- Oct 15, 2023
- 72
- 12
- 8
☾ TW: Graphic birthing, kitten death, and grief.
They had lost Slatetooth several bounds ago once he had crossed over the borders, but Harbingermoon could not stop his mad dash. All he knew to do was run and try to get as far away as his aching paws would carry him. Then a wave of agony rolled the heavily pregnant tom into the earth unceremoniously, causing them to stumble over his own paws. "Shit!" He yelped as the world ceased spinning. Pain throbbed throughout his body in a way he'd never experienced before, muscles spasming, and belly quaking from exertion. Reality of his predicament finally hit the ebony feline like a crashing wave. "No! Not now! I C-cant no-" His panicked words are strangled as another wave far fiercer than the first causes him to writhe. Air punched from burning lungs as his body warned him of the impending moment. Biting his lip, Harbingermoon forces himself to roll over and grip the earth below, claws pulling through the muddied snow as the contraction subsided. I've got no time to waste; I have to find somewhere now! His fellow Loyalists had all sprinted off in wild directions, leaving the ex-lead warrior to figure out his own path. Sweat poured beneath their ebony pelt despite the frosty air and dribbled from him as he whipped about, trying to recall any place close enough that didn't lead him back into danger. Wait! He had managed to race off in the direction of Fourtrees, the one spot his frenzied mind could conjure was the stump. A place he and Hollowcreek had frequented in private during their short-lived rendezvous.
---
Once the familiar split of trees opened into a rising hill, his chest soared with relief. Yes, there! Stomping through the snow, he practically barreled up the trail. Tucked away and raised above his head like a hulking stone was his safe haven. Skidding to a halt, his body shakes with tremendous gasps, and the electrifying pain crawls every which way. Trudging through the entrance, the tuxedo collapses within the mouth of the hollow. Chest and belly heaving dramatically as white-hot agony causes him to caterwaul. His cries echo sorrowfully through the surrounding branches and reverberate back into his good ear. Scooting further into the darkness, he sobs and quakes pitifully, nonsensically begging for it all to stop. I don't want to do this alone! Someone help me! Mama! Please! His mental begging goes unanswered as the waves of horror start, and he thrashes wildly, body pushing instinctively. Then a temporary veil of relief falls upon him, and a little bundle meets the chilled grasses. Weakly, he leans forward and drags it closer, letting his body work and his mind drift away. The she-kit's fawn pelt glimmers in the faint light, and his breath hitches. The moment is short-lived as the tiny body lays eerily still. Fear strikes him, and he nudges the kitten then licks them and eventually begins to frantically rub against their small frame with his cheek. Nothing. Sitting back, he watches with hope, but it's clear that this one has not made it. Harbingermoon's masked muzzle contorts as fresh grief bubbles out more broken cries from his throat. Of course... Why would anything allow innocents to be tainted by me. Brokenly, he pulls the deceased kit toward his chest and cuddles them next to his heart. Another series of vicious contractions cause him to reel back and howl to the winds. In their heavy sadness, birthing had foolishly been ignored, and two more bundles followed with a similar sense of relief.
Harbingermoon did not tend to these kits as rapidly, tufted head moving slow as he tugged them beside his belly one by one. Stress lines nestle deep in the former Windclanners' cheeks, and he forces himself to proceed. It must be done. Then I can bury them. Nipping away and cleaning them up, he notices a thin she-kit with a strikingly dark pelt dappled in white and adorned in tabby markings akin to Hollowcreek's. The other a similarly fragile tom wrapped in a dark pelt but a head of pure white and stripes more jagged, like his mother's. The process is steady, and fat tears roll down his raw cheeks. He barely catches it, but a faint series of mewls escape tiny pink mouths, and his movements halt. They're alive! A bizarre softness befalls the tom, and he nudges them closer to his belly. Starstruck eyes are glued to the pair, two beautiful babies, his babies nestled and nursing against him. One final and gut-wrenching contraction overpowers the tender scene, but this time he braces. Claws flexing into the dirt and shredding matching trails as he moans from exhaustion. Two more bundles greet the cold flooring, and with vigor, he cleans them. They're both tiny fawn toms with nearly identical markings, except one adorns a diamond of white upon its crown. His body trembles with emotion, and his tongue brushes them. The scrawny solid tabby practically screams with life. Harbingermoon moves him forward to a free teat and continues his work on the latter. Just like the first, the little body stays silent. After several more heartbeats of desperate work, he concedes and tucks them to his chest. Soon the hollow falls into a gentle thrum of new life and the calming sound of suckling. Harbingermoon sags against the wall and splays out, watery pants dragged from him in each slowing exhale.
