marshal dear ♡♥ birth

[Halfshade]

She is grooming more than usual, preening even, like a restless bird within its nest though the eggs she perches protectively over are still yet unhatched. Any day now, so she thinks, she’d had kits before a long time ago though she never discussed it with anyone; as far as ShadowClan knew this was her first but her true first had been trampled upon-broken eggshells at her paws, feathers filling the air and her throat; she was suffocating thinking about them, the poor things that never got to fly. A ripple of pain winds down her side, tightening and she twists in her nest with a low growl of irritation; they were more frequent now, the sharp pains and she wondered if this one would be the one that continued to roll forward over her. As if in response to her thoughts another, a third, Halfshade finally lifted her head with a gasp, limbs rigid and eyes widening because even if she had not had kits before she would recognize the sign of them coming all the same; mother’s intuition? Instinct? Hard to say, but every fur on her body was rising to stand and she had to fight back to urge to bolt from the den to the nearest dark hiding place to get away from herself.
She sees a shadow move past the den, eyes narrowed through pain and form incomprehensible but she gives out a barking call to the (what she assumed was an apprentice based on the size), "You...get Starlingheart please...and Smogmaw."
She didn't know if they heard and now that they had stopped walking she realized it was Raggedpaw so there was a high chance that little fool wandered off after a firefly and was never seen again, Stars above help her she would strangle them later if that ended up being the case.
Halfshade tucked herself tighter into the nest, a whimper, a shrill cry of alarm; this didn't feel like the last time she had kits. It hurt more for some reason or it felt like it did, or maybe her fear and worries only amplified it. All the same, it only made her more frantic and anxious until she was clawing the pretty nest she'd made into shredded tatters in moments.

---

A collection of little colors at her side, spotted and splotched, marked with stripes both bold and pale; they’d had a rainbow of kittens and she dipped her head to rasp a tongue over the closest one, plastering thin fur across the tiny forehead that nearly rolled the mewling bundle over in her force of it but they all needed to be cleaned, she wanted to see them proper.
There were four in total, she wondered if bets had been made because the guess had been three; she had also thought three as well but one of them was a so small its a wonder she didn't realize. Three she-cats and a little tom, comically enough not a single one was solid blue like Smogmaw; only faintly carrying his color alongside patches of pale and bright orange like her own coat. Her mismatched gaze wandered over them fondly.

Sunset and pale blue patched like herself, long thick fur draped around a large frame; the first born, the faint spotting of a patch of gray winding around the kit in a coil like a serpent. The tabby stripes were pale, so pale she almost didn't notice them but they were there and they would darken in time; she dipped her head to give a lick atop the kits head and its fur remained standing upward humorously after.

The next, the only boy, bright as a ghost and the faintest trace of tabby markings visible along his frame. A cream wisp, patterns just barely noticeable but swirled like Smogmaw's own. She can't help but think of fledgling swans, round and soft little things with too big feet who grew into such majestic creatures; things of beauty. Her own mother had been named Swan, long since gone but perhaps returned in the smallest way like an echo.

While Smogmaw's colors did not pass on his fur did, a scruffy and prickly bundle of a kitten with odd spotting and a rough and coarse coat; she got the idea she was grooming a pinecone but the spots upon her cheeks were charming and while darker in color than the others she still had the pretty piebald spotting of orange and blue like her sisters.

Finally the smallest, a little mite of patchy marigold orange and soft gray. She’d never seen a kitten so small, instinctively she curled her paw up to her side to tuck the miniscule thing even closer out of fretful concern a sparrow might fly by and think it a little worm. Too small even, it made her nervous, it made her want to lash out. This was the kit who had scared her most, a veritable runt of a child; they often didn't live long past birth and she was already stressed at the idea of losing one, almost frantic. Would they survive?

Halfshade lays her head down with an exhausted sigh, but fights off the impulse to fall back asleep almost immediately. Names. They needed to name them.

---

[Ooc]
- Please wait for @smogmaw to post first! Medicine cat tag - @STARLINGHEART .
Kitten order: @APPLEKIT - @swankit - @Garlickit - @valeriankit
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[smogstar]

The prospect of fathering kits hovers above him like a spectre.

