camp I LOVED YOU LIKE THE SUN [ birth ]

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) frosty stars glimmer gently in the darkening sky, hailing night as the moon makes its journey towards the summit. riverclan's camp emotes a beautifully haunting stillness. murmurings from clanmates filter in and out of hearing, pawsteps shuffling past as tired warriors duck into dens or filter through the pitiful amount of prey still left in the pile. even still, the wind so often rustling trees is absent. the river's usual roar has been muted to a trickle as ice slowly creeps across, sheltering the chilled water from the depths of winter. along the banks, the trees claw at the sky with bone bare branches, leering over the reed sheltered camp like golems of some strange evil. willowroot has always thought the trees here have a chilling sense of life to them. in the half light of dusk, they are living, trembling with whatever soft breeze happens by.

the world is awake even as the clans retreat into the warm welcome of sleep. the smoke queen sits lone sentry outside of what is now a rapidly filling sick-bay. the medicine den seems to be overflowing lately, clanmates coming home shaking, more often than not with a deep cut or waterlogged lungs. it sends fear into her heart every time someone yells now. too many of those calls have been ones of trouble. with smokethroat hardly conscious in his state, and cicadastar half mad with fury, there are few calm authority figures in the clan. she tries her best to be - stars, she tried her best during the skirmish with windclan. even so, guilt buries itself deep within her, something not even the wriggling of kits in her belly can disguise. it is, in fact, the kits very presence that fuels her feelings. her terror in battle had left her torn between her children and the clan she's sworn her life to protect. smokethroat would not be halfway to the stars had she done something. it may have meant compromising her kittens' lives. she had stood, voice hoarse from screaming, every inch of her body telling her to fight, and every instinct telling her to run.

so, she sits outside of the medicine den on this frigid night, unwilling to profess her grief to anyone, and yet clinging to the vague hope that being close to the injured will somehow rid her of her guilt. she's left the nursery under the ruse of needing air, although she expects poppysplash has seen right through her lie. the dappled molly has been stars-sent throughout the moons of this pregnancy, even as the troubling feelings root deeper into willow's mind. the frigid air helps clear her head, sets her breathing back to its normal pace. closing her eyes, the lead warrior basks in the soft glow of the rising moon. at least tonight, things are peaceful. or, perhaps not. there is a twinging in her belly. she is used to uncomfortable feelings as a result of the growing life inside of her, but this feels... different. verdent eyes snap open, glancing from side to side as if to check no one is watching. she hardly wants to burden beesong at this late hour with something that will most likely go away. so she sits, gut churning, heart beginning to race. about a minute later, she's up, paws carrying her towards the far end of camp where she pauses, turns and heads back. she repeats this for a while, softly murmuring to herself as the discomfort grows more noticible. eventually, she's aware of eyes on her- the night guards watch with curiously guarded expressions. one reaches a paw out as if to help, but retracts it, looking worried. willowroot is now well aware that something is wrong.

tonight of all nights, just after the raining of countless injuries. of course you chose tonight, you little stink bugs, she thinks, half fondly, half exasperated as she feels a ripple in her midsection. as the contractions begin rolling through her body, she manages to slip back into the nursery, stumbling to her nest with a hiss of pain. "poppy," her voice is quiet, ears flat. there is the unmistakable scent of fear on the air, even as excitement glimmers in her eyes. starclan, let this go alright. "poppy, i think they're coming."

// i wrote half of this on the airplane and the other half at my friend's house because my mom has covid,,, you can definitely see where the two halves meet. oh well lmao. feel free to reply before those tagged! i'll write the actual birth in my next post.
@POPPYSPLASH. @Hazekit @ANTLERKIT @POOLKIT @mercibun @BEESONG @BUCKGAIT. @ashpaw! ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[ashpaw!]

Ashpaw follows right on Willowroot's tail, yawning, reaching one paw up to rub at tired eyes. She crouches low to the ground as she passes under the stars, but the cloud cover at least makes her feel safer. Sleepily she'll settle beside her mentor in front of Beesong's den, curling into a little ball and closing her eyes.

It's habit now, cuddling up next to Willowroot in the night wherever Ash may find them. She does not hear the turmoil of their thoughts, but she definitely notices the pacing and—it looks like Willowroot is in pain?

She catches fear-scent and sits up, blinking and yawning some more.

