I GRIP THE WHEEL BUT IT WONT TURN FOR ME — birth

[LITTLE WOLF]

TW: Small small small mentions of blood

Her belly has swollen a considerable size in the last moon, it’s almost difficult to walk but still Little Wolf makes her way out of the nursery to lay just outside of it, letting the sun warm her charcoal colored pelt. With a longing gaze she watches as patrols come and go. Her paws itch to leave, to go, to hunt. But between her pregnancy and her difficulty breathing thanks to the fire, she was forced to stay behind in the camp where she was “safe” what a load of mouse dung that was. So for now she would enjoy the quiet, the soft breeze and the peaceful way the camp emptied when cats went about their business.

The calm is interrupted abruptly when the sun is just beginning it’s decent in the sky. A sharp pain that induces a fear response in the black she cat as she looks up and around, as if the medicine cat could smell it on her. Quietly, ignoring how much it hurt to move, Little Wolf slips out of the camp. She could not- would not- give birth to her kits with Cinderfrost present. She would make her way to Sky Clan, to Dawnglare and Blazestar. Blaze should be there to welcome their kits into the world after all and she trusted the sky clan medicine cat far more than their own.

She sends a silent prayer to Star clan, both cursing them for not letting her have these kits on a night she was in sky clan and begging them to allow her to make it there safely, for everything to be alright.

Her paws guide her across Thunder Clans territory, mercifully she does not run into any patrols but her eyes dart back and forth all the same. They would just send her home, send her back to Cinder. She didn’t want that, she wants her kits to come into the world safe.

Safe. The word pounds in her head over and over again as she fixates on it. Pouring every ounce of concentration in putting one paw in front of the other. The contractions are coming closer and closer together, waves of pain that make it near impossible to walk. She’s in Sky Clans territory now, although just barely. She can’t make it another step. The black queen collapses, panting from the exertion of walking so much while under so much stress.

There’s pain, more than she is expecting and she lets out a loud cry. The air smells of iron. Blood. Oh stars, should there be blood? She wracks her brain, trying to think of the times she had seen her own mother birth her younger siblings. Had there been blood? Certainly a little bit but not this much. Panic begins to make her heart beat faster and faster until it was racing like a hare across the moors. She would not be able to live with herself if her kits died because she had been too stubborn to give birth in camp.

Please Star Clan let them be okay she prays silently.

// kits will be born in the next post! The blood is due to birth complications from stress

Please wait for Blazestar and Dawnglare to post
After that I will make one more post where the kits are born and then anyone is free to post I’ll announce when it’s open!

When it’s open sky clan is also free to post as this takes place on their border.
​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Blazestar is patrolling when the acrid scent of blood slaps him across his face. Irrationally, he turns and looks around for a mutilated piece of prey, fresh-kill left behind, picked clean by rogues. But his senses sharpen, tell him this is the smell of feline blood, that a cat is in trouble, and he gives the cats behind him a look of wide-eyed alarm. "Do you--"

There, the undergrowth across the border parts. A ThunderClan queen staggers, face tight with unspoken pain. A cry emits from her lips -- she doesn't seem to see the patrol, who has stopped a few fox-lengths away to take the situation in.

Blazestar's fur begins to bristle. "Little Wolf? What are you doing here?" Slow in his disbelief, the realization that Little Wolf is hurting, that the blood scent is coming from her, causes his blood to freeze. He breaks away from his patrol, paws clumsy and unwieldy despite the lack of brambles on SkyClan's side of the territory. "Oh, StarClan. She's bleeding. She's hurt! What happened? Is--"

The kits. The kits are coming, and she's here. She's away from camp. Blazestar's eyes are panicked blue moons. He turns to the cats behind him and snaps, "One of you go get Dawnglare. Now. Run like you've never had to run before! Go!" His voice heightens, a crescendo of blind dread.

He lowers himself to press his pale flank against Little Wolf's. Despite how swollen she is with kits, she is a tiny black mound of fur at his side. He begins to frantically lick between her ears, his heart slamming wildly against his ribcage as he attempts to calm both her and himself.

It's not working.

"You didn't want to stay there with Cinderfrost, did you?" Bleakly, he presses his golden-painted face against her jet one. "Oh, I hope Dawnglare knows what to do. Daisyflight gave birth out of camp too, and we haven't... we haven't had any other kits born in SkyClan..." Terror dries his throat. Instead of continuing to talk, he resumes his licking.

@DAWNGLARE

- ,,​

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[DAWNGLARE]

What is he to believe? To think? To feel when he's found in camp, his name sewn on the lips of some warrior. They carry a request by Blaise himself, summoned to the edges of the wooded pine. His mate is due, bloody and exhausted, and...