No longer a mere possibility, nor a topic of discussion in the nighttime conversations with his mate, but an assured reality he now stands at the cusp of. An undying commitment to the nurturing, fostering, and guidance of new life, and it lingers with a limb's reach. It petrifies him. He's wholly conscious of how he is, an arbitrary piece of work, prone to fleeting impulses and caprices that govern his actions—whereas the role of a father demands everything but.

Stability and unwavering dedication are the cornerstones of the role he's soon expected to play, qualities he knows he must cultivate within himself, lest he yields to the erratic nature that has defined his past. As he rests at the brink of camp, directing an intent look towards the greater marsh, the tom's memory roams to the faraway past. Another molly, another belly bulging with kits, and another schism between the promises he'd made and his inherent recklessness.

This time will be different, that much is already certain. He has too much to lose to simply run away and lift the burden from his shoulders. All the same, that he'd even entertained the idea in recent days leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and the fact ultimately fuels the smouldering doubts within him.

An abrupt emergence of an equally-shrill, equally-urgent voice tears him from his introspection. His ears perk up, and he swivels towards the source of the commotion. It's Raggedpaw, and his determination is etched into every line of his face. Smogmaw's gaze retains the same hollowness as he listens to the apprentice's report, but internally, a miasma of uneasy excitement begins to churn.

Today's the day.

A beeline across the camp is Smogmaw's next move, his paws carrying him on long, hasty strides. The nursery soon emerges into view, and just inside its thorny threshold, Halfshade enters the throes of birth.

He shoulders through the nursery's outer shell and steps inside, his eyes immediately fastening to Halfshade's form. She heaves, and she pants, and she expels some of the most horrid sounds a queen could make. To witness her in such an anomalous state of distress was unsettling, given the stark contrast to her usual, composed self.

A moment is taken to steady himself, drawing on the reserve of strength he'd been building, determined to be the pillar of support that Halfshade needs him to be. He moves around behind her, laying himself in such a way that his chest rested against her back. "I'm here," he reassures her, "we're getting through this together."

His tongue combs the length of her neck a smattering of times, before his expectant gaze falls upon their medicine cat, silently acknowledging to Starlingheart he shall do anything and everything she asks of him.

---

Halfshade's display of incredible strength and resilience went on unabated. Every contraction wracked her beautiful form, and yet she persevered with a resolve that only a mother could know.

After an agonisingly long duration, her struggles were over.

There were four altogether, their fur logged with a repulsive amount of fluids. For the first time in all his moons, Smogmaw has witnessed a birth firsthand, and immediately, he decrees that Betonyfrost can keep the damn nest.

The three she-kits and baby tom all bore a stronger semblance to their mother than to him, with pelts of pastel tones which carried only hints of his own markings. In the initial moment, he finds it a tad disheartening. But as he watches his mate nuzzle each kit overwhelming tenderness, affection surges through his veins, and he soon decides to follow suit.

The firstborn retained her mother's fur, lengthy and thick. His tongue grooms the strands along her forehead with relative ease, though he can assume that, in due time, it won't be such an effortless feat. Kits grow fast, ever so fast, and so too do their pelts. A final swipe of his tongue, and he raises his head to glance at his mate. "She's sweet," he muses softly. "Round, too. Shall her name be Applekit?" It was fitting, in his eyes, but he defers to Halfshade's judgement for now.

The secondborn carried an imperceptible tint of his own markings, a faint echo of his lineage. He resembled his mother so much, he may have well just sprouted from her like a spore. As he licked his only boy's sleek fur, however, he cannot help but feel that father-son connection other parents speak so fondly about. Names whizz and whirr through his mind in a chaotic fashion. Mushroom. Bubble. Egg. Meat. None seem to encapsulate the essence of this little tom. He shall leave it in the air for now.

He turns to face the next of his daughters, and upon dipping his head low, he makes the immediate realisation that - physically - this one was a spitting image of him. Coarse fur, rough around the edges, and scruffy all around. Grooming her was hardly a pleasant experience. He would lift his muzzle from her form and swivel to see his mate once again. "Halfshade," he purrs, gesturing towards the little one at his paws, "meet Garlickit." Garlic. If this one must bear the curse of taking after him, a suitable name, befitting of their shared traits, seemed only appropriate.