"Willowroot," she asks sleepily. "What's wrong..?"

Willowroot is stumbling to the nursery now, and Ashpaw hops up, darting after. "Wi—"

—they're coming.

Twin bursts of excitement and fear—"they're coming?" Ashpaw squeaks. "Now? Babies? Your—your tiny babies?"

Wow. Wow, wow, WOW WOW WOW!
​

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

✦ ooc ✦ character information ✦ recent events

• SIBLINGS
  
  
• - 6 month old orange tabby with green eyes
  - apprenticed to lead warrior willowroot
  - happy-go-lucky, mischievous, hardworking
  - very friendly, but defensive of riverclan!
  - "speech"
• - disclosed being physically and psychologically abused by Spiderfall, who was exiled & who then killed her best friend
  
  - temporarily apprenticed to npc pebbleskip due to willowroot moving into the nursery
  

​

 

[CLAYFUR]

Clayfur knows that Willowroot is pregnant. Like, he understands that. But just like both times that Icesparkle has been pregnant, it doesn't quite click that eventually, someday, those kits are going to be born. The lead warrior isn't going to stay pregnant forever, duh. Eventually, they're going to have those kits and there are going to be even more mouths to feed around the clan during the worst months of the year. But even though the timing is all wrong, Clayfur is happy for both of the expecting parents.

He catches the scent of fear, then hears Ashpaw's squeak, but doesn't make any move to go closer to the nursery even as he realizes what must be happening. He wants to see them, to congratulate the pair of mates, to meet the new members of the clan as soon as he's able. This is different from his nieces and nephews' births, though—these kits aren't related to him, and he isn't familiar enough with their parents to justify his presence. Surely he'll just end up getting in the way, he thinks. He plans on waiting from the distance of the warriors' den, but he's truly weak for the man who gently leads him to the nursery, and oh yeah, they're friends. Of course Clearsight would want to be nearby.

He tries not to crowd the nursery, hovering a couple tail-lengths away and peering into the den. "I can't believe it's finally happening," he whispers, curling his tail around his blue-furred friend's. He's practically vibrating with excitement, white paws tapping at the ground. He just hopes that Willowroot will be okay through everything.
​

[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

​

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : it was a quiet night. the clan was settling for the evening, dusk patrol just heading in through the splitting reeds and he watches, narrow - eyed from atop river rock. his body aches with the stresses of the day but he feels okay, tired — a rare feeling, with leafbare encroaching and smokethroat toiling away beyond the gaping stone maw of beesong’s den. crossed alabaster paws hang from the drop - off of stone, flexing calmly in the dim moonligh, his long body sprawled and covered with a thick, plumish tail. it was cold and his lithe figure thrums with it, keeps him awake and staring. warriors are beginning to retire where they are not clustered, sharing minnows and pitiful vole, and . . willowroot. the smoke is pacing when his icy eyes land on her. a quick back and forth and the chimera trails it through icy luminaries half - lidded, sleepy. he thinks of calling out but the smoke seems lost in thought, almost agitated in their brisk pace. he blinks and his eyes open a little wider, ears lifting up tall upon his skull. the guards standing aside the reed - lined entrance move to help and it’s then that willowroot stops, pauses. she turns and heads towards the nursery, trailed after by ashpaw and clearsight, clayfur trailing soon after and —

oh. his head shoots up, tail whisking from over his limbs with a flourish, standing fluidly to leap from his heavenly perch to the pebbled below. oh. he remembers icesparkle and mudpelt, her kitting upon their first ventures to the riverlands. he remembers the bustle, beesong’s frantic but adept control over the delivery. it’s rare — this feeling, glowing in his chest. it feels golden, bright, and as he steps closer, smiles at clayfur, “ is it time? “ the curled tom honks, words trilling on an excited purrs and as he nears, milk - scent of the nursery grows ever stronger — and fear. nerves. he doesn’t want to crowd the couple and pauses aside clearsight, craning his head to peer in. should he catch the smokes eye he would beam at them, encouraging, before letting his gaze drift back down to where ashpaw vibrated eagerly outside. he chuckles, “ little ashpaw! “ the man aims to lower and bonk her head with his own, friendly, “ are you excited? “

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• − CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
  − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and ice blue eyes
  − gay. speaks with a german accent, ages on the seventh, penned by antlers
  
  
• 
• none.