?

Do his ears deceive him? A trick of fate, curse brought upon by vengeful minds. Mate, the word drags slow past his ears and through his mind. Slow, so slow in the way it processes. Love, that thing that hangs between his eyes, bitting at Blaise's throat. There are a thousand little things, anger, joy, surprise and sadness at the edges of his thought. But perhaps, perhaps that was to be left for a time. He thinks him a friend, thinks him the deliverer, and if nothing else, that should mean...something.

In the confines of his mind, there are the teasings of a memory, distant lands, just barely ghosted across, he can almost taste it, land of milk and honey. With an acknowledging tilt of his head, he disappears into the mouth of his den. Paws push and shove, parsing through his hoard of treasure. He finds them, wild raspberry leaves. Jagged edge, but soft against his tongue. "Someone..." he mumbles around the clump of leaves. "Wet moss for the lover... Then– then after me."

Through the wood and the undergrowth, he moves swift. Swift enough, swift as he can manage. The pine is all blurred shapes and needle, shifting in and out. A fuzziness tinges the edge of his vision, but he pushes on. Claws threaten to catch on gnarled root and stone, but he pushes on. He sees him first, that unmistakable shape, hulking mass of cream-and-sun stripes, solemn against the form of another. Like a prayer, it almost seems. The raspings of a loved one across her head. How... sweet.

"Blaise," he announces his arrival with a gentle word. Dawnglare tilts his head towards the other, small and dark. Words escape him for a moment. In lieu of it, he offers her a blink.

Right, set the leaves down on the ground, he trusts mother to see that they're looked after, but still... "For later. Do not touch," he grits. His gait is brisk as he turns away. A stick, a branch, something sturdy for her. A fine enough subject sits at his paws. Not too flaky, he hopes. He secures it in his jaw and passes it to her. "Sink your teeth into this." And he shifts for a better look. Blood.

You shouldn't have come here, he wants to say. But maybe he would do the same if his only hope otherwise was that gloomy thing he'd met before. "The two of you are blessed," he assures them, a man himself ordained. "Relief will come soon, but now you need to...breathe, push."​

 

[LITTLE WOLF]

"SPEECH"
Vaguely she is aware of his presence. It’s a calming relief that floods her entire being. Everything would be fine. She was in so much unbearable pain but she could go through it if he was there with her. She takes a deep breath, steadies herself between the contractions that would have her howling in pain again. She barely hears the words he speaks, everything sounding like a low drone compared to the blood roaring in her ears but she makes out Cinderfrost and she knows he understands. Still she will plead later for him to forgive her. There was just no way she would have her kits any where near a cat who would attack another so flippantly.

When Dawnglare arrives she follows his orders, placing the stick in her mouth and biting down so hard she nearly snaps it. She’s torn between telling him thank you and telling him to shut his mouth so for now she says nothing.

—

The first kit born is a seal point tom. His fluffy cream colored coat reminds her so much of his father.

The second kitten is like her. Pitch black but already she can tell he will have a long coat. Perhaps not as plush as his dads but still not as short as her own.

The third kit is a tortoiseshell she cat. A she cat. Briefly Little Wolf wonders if she will let her fret and groom over her, run her tongue along that silky fur. She would do it regardless but oh how fun would it be to have a child that might actually enjoy it.

Fourth is another she cat. Another tortoiseshell. Like the last one, she is small like her but with a long fluffy coat that will at least give her the appearance of bulk later in life.

And last but certainly not least is a she cat patched with different shades of brown tabby. Immediately upon landing eyes on her Little Wolf knows what she is going to name her.

Her eyes lift to look upon her mate, eyes only for him. "Theyre all so beautiful" she murmurs softly. Later she would have to figure out how to get them home but for now she watches them suckle at her belly with soft eyes. "I would like to name this one Howlkit after my mother" she says gesturing with her tail to the last born, the she cat with the patchwork brown tabby pelt. "and this one I would like to name Burnkit after the charred remains of the forest that will grow back strong." like he will she adds silently "and this one I’d like to name Crescentkit. After the night you and I met" she says looking up at Blaze with nothing but love in her green eyes. "you can name the last two my love" she says gesturing to the other tortoiseshell she cat and the seal point tom.
​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Blazestar's fur does not lie flat until Dawnglare arrives, a bundle of leaves in his mouth. He stares as his friend greets him - "Blaise," his old name, a name Dawnglare will never let die. "Please help her," he murmurs to his medicine cat. "You're the only one who can."