--
His living children were voraciously taking in the nutrients they needed while his body eased into a sleepless rest. The moon begins to beam a cool light across splotched paws, and his mind is brought to the kits at his chest. Ignoring the ache in his back, the tuxedo leans forward, careful not to disrupt the rowdy bunch, and focusing on the two that didn't get the chance to be a part of it. Carefully, with sore pads, he cradles their cold bodies, and it seemed his tears would never cease again. Harbingermoon's wrecked voice rumbles a hoarse admittance. "I will not name you for I do not deserve to." His shoulders begin to shake as fresh tears spill down spotted cheeks. Nuzzling into the little kittens, now stiff with death, he weeps harder than he ever had. Pulling them tightly and burying a brown nose into their chilled fur. Once his cries settled into whimpers, their marred face peers to the distant stars, and his chin rises. A meow hardly above a whisper calls to the heavens in a croaking plea. "My place will never be among the stars but please-" His prayer is crackled by an interrupting cough but he continues nonetheless. "-please don't punish them. Please." His face screws up harshly, and he gently begins to stand up on trembling legs. Taking care not to wake the now sleeping pile of kits to his left, he scoops up the two that had not been given the opportunity at life.
Reverantly, he buries them behind the stump as tears dry beneath their eyes, cooled by the dropping temperature. When Harbingermoon finishes, their pads are left bleeding from digging through frozen dirt and jagged roots. Here between the clans his kits would rest in a place none would ever disturb them. Bowing, he is for once thankful for the silence, and his eyes fall to a close. A small wail tugged Harbingermoon from his mourning position and into action. Glazed orange eyes sparking to life with parental instincts. Pulling himself together the white and black tom turns from the tiny mounds in the earth and back into the hollow. ☽
☾ OOC ☽
Birthing order is as follows -
@MIDNIGHTKIT , @whitekit , and @Grasskit
Feel free to post in any order but do NOT post outside of this thread until Harbingermoon has posted a second time!
They had lost Slatetooth several bounds ago once he had crossed over the borders, but Harbingermoon could not stop his mad dash. All he knew to do was run and try to get as far away as his aching paws would carry him. Then a wave of agony rolled the heavily pregnant tom into the earth unceremoniously, causing them to stumble over his own paws. "Shit!" He yelped as the world ceased spinning. Pain throbbed throughout his body in a way he'd never experienced before, muscles spasming, and belly quaking from exertion. Reality of his predicament finally hit the ebony feline like a crashing wave. "No! Not now! I C-cant no-" His panicked words are strangled as another wave far fiercer than the first causes him to writhe. Air punched from burning lungs as his body warned him of the impending moment. Biting his lip, Harbingermoon forces himself to roll over and grip the earth below, claws pulling through the muddied snow as the contraction subsided. I've got no time to waste; I have to find somewhere now! His fellow Loyalists had all sprinted off in wild directions, leaving the ex-lead warrior to figure out his own path. Sweat poured beneath their ebony pelt despite the frosty air and dribbled from him as he whipped about, trying to recall any place close enough that didn't lead him back into danger. Wait! He had managed to race off in the direction of Fourtrees, the one spot his frenzied mind could conjure was the stump. A place he and Hollowcreek had frequented in private during their short-lived rendezvous.