Lastly, the runt. She was but a small, colourful mound pressed into her mother's tufts. He can ascertain from the special care Halfshade imparts upon her that his mate troubles herself over this one's safety. Smogmaw does not share her concern. He's a father now, a position even more taxing than his role of deputy, and a requirement of this newfound responsibility is to ensure no harm befalls his kin. A single tongue-swipe is given to the littlest of the little ones, yet for the time being, he relieves her to her mother's care—naming privileges included.

"They're everything," he says simply, tone little more than a hushed whisper. His forehead presses up against her own, and he stares deeply into Halfshade's eyes, reflecting a mixture of awe, love, and gratitude. "You did it," he goes on, "and you did such a good job. I love you." A rare, genuine smile coils his maw in an almost unnatural manner.

"Would you like to have more?"​

 

[Garlicheart]

Resting against the warmth of her mother and siblings, the small scruffy kit let out a squeak as she felt rasping upon her small form. What was the meaning of this!! She just wanted to sleep!!

She wriggled and batted at Smogmaw's nose with a shrill squeal before deciding that was enough physical activity for the day and falling asleep upsidedown.
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[valerianpaw]

The runt, the smallest of her litter. She was small, so it'd be easy to miss her, now buried in her mother's coat. The delicate young molly had been born quiet, breathing steadily but quiet regardless. A small mewl had come from the kit when Halfshade had pulled her closer, falling silent again almost immediately. At least until a tongue rasped across her back, in which she responds with another squealing cry, still quiet in comparison to her sisters and brother. She wriggled blindly and a smidge wildly, pressing closer to her mother's tufts of furs, faint whining coming from the delicate child. She was unaware of the world beyond the fluffy warmth, of her mother's concern over her own survival. While it was too soon to say for sure, the yet-to-be-named kit had the will to persevere, at least she knew she did. Despite her natural obliviousness to the concerns of others, for this moment at least. ​

[sweet like honey]​

 

[Swansong]

NOW I KNOW WHAT'S REAL, WHAT'S FAKE

The second-born child, only tom of the litter, comes into the world in silence. A pale and ghostly thing, he scarcely seems to breathe, only the softest rise and fall of his chest betraying his life. Silent and unloving, face stone-set in placid stillness; until, that is, a soft tongue rasps its way across his pale and tufted fur. A quiet mewl escapes his maw, soft sound born of reaction. It's soon gone and he turns, rolls, stretching white paws to bat at the air where the warm sensation came from.

It is now that the yet-nameless child begins to keen, a soft sound growing louder, louder, as he seems to realize that he can make such a sound. It grows soon to a wail, joining the voices of his sisters. Mournful at the loss of sensation; demanding some kind of attention, acknowledgement, while tiny paws reach continuously upwards.

RATHER SLEEP THAN STAY AWAKE

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ info ; visual

• //
  ​
• SWANKIT named for his pale fur, after his maternal grandmother.
  — he/him. 0 moons.
  — shadowclan kit.
  — quiet and dreamy.
  
  penned by saturnid.​
• "SPEECH"
  ​
• 

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[APPLEJAW]

She meets open air first, mewling like any newborn kit would. There is not much to feel but warmth at her head and then around her all. Soft sensation, something she can sink into. There is not much to hear but the mewling of her littermates and voices that she could not understand. There is not much to taste but the weight of her own pink tongue in her maw. There is nothing to see. Nothing at all.

She quiets shortly after she starts. Mewls quiet into dull keening, as another join her. Keening becomes nothing at all, as two more join her by her mothers side. The world is pleasant while she knows it as milk - scent and wriggling warmth. If the world could always be like this, she would be happy.