Dawnglare places the leaves beside Little Wolf, but warns her crossly not to eat them until the kits are here. He huddles closer to his mate, lets her take the offered stick into her mouth and latch onto it.

Through the pain and the blood and the stress, Little Wolf gives birth to their firstborn child. Pale all over but for dark points on his face and paws. Blazestar takes him into his paws to lick his fur the opposite direction, feels it fluff up under his tongue with wonder.

My son, he thinks, and tears spring unbidden to his eyes. The culmination of all that has transpired between himself and Little Wolf, between marsh and pine, between ThunderClan and SkyClan, has resulted in this little kit who lies between his enormous ginger paws.

The others come much more quickly -- a second son, black as his mother; two daughters, pale and fluffy; and a final tiny daughter who has short fur and a mottled golden and brown pelt.

Little Wolf turns to meet his eyes, and the tears begin to flow down his cheeks. "They're all so beautiful," she says, and he sobs once. They are. "Just like you," he chokes. He has not cried like this ever -- not since he was a child, but they are tears born of a love so pure nothing can touch it.

The jet-pelted queen at his side begins the naming. "Howlkit," she says, nosing the baby girl who'd been born last. Howl, like a wolf on a lonely night, like an predator shrieking, fierce. Like her mother. "Burnkit," for the scorched forest which will regrow, strong. "Crescentkit," for the night they'd met, when the moon had been a curved sliver above them, reflecting silver in her eyes.

Blazestar touches his nose to their firstborn son, and tears drip onto the baby's pelt. "The black and the white remind me of a friend who is in StarClan now. Fireflykit, after Haku." Haku had given him his first life, the life of love. How apt, how apt.

Then the final kit, smaller than her sister Crescentkit and lacking the stripes, but otherwise quite similar. Blazestar moves his gaze from his family, to Dawnglare, to Valentine, and he smiles through his tears. "She should be Morningkit. After my dearest friend."

He touches his nose to each kit, then, before nudging Fireflykit towards his mother's belly.

- ,,​

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TL;DR cuddled fireflykit between his paws to lick him after he was born and then after naming him nudged them back towards little wolf​

 

[HOWLINGSTAR]

A mouse thumps to the ground as Howling Wind stares into the nursery with wide eyes, her jaw slack with shock. "Where is Little Wolf?" She asks the occupants, who manage to respond that she stepped out a little while earlier. She's walking about? She's due any day now! The tabby immediately turns on her heels, scouring the camp and just like before, there is no sign of the heavily pregnant queen. Slowly, fern-green gaze settles on the camp's exit. No...she wouldn't.

But upon picking her way to the tunnel, she catches the milky scent of her daughter and her heart pounds faster. "Stars...." She murmurs before slipping swiftly out of camp, hot on the trail. What is she thinking? Leaving all by herself in her state? When she finds her, she'll get an earful of-

Blood.

The deputy stumbles, caught off guard by the sudden sharp scent hanging in the air. Her mind leaps to the worst possible scenario, and already she's muttering, "No. No. No, no, no," and she breaks into a run. "Little Wolf!" She calls, voice shrill with fear. A medicine cat. They need a medicine cat! But can she trust Cinderfrost? No, maybe Beesong, or Dawnglare is nearby so maybe...him? The scent leads her into the pine forest but she doesn't dare let that stop her. That's her daughter, and not even the forces of StarClan could stop the mother from getting to her.

Howling Wind slides to a halt in a pine needled clearing, panting as she finds the group of three. Dawnglare is here, and so is Blazestar. Her gaze doesn't linger, and she immediately focuses on the slumped form of Little Wolf, who is now grooming...stars, are there five kits? A big litter! "Little Wolf...! Oh my, oh StarClan, oh..." She hurries forward, tears pricking her eyes as she finds her daughter safe, alive...and a mother. The first tear slips down her cheeks and she pushes her forehead delicately to the ebony queen's, breath hitching in her throat. "You've done it, my darling. Oh, look at them. Five! Well done, well done," She purrs, affection gleaming within her eyes as she takes in the sight of her newest grandchildren. After a moment, she peers up to look at the two toms who were present, one a brand new father and one the cat she should be thanking. She fixes Dawnglare with a grateful look, eyes still brimming with tears as she purrs, "Thank you for taking care of my daughter." Then she looks to Blazestar and even smiles, too overwhelmed with emotion to care for once that he's just a soft kittypet. A soft laugh escapes her and the molly trills, "Congratulations, Blazestar. Five little ones, you should be proud." And it's then that she returns to her doting, immediately licking the kits and Little Wolf in alternation.