​

​

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : it was a quiet night. the clan was settling for the evening, dusk patrol just heading in through the splitting reeds and he watches, narrow - eyed from atop river rock. his body aches with the stresses of the day but he feels okay, tired — a rare feeling, with leafbare encroaching and smokethroat toiling away beyond the gaping stone maw of beesong’s den. crossed alabaster paws hang from the drop - off of stone, flexing calmly in the dim moonligh, his long body sprawled and covered with a thick, plumish tail. it was cold and his lithe figure thrums with it, keeps him awake and staring. warriors are beginning to retire where they are not clustered, sharing minnows and pitiful vole, and . . willowroot. the smoke is pacing when his icy eyes land on her. a quick back and forth and the chimera trails it through icy luminaries half - lidded, sleepy. he thinks of calling out but the smoke seems lost in thought, almost agitated in their brisk pace. he blinks and his eyes open a little wider, ears lifting up tall upon his skull. the guards standing aside the reed - lined entrance move to help and it’s then that willowroot stops, pauses. she turns and heads towards the nursery, trailed after by ashpaw and clearsight, clayfur trailing soon after and —

oh. his head shoots up, tail whisking from over his limbs with a flourish, standing fluidly to leap from his heavenly perch to the pebbled below. oh. he remembers icesparkle and mudpelt, her kitting upon their first ventures to the riverlands. he remembers the bustle, beesong’s frantic but adept control over the delivery. it’s rare — this feeling, glowing in his chest. it feels golden, bright, and as he steps closer, smiles at clayfur, “ is it time? “ the curled tom honks, words trilling on an excited purrs and as he nears, milk - scent of the nursery grows ever stronger — and fear. nerves. he doesn’t want to crowd the couple and pauses aside clearsight, craning his head to peer in. should he catch the smokes eye he would beam at them, encouraging, before letting his gaze drift back down to where ashpaw vibrated eagerly outside. he chuckles, “ little ashpaw! “ the man aims to lower and bonk her head with his own, friendly, “ are you excited? “

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• − CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
  − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and ice blue eyes
  − gay. speaks with a german accent, ages on the seventh, penned by antlers
  
  
• 
• none.

​

​

 

[POPPYSPLASH.]

of course poppysplash had worried for both the wellbeing of willowroot and also their kits that floated around in her round and swollen belly. but... poppysplash hadn't wanted to be overwhelmingly protective. willowroot was still their own cat- who was she to tell them anything else? once they moved into the nursery together, because without willowroot poppysplash was an anxious mess, she did her best to make sure that they were taking care of themselves. but willowroot was a hard cat to make sit still. she heard when they left, and their scent coming back makes her jerk up, brows furrowing in slight confusion as the expecting mother hisses her name under their breath. shit. shit. she wasn't ready yet! why had her little minions decided that now was the time! fucking hell- they sure knew how to pick their first impressions.

sitting up, the woman pushed willowroot to the nest, trying to get her to lay down. she wasn't leaving their side, at all, and fear was evident in her eyes. what if something went wrong?

"okay! okay. everythings gonna be... fine. yes. we are gonns get through this nice and easy. youre gonna do just fine, my love."

her voice is soft, and for a moment they look at the others who have begun to scramble outside, eager and excited. how does she tell them shes scared? how does she tell them all of her worries. what if i turn out likey family... i'm not ready. i can't be a mother, yet. she has no idea how much her worries will melt, as soon as she lays her eyes on her kits.
​

[ I'LL GIVE YOU THE WORLD ]​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

Hearing something like this makes her tense up. Unease sliding down her spin like an icy claw. The woman keeps her distance from the scene that is starting to unfold, the mere thought of it making her turn her head away. She has seen a kitting before, two in fact. And both she had merely stood over and watched with uncertainty. The molly remembers having done nothing to help deliver either of those litters and she feels the lightest of weights on her shoulder that she has to do nothing here. It is not her anymore and now all she has to do is worry about her own impending motherhood. It makes her worried. Makes her wonder but hopefully things will be okay. Taking in a deep breath she sits away, eyes watching.