---
Once the familiar split of trees opened into a rising hill, his chest soared with relief. Yes, there! Stomping through the snow, he practically barreled up the trail. Tucked away and raised above his head like a hulking stone was his safe haven. Skidding to a halt, his body shakes with tremendous gasps, and the electrifying pain crawls every which way. Trudging through the entrance, the tuxedo collapses within the mouth of the hollow. Chest and belly heaving dramatically as white-hot agony causes him to caterwaul. His cries echo sorrowfully through the surrounding branches and reverberate back into his good ear. Scooting further into the darkness, he sobs and quakes pitifully, nonsensically begging for it all to stop. I don't want to do this alone! Someone help me! Mama! Please! His mental begging goes unanswered as the waves of horror start, and he thrashes wildly, body pushing instinctively. Then a temporary veil of relief falls upon him, and a little bundle meets the chilled grasses. Weakly, he leans forward and drags it closer, letting his body work and his mind drift away. The she-kit's fawn pelt glimmers in the faint light, and his breath hitches. The moment is short-lived as the tiny body lays eerily still. Fear strikes him, and he nudges the kitten then licks them and eventually begins to frantically rub against their small frame with his cheek. Nothing. Sitting back, he watches with hope, but it's clear that this one has not made it. Harbingermoon's masked muzzle contorts as fresh grief bubbles out more broken cries from his throat. Of course... Why would anything allow innocents to be tainted by me. Brokenly, he pulls the deceased kit toward his chest and cuddles them next to his heart. Another series of vicious contractions cause him to reel back and howl to the winds. In their heavy sadness, birthing had foolishly been ignored, and two more bundles followed with a similar sense of relief.
Harbingermoon did not tend to these kits as rapidly, tufted head moving slow as he tugged them beside his belly one by one. Stress lines nestle deep in the former Windclanners' cheeks, and he forces himself to proceed. It must be done. Then I can bury them. Nipping away and cleaning them up, he notices a thin she-kit with a strikingly dark pelt dappled in white and adorned in tabby markings akin to Hollowcreek's. The other a similarly fragile tom wrapped in a dark pelt but a head of pure white and stripes more jagged, like his mother's. The process is steady, and fat tears roll down his raw cheeks. He barely catches it, but a faint series of mewls escape tiny pink mouths, and his movements halt. They're alive! A bizarre softness befalls the tom, and he nudges them closer to his belly. Starstruck eyes are glued to the pair, two beautiful babies, his babies nestled and nursing against him. One final and gut-wrenching contraction overpowers the tender scene, but this time he braces. Claws flexing into the dirt and shredding matching trails as he moans from exhaustion. Two more bundles greet the cold flooring, and with vigor, he cleans them. They're both tiny fawn toms with nearly identical markings, except one adorns a diamond of white upon its crown. His body trembles with emotion, and his tongue brushes them. The scrawny solid tabby practically screams with life. Harbingermoon moves him forward to a free teat and continues his work on the latter. Just like the first, the little body stays silent. After several more heartbeats of desperate work, he concedes and tucks them to his chest. Soon the hollow falls into a gentle thrum of new life and the calming sound of suckling. Harbingermoon sags against the wall and splays out, watery pants dragged from him in each slowing exhale.
--
His living children were voraciously taking in the nutrients they needed while his body eased into a sleepless rest. The moon begins to beam a cool light across splotched paws, and his mind is brought to the kits at his chest. Ignoring the ache in his back, the tuxedo leans forward, careful not to disrupt the rowdy bunch, and focusing on the two that didn't get the chance to be a part of it. Carefully, with sore pads, he cradles their cold bodies, and it seemed his tears would never cease again. Harbingermoon's wrecked voice rumbles a hoarse admittance. "I will not name you for I do not deserve to." His shoulders begin to shake as fresh tears spill down spotted cheeks. Nuzzling into the little kittens, now stiff with death, he weeps harder than he ever had. Pulling them tightly and burying a brown nose into their chilled fur. Once his cries settled into whimpers, their marred face peers to the distant stars, and his chin rises. A meow hardly above a whisper calls to the heavens in a croaking plea. "My place will never be among the stars but please-" His prayer is crackled by an interrupting cough but he continues nonetheless. "-please don't punish them. Please." His face screws up harshly, and he gently begins to stand up on trembling legs. Taking care not to wake the now sleeping pile of kits to his left, he scoops up the two that had not been given the opportunity at life.
Reverantly, he buries them behind the stump as tears dry beneath their eyes, cooled by the dropping temperature. When Harbingermoon finishes, their pads are left bleeding from digging through frozen dirt and jagged roots. Here between the clans his kits would rest in a place none would ever disturb them. Bowing, he is for once thankful for the silence, and his eyes fall to a close. A small wail tugged Harbingermoon from his mourning position and into action. Glazed orange eyes sparking to life with parental instincts. Pulling himself together the white and black tom turns from the tiny mounds in the earth and back into the hollow. ☽
☾ OOC ☽
Birthing order is as follows -
@MIDNIGHTKIT , @whitekit , and @Grasskit
Feel free to post in any order but do NOT post outside of this thread until Harbingermoon has posted a second time!
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