She did not know yet, but she was Applekit.​

 

[Starlingheart]

'It's Halfshade! Her kits are coming!' Starlingheart doesn't know why, but she can feel her heart hammering in her chest, a sense of dread curling itself in the pit of her stomach. Her mind flashes back to Viridianskies, to Snailcurl, and immediately she squeezes her eyes shut, willing the images to dispel from her mind. Betonyfrost and her kits had all been okay. Halfshade would be too. But what would she do if she lost her? She doesn't want to think of a world where that was a possibility. She makes her way to the nursery with cobwebs and an assortment of other herbs. Just in case she tells herself but inwardly she wishes she could leave them behind and believe everything would be fine. "I'm-I'm he-here Halfshade- I'm here" she coos gently to her friend as she passes a stick to her "B-bite down on-on this" she instructs "It'll he-help" at least, that is what Starlingheart had been told. It had worked when the other queens had given birth and surely it'll help here too.

Smogmaw's display of loyalty, of love, distracts her from her duties for a second. She admires how much the gray furred tom is devoted to his mate and for a moment her mind flashes to Granitepelt. She can't help it. She tries to imagine him in Smogmaw's position and finds it is not that difficult of an image to conjure. He had always been loving towards her, though he appeared as spiky as a thorn barrier to cats who didn't know him as well as he did. He and Smogmaw had more in common than they probably both knew.

As each kit is born into this world, Starlingkit checks them over, licks their fur the way she had been taught to in order to help them breathe then passes them to their mother so that they could curl close to her, tuck into her soft belly fur. When her job is done, she steps back and admires all of them, her friends included. She is so unbelievably happy for Smogmaw, for Halfshade adn their little family. "They-they're beautiful" she says quietly. Three she-kits and one tom. "All of them- they all l-look healthy" she informs the couple "But if- if anything starts- if anything worries y-you please don't- don't hesitate to-to c-come get me" she is especially looking at the runt of the litter, too small, weak. Is that what she had looked like when she had been born? She cannot help but wonder.

​

 

[Halfshade]

Normally she would have lifted her head to meet the press of the blue tabby's own skull into hers, but she was too tired to raise it high enough for the gesture so she only smiled in silent adoration instead. Part of her, a small part, had been worried Smogmaw wouldn't have come. That, like most toms, he would have kept his distance and waited until later and while she was perfectly capable of managing herself the source of comfort was more than welcoming and she was happy for it. Starlingheart, was another she was glad to be there and not simple because she was a medicine cat but because she was a dear friend and a kind girl she had the utmost faith in despite everything. Young and left to flounder on her own, she was managing well and when she gazed upon the dark-furred healer checking the kits she could not help but feel a warm swill of comfort settle in her chest. The medicine cat echoes her worries out loud, she sees those green eyes wander to the smallest kit and she's glad her fears are acknowledged, but they are all healthy she is told. And right now, that is enough. "...thank you, little bird. You're a treasure as well." She would need to remember to thank Raggedpaw later too. The little fool had actually done as asked without a lot of dallying about.

"Applekit.", she echoes. Round and healthy and warm-colored like the name bestowed upon her. A quiet nod confirmed it, she liked it fine, and perhaps it was this confirmation that allowed Smogmaw to feel bold enough to suggest the second name. "Garlickit." Halfshade's nose wrinkled slightly, the oddly scented plant was far from what she'd consider a cute name for her offspring, but the more she thought of it this one did resemble her mate the most and the flowers that bloomed from the buried cloves were lovely in their own way; begrudginly it was also allowed with a nod though her eyes narrowed into a sharp stare. Halfshade was not pleased entirely with that, but there were four kits and she would not deny Smogmaw the right to name some of his offspring; which meant that the final two were hers to bestow upon what they would carry with them their entire lives.

Mismatched eyes scan the final two unamed kits, the pale cream tom and the tiny little patchwork torbie. "Swankit." She says quickly, nudging her son with the faintest touch of her nose; his fur like soft feathers and while awkward and long-limbed now he would grow to be a handsome young cat. The other took her a moment longer, mulling over names in her head that made her consider size. Beekit, at first for the kittens tiny form. Bloomkit, perhaps, in the hopes she would grow. But she felt both names called too much attention to the child's size and concerning future. No, she would not be wistful with it, she wanted her to thrive. "Valeriankit."

She purred raising her head finally to regard her mate in affection, "I love you too." And then he made that comment and her smile widened, eyes narrowing into thin slit pupils; while she said nothing in reply the silent and exagerrated curl of her maw made clear that her response to the suggestion was nothing short of a threat. "You carry the next ones then~"
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