// nosy grandma immediately all up in their business​

 

[MORNINGPAW ☆]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

She's fourth-born, the second tortoiseshell point she-kit, surrounded by kits who writhe and cry and squeak and fight for a position at their mother's flank. But Morningkit is demure, waiting to latch and quiet but for the barest of snuffling sounds. Her ears are plastered against her white head, her limbs spindly. Each individual claw stretches towards her mother, towards the safety and warmth of her black body. Morningkit cuddles as close to her mother as she can and latches hesitantly, feeding only after all of her littermates have already begun.

- ,,​

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[Howlfire]

She was the last to be born, a small she-kit with short fur and a mottled gold and brown pelt. She is quiet at first, tiny little mews spewing forth from her mouth as she squirms on the floor she has been born onto. It is only when some unseen cat nudges her closer to the form that is her mother and begins to lick that her true voice comes out, the pitiful mews from earlier being replaced by louder shrieks, almost in indignation at the new situation she finds herself in. Oddly fitting that she would be named Howlkit with how loud she suddenly had become.

They do not last long, however. Huddled up amongst the forms of her littermates, she nestles into the warmth and safety of Little Wolf's dark body, latching on eagerly to get her fill.​

 

[CRESCENTPAW]

the third-born to this sizeable litter, a bundle of joy by the name of crescentkit with long cream colored fur with mottled tortoiseshell colors adorning her face, legs and tail. the small kitten squirmed beneath the warm tongue that brushed over her frame, paws flexing against the open air as fussy mewls finally crawled its way out of her throat. ugh, it felt so cramped already!

crescentkit writhed between her littermates, limbs pushing at her siblings as if to make more room for herself before snuggling close into the comforts of her mothers belly fur to finally latch on and feed. ​

[ penned by cobi ]​

 

[BURNSTORM]

He is the second to be born, just behind his brother who would be named Fireflykit. The black tom would push himself between his littermates, his midnight black pelt sticking out in stark contrast to the others who all sport paler shades or a color of some sort.

His ears are currently pressed against his skull and he shows no change when his name is announced. Burnkit. Even if he could hear it would be received with a great indifference. It was simply who he would be, so what? He lets out a squeal of protest when his mothers tongue rasps over his tiny body but quickly settles back down into a peaceful cycle of sleeping and eating.
​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He remains quiet throughout the process, resolved next to Blaise as his... mate pushes through her labor. Five. Five... bundles of joy (slimy, writhing bags of flesh) are brought into this world, mewling their childish demands, their kitish cries, wiggling in their lack of proper direction. At Blaise's side, it's hard to miss, the way his eyes are burdened with tears. He can't say he's ever seen such a thing before, in all their years in those gardens.

He can't quite agree, when they share hushed mews of the childrens' beauty, but he can't deny the warmth such a sight brings to his heart and mind. He can only imagine it must be something amplified tenfold, in the hearts of their creators. It's a tender moment as the two of them speak and exchange words and names. He dares not interject his own thoughts into the matter. Silence, its what he presumes is Blaise's wish. He let's out a breath, as the last kit is given her name. Over and done with, the lot of them can breathe, and...

Blaise is looking at him. She should be Morningkit. After my dearest friend.

Oh.

Dumbstruck. All semblance of thought scatters in his mind at those words. Scrambled– the order of these things. He was in no way related, shared the blood of neither of them. Howlkit, the name had seemed apt, kits a gift to be shared between families. But– but...

Someone new is pushing her way into the scene then, plump body, black and brown stripes, she regards Little Wolf with the eyes of a loved one, and breathes relief upon seeing the bundles at her stomach. Words of reassurance, of congratulation. A fellow queen, he figures. Such praise would be better carried in her mouth, than his own. And she too, is teary, looks at him with such unfamiliar fondness. Thank you.

His jaws part, but no words follow. What– he's never...

Dawnglare replies with a stiff nod, eyes wide and lips still agape. He's never felt quite so... useful.

His eyes trail down to the kits, shuffling for their mother. Morningkit is the quietest of her litter. Her tortoiseshell fur, the little stretch of her legs. It's... darling. Perhaps one of the last words he'd ever seen himself using to describe a newborn kit.​

 

[Fireflyglow]

WE'VE BEEN DOIN' ALL THIS LATE NIGHT TALKIN' ✧​

The first born to a litter of strong kits, quiet in the cold of the night. His first cry would only come at the rasp of his father's tongue, a complaint- disturbance of his sleep. He has no knowledge of the source of his name at his birth, but the legacy is there. A fierce cry leaves the tom's mouth, and he is quickly placed at his mother's stomach to nurse. Paws bat at his siblings, before he latches on to his mother for milk. ​