She does hope it goes well. It is all she can do and nothing more. Her tail curls against her paws and she angles her ears back against her skull.​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) immediately on willowroot's tail is her little ashpaw, who scampers anxiously after her as she paces towards the nursery. there is nothing but excitement in the child's eyes as she gazes up at her mentor, and willow feels a rush of motherly affection. amidst the discomfort and uncertainty, ash is a flame of hope, and she swipes her tongue over the girl's ears. "i think they are," she murmurs, gritting her teeth as she finally makes it to poppy's side. all too quickly, she is coerced into her nest where her mate mumbles anxiously, and she settles, albeit restlessly. her paws itch to move, to do something to distract her from this odd feeling. as the contractions begin to come closer together, the discomfort gives way to genuine pain. willowroot opens her mouth in a soundless vocalization. vaguely she hears other voices, murmurings of encouragement. through the darkened entrance to the nursery, she catches cicadastar's eye, and warmth blooms in her chest. this is what family is like. she's known it for most of her life, but here, amongst the reeds and ripples, she finally feels at home.

their family awaits the arrival of their newest kin, and inside the nursery, the queen's breathing grows heavy. the stars above move ever so slowly, moon racing across the sky as evening becomes night. for willowroot, time passes with a dragging listlessness. minutes pass, then perhaps hours. guards change position, those outside the nursery shiver and shake. some retreat to the warmth of their nests, some remain, solitary against the inky darkness.

everything is warm and uncomfortable within the expertly woven den. ripples of pain make their way through the smoke's body as they writhe in the feather strewn nest. pushing with all their might, they feel tears springing into verdant eyes, pain like none ever before setting their body ablaze. at last, the first child slithers out into the softness of the nest. the queen reaches, exhausted, to nip at the sac and begins to groom the kitten, tongue rough on his damp fur. a tiny smoke tom, practically the mirror image of the one grooming him. delight expands in their chest even as more contractions wrack their body. they leave the tom-kit to his other mother as they close their eyes again, gritting their teeth. ( @ANTLERKIT )

the next moments feel like days to the dark furred femme as she grips the moss of the nest with thorn sharp claws, breath coming in gasps, soft mewls of some sort of protest. in a burst of white hot pain, the next kit is born, a tiny silver thing, followed quickly by another just like him but bluer, marked with tiny tabby stripes. ( @Hazekit @POOLKIT ) willowroot tries to reach the two, to paw them closer to her, but immediately pain spikes her abdomen and she writhes again, blindly reaching for her children as one more escapes into the world. she scoops him to her and grooms his blue-grey fur, exhaustion beginning to set in. ( @reedkit ) her body is trembling she realizes, and mutely she reaches for her mate, desperate to feel poppy's warmth. "darling, look," she breathes. at her belly, the four kittens wriggle and squeak, finding their way to the source of milk, where they'll latch on. willowroot begins to close their eyes.

they've relaxed much too soon. but a moment later, there is another pain, this one oddly different than the rest. green eyes snap open, blinking in confusion as another contraction flows through her body. pushing desperately, the queen accidentally disrupts her kittens as they nurse, and she tries to calm them, all the while feeling another slide into the world. this one is small, tinier than even her siblings. a dark-furred child, tinged with silver, much too small for the world, and willow's heart melts. she coaxes the little one closer, nosing at her, at first softly, then more concerned as the child doesn't move. a low whine rumbles from her chest. licking the kitten's fur up, she tries desperately to warm her, tries to fool herself into thinking she's moved. "come on little one. wake up. please... please, come on."

// kids are here! feel free to post intros now!
also yeah, stillborn baby :( it's fairly common with bigger litters and first litters, plus it's leafbare... i'm sorry :( ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[ashpaw!]

A gentle lick across the top of her head and Ashpaw is reminded, with a little flutter of pain, of the mother she does not have anymore. She leans into the touch of her mentor—in many ways the mother she does have—who loves her just like one, Ashpaw has come to realize. Oh.

A crowd has gathered now, tired eyes blinking awake around camp, excited just like Ashpaw is. Kittens. Willowroot's going to have kittens.

She feels it build, the anticipation—Poppysplash is gentle, reassuring—

Cicadastar is there, then, long legs bounding, curls ruffled by leaf-bare wind—he leans down to bump her head, affectionate, and Ashpaw falls backward a little as a laugh bubbles up out of her chest. Little Ashpaw! Are you excited?

"Yes, yes," she crows, swelling with it, the breathless joy. Kittens! They're coming!

And they come.

They come.

