not help but wish for things to be different. The twins could be toddling about in the leader's den instead where they could all spend time as a family. Now, Slatesnarl rarely visits, not because he doesn't care but because he feels out of place and uneasy being in this communal space.

Orangestar does most of the talking; he has little to say to Butterflytuft. She's kept his children alive and well, which he could be at least grateful for, but he is still holding his breath regarding how they'll, well... turn out.

Tattered ears prick up when a tiny voice draws from the maw of his son. Dull amber eyes brighten with curiosity as they look upon the cream-colored ball of fluff. "Did he just...?" That was the first time he'd spoken, right? How lucky were they, to have all been present when Lambkit said his first word! Slatesnarl had never understood the excitement behind such a milestone before, but as a new parent, he was now eager for the little tabby to say more.

Then, following suit, Ramkit aims to impress by saying his name as well. The warrior praises his daughter, "That's right, Ramkit. Dada." His heart, fortified with stone, only swells with pride. Like Butterflytuft says, they'll be running around before they all knew it. Soon enough they'd be learning the Warrior Code and training under mentors. Slatesnarl does not fret about the future so much, the dangers they'd find themselves in. They would be fit enough to fend for themselves. Their blood was strong, their parents only the fiercest the forest had to offer. They would be great.

𝟒𝟐𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐉𝐈𝐌 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑 ✹ . + ˚ · 𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐋-𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐆𝐔𝐍

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  — slatesnarl / 45 moons / he/him
  — skyclan warrior & former lead warrior
  — mate to orangestar / father to lambkit & ramkit
  — lh solid black maine coon w/ rusting, amber eyes. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face.
  — click for tags

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