She flinches each time Willowroot cries out, ears flattening to her skull just to prick up again, creeping closer, backing away—her clanmates are in and out with wet moss and sticks and things that Beesong needs—Ashpaw is glad not to be sent away, glad that though she's underfoot they think that she belongs here. It is a long and painful-sounding birth but at the end of it there are kittens.

Small and tiny and... and wet and squirmy and small, they're so small. They're smaller than her. They're smaller than every other kit in the nursery. They're almost as small as Cicadastar's paws (which are big, for paws, but very small for entire kittens).

"They are so small," she whispers into the quiet, her chin resting on ginger-and-white paws. She has curled up close by to watch them nurse. They struggle toward their mother, squeaking and squirming, and Willowroot helps them, pulls them in close.

They're perfect. They're perfect.

Little brothers and sisters, Ashpaw tells herself firmly.

She'll help make sure they're safe. She'll help make sure they're happy. She'll help make the world good for them.

And for a moment there's this peace... this after-birth quiet, a den overwhelmed with love for these teeny tiny newborn things. They're going to be so loved. They're going to grow up in the best home.

Then the final kitten—so tiny, too tiny—Ashpaw tilts her head, can kits be born asleep? But Willowroot starts to look—panicked, and—

"Oh no," Ashpaw whispers. Her voice has gone quiet and.. and off, horrified tears forming. "Oh no," she says again, whimpers. "She... she... oh no."


​

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

✦ ooc ✦ character information ✦ recent events

• hey how dare u
  
  
• - 6 month old orange tabby with green eyes
  - apprenticed to lead warrior willowroot
  - happy-go-lucky, mischievous, hardworking
  - very friendly, but defensive of riverclan!
  - "speech"
• - disclosed being physically and psychologically abused by Spiderfall, who was exiled & who then killed her best friend
  
  - temporarily apprenticed to npc pebbleskip due to willowroot moving into the nursery
  
  

​

 

[BEESONG]

when the npc comes to retrieve beesong, the small healer is already awake; fidgeting with dwindling herb stocks, with an ache in his tensed jaw. willowroot's kits are coming! the rushed yowl startles him, herbs scattering from paws that scramble into action. beesong would worry about the mess later. he's quick to grab chervil and a stick, urging @GLOOMPAW to follow him with a soaked moss ball. this would be her first lesson on childbirth, and as such, it is one that he doesn't want her to miss.

they find willowroot in the nursery, contractions rippling through the lead warrior's abdomen. beesong's own stomach twists at the sight. the chervil and stick are laid at willowroot's front paws. if gloompaw has followed their orders, they would use this as an opportunity to teach. "chervil will help ease the pain; the stick is to bite down on," they murmur to both willowroot and their apprentice.

what feels like an eternity, beesong's breath held hostage within his own throat, comes to an end with five kittens nestled at willowroot's stomach. four of them, already beginning to suckle. the fifth... unmoving, and impossibly small. willowroot tries to rouse the little she-kit, pleading with stars that could not help. the medicine cat steps around to the fifth kitten, crouching down to press his ear against her; to confirm his suspicions, even though that could've been done with a single glance at the eerily still newborn. he's foolish for holding out hope that there would be something, but there is no heartbeat, no snuffle of breath. she's gone to live among starclan before she could even take her first breath, and there's nothing that could be done. "she didn't make it," he says to willowroot and poppysplash, his heart breaking for the couple. "she walks with starclan." too soon, too soon. stars, she couldn't even walk with her warrior ancestors, could she? her legs are too small, too frail...

they pull back, glancing towards the four surviving kits. beesong doesn't offer sympathetic words; nothing they say could bring back what has been taken from the couple. instead, they slip wordlessly from the nursery for a few heartbeats, to grab goatweed for the two mothers who will surely be grieving their first loss. when beesong reenters the den, they would gesture for both poppysplash and willowroot to eat the goatweed they lay next to the nest. "don't let your grief blind you to the four kittens still alive," the healer offers quietly. "they need you both."

ashpaw is whimpering, now, horrified green eyes brimming with tears. beesong steps away from the couple to stand next to ashpaw, in hopes that his presence would be somewhat comforting, looking down at her with a softened expression. she's always had a heart too big for a world so cruel. but this is the reality of life; death does not discriminate.​

 

[ANTLERPAW]

A small, black smoke kitten, the first to feel the cold air against his fur. Though his instincts were to relish in the freedom, to finally have room to stretch and kick and squirm without hitting another, the weather brought him another direction. The kit could not see, only feel the radiating warmth of a parent and vaguely hear murmuring voices. The world was far too cold, and, as fluffy as the young one was, he despised it.

A meow escaped them, and could they hear more clearly they’d likely be startled by his own noise. A cry for more attention, a cry of suddenly regretting his instinctual urge to explore the world, favoring the idea of being warm and bundled up with the familiar forms once more. They were groomed then, rough yet caring. That was all the motivation the little kit needed to try to wriggle closer. Their paws felt bizarre. To anyone watching, he would look like a fish out of water, just learning what it meant to be on land. But, despite the lack of skill in walking at such a young age, he managed to wriggle closer to Willowroot’s warmth and curl up, to reach for food.

Despite the new warmth, his mewling continued. For such a little thing, their meow was strikingly rough and loud. This kit, so new to the world, already had so much to say.

The black smoke kitten would be pleasantly surprised when the familiar kittens they had spent so long with would soon join him in this new world. His young, rough meow soon turned into purrs as he attempted to stretch his tiny paws and tinier claws out to find them. This was correct. This was how it was meant to be. The parents, the siblings, the warmth. Yes, good.

Though he could not comprehend the words, and could only barely hear them, the murmurring voices soon turned less than joyful. The food, interrupted. His urge to explore was overwhelming. The tone had changed, and he needed to know why. To discover. Small wriggles and the feeling of temperature brought the answer. Ah. Yes. There was another. He remembers now. This kit was there too, among the constantly squirming family. He meows louder. It’s okay, we’re ok, he seems to say, as best a newborn who lacks the words to speak can.​

​

"speech"​

 

[Hazewish]

WAKE UP TO THE SOUND OF YOUR FLEETING HEART ⋆⁺₊⋆
Darkness, warmth, a peaceful non-existence – and then, like a fish clawed out of the depths and onto ground, they are pushed into life, coming in the wake of another. A small bundle of fur like a wisp of smoke tumbles onto the soft ground.

Everything is suddenly new, strange, confusing, overwhelming even to her dull senses. And yet, compelling. Cold air against their damp pelt. Light and sound seep faintly through closed eyes and deaf ears. Curious, she extends clumsy paws, kneading moss and feeling it soft and dry and weird between her toes. Nothing feels familiar save for the warmth at their back, the brush of a paw against her tiny head, but everything fascinates her.

Discomfort, instinctual in this new existence, is trailed by curiosity. Here she is, in this strange new world, with so much to experience already. Quietly, the kit starts to move. Not in the direction of their parent, warmth and comfort and affection, not at first. Their uncoordinated, awkward wiggling brings them an inch forward into the cold unknown, tiny head swivelling around blindly. Then, a sound, perhaps more felt than heard. A meow, not familiar but known, that calls them back.

She stops her venture and flops on her side, wiggling all four paws in the air until she manages to turn around towards the noise, the warmth, the feeling of love that doesn't have a name yet but already feels like home to them. They tumble forward and press against a small, warm body much like her own, bumping her head against an unseen sibling with a brief, cut-off chirp before finding a large wall of fur and then, food. Around them, voices ebb and flow, joy and sorrow washing over them like gentle waves. They don't feel the difference, only a deep sense of safety, and a shiver that runs down their back like a whisper the world breathed into their ear.

Home, and so much more to come yet.

[⋆]​

​

 

[squirreltongue]

In time he would be known as the youngest of his mothers' children. But for a fleeting moment, the to-be-named Reedkit is one of five as his stillborn sister is fussed over and mourned - a life that ended before it even began. He's quiet as well, ticked blue tabby fur licked up to keep him warm and clean but he's moving so much more than she, a paw reaching out to knock Hazekit away as she bumps into him on their search for food. He follows, however, and nestles close to Willowroot's side. Settles in, starts to draw milk ... his existence is small, a mere microcosm in comparison to the worlds that older RiverClanners know, but for now, he is content.​

 

[TIDEFROST]

He strolls back into camp to knowing looks and the sound of mewling. Tide almost freezes in his tracks. Are they here? His nieces and nephews? Born while he was out?

The black smoke's stride speeds up, turn in the direction of the nursery and the crowd that's seemed to gather within it. Stars, how could he have missed their birth? What kind of uncle was he? A poor impression he's given the kits already!

"Did I miss it?" Tide calls into the nursery upon his arrival, heart ready to leap out of his chest. "Are they -- ?"

His question is answered when his frosty gaze settles upon his littermate and the four - no five - bundles beside her. His heart melts at the sight - his nieces and nephews were here!

"Oh," he whispers - tone gentle, soft. Tide steps forward to near Willowroot, to get a closer look at her and Poppysplash's kits. "Oh, they're perfect, Willowroot. Congratulations, you two."

Perhaps he speaks his praises too soon, though. He looks down at the kits who will call him their uncle - pelts of smoke and blue and silver, all wriggling to get closer to warm fur. But, the fifth kit ceases to move. The little one - oh, so very little - is still. Tide looks up at Willowroot, at Poppysplash with a concerned look, and it's the look on his littermate's face that confirms it.

His niece is in the stars.

"Oh," Tide finds himself saying once more, his heart twisting, breaking at the sight. "Oh no..."

Too soon. The little one didn't have a chance, did she? Born cradled within the night's sky, pelt adorned with stars. It just wasn't fair.
​

 

[POOLPAW]

the warmth that they know is stripped from them, leaving them mewling in protest of the sudden coldness. wet and squirming, completely helpless, they continue to mewl until something- someone, pulls them close to the heat of a body and rasps a tongue over their damp fur. warmth spreads over them once more, and they let out a short-lived purr until milk scent fills their nose, and they mewl again. this time it is complaintive to the tongue drawing over them. they've gotten their warmth, now they want food.

tiny legs, too weak to stand upright just yet, drag them closer to the scent. it grows stronger and stronger, until the kitten is jostled. with ears folded tight and eyes shut tighter, they do not know why the source of the milk scent- their mother, they would come to know her as- has moved. the cries of the mourning are lost on underdeveloped ears. ignorance is bliss, and the newborn is so blissfully ignorant to their stillborn sister a few mouse-lengths away. all that they know is that they're hungry, as they continue on their quest to fill their belly.​

 

[GLOOMPAW]

Willowroot's kits are coming. Gloompaw's mind is stretched in all directions, guided close by her mentor and watching their procedure with a nearly-watchful eye, her attention snapping like a rubber band to the tiny, wiggling babies, then back to chervil and sticks. The sounds of pain frighten her, and she places a paw tentatively on Willowroot. They had found her first, and had been the first of RiverClan she's ever met. She must be diligent for them, for their children.

When four are brought to the world, that's when she first looks up, realizing how much time had passed and how many cats were near. All of them, including her, had been that small before. Lost in imagining what they all looked like as little almost hairless babies, the slowing breath of Willowroot kicks back up. Gloompaw nuzzles at the kits, trying to help calm them, before another one comes.

Everyone's breath seems to collectively hitch, stuck trapped in cages. She's so fragile, and unmoving. Horror courses through Gloompaw as she realizes why she isn't nursing, isn't breathing.

Chervil for pain, sticks for distraction.

Goatweed for grief.

Beesong doesn't need to explain what the herb laid beside Poppysplash and Willowroot is. Gloompaw slouches her shoulders, angry tears prickling her eyes, any excited words lost on her tongue. That isn't fair. It isn't fair. She's ours, not StarClan's.​

 

[POPPYSPLASH.]

poppysplash had stayed the entire time. she didn't dare move, and only watched eagerly before her entire world stopped. every last one of them... so tiny. so fragile... and then, she swallowed thickly. what... what had happened? why hadn't she been moving? tears flicked in the corner of her eyes, as she lowered herself closer to the kitten, whimpering. she had never been so sad. it was so easy for her to harden herself around others. even when willowroot had seen her cry, it was only for a bit but no amount of hardening would stop this grief. everything hurt. why had starclan hated her so much? what had she done to anger the stars that they had to take the little kit before they could even meet each other? why?


"heh... its okay. she's just a little overwhelmed from the birth. she's just tired. c-come on little one. just... just go ahead and crawl over here for mama. please... please. i-it can't be your time, yet. not yet."

her voice breaks further with every word. she hadn't even noticed her tears, as she nudged the little one again. denial really wasn't just a river in egypt.
​

[ I'LL GIVE YOU THE WORLD ]​