It has been days since Rimekit had been taken from her. Bluefrost is dutiful — she goes, escorted by Dimmingsun, to the medicine cat's den, and there she gulps her lungwort; there she tucks herself into her daughter's sickbed, and she lets her feed until she cannot anymore, until her tiny white belly is rounded and full. And then she makes herself peel away, makes herself leave Rimekit alone. (She is not alone. She has her true mother.) But even as she thinks this, Bluefrost mourns the space where Rimekit should be at her flank. Bluefrost mourns the absence of her daughter.
Perhaps Thriftfeather's presence has comforted her. The other kits grow stronger. Stouter. He is never far from his family; he has nowhere to go, nowhere to stretch his legs, and the two of them, for better or worse, are forced to experience familial bliss in cramped quarters.
"I miss Rimekit," Bluefrost would whisper, and perhaps he'd have a comforting word for her, but when she drifts off to sleep, she is thinking of her sister's kit cold and hungry and stranded from her littermates. She is thinking of —
My kit. My daughter. Soon, it becomes second nature to say this. They all share her blood. They all drink the milk of her body. They all will know her values, her rules. They will know one father, one devoted father. Even against her instinct, the five kittens' heritage begins to blur together in her mind.
Could that be the sleepless nights? Could that be the contemptuous glares her Clanmates cast her and the father of her children?
They are alone. They are an island. And on this day — she thinks she can feel a nip in the air, even tucked away inside the nursery — something stirs between the five of them. Bluefrost earnestly cleans small, stout, fluffy-furred Foalkit after a feeding, and as she turns him so he faces her, she is met with —
"Thriftfeather!" Her breath catches in her throat. "StarClan, look! Foalkit is..." The tightly-sealed slits in his face have parted to reveal a milky sky-blue. He sees. He sees them, his mother, his father, his siblings.
Something twists in her belly; it is the most she has felt in days. The gray-pelted queen leans closer to her son, staring into his eyes as though he will speak to her. "He sees us," she whispers, still startled.
Perhaps Thriftfeather's presence has comforted her. The other kits grow stronger. Stouter. He is never far from his family; he has nowhere to go, nowhere to stretch his legs, and the two of them, for better or worse, are forced to experience familial bliss in cramped quarters.
"I miss Rimekit," Bluefrost would whisper, and perhaps he'd have a comforting word for her, but when she drifts off to sleep, she is thinking of her sister's kit cold and hungry and stranded from her littermates. She is thinking of —
My kit. My daughter. Soon, it becomes second nature to say this. They all share her blood. They all drink the milk of her body. They all will know her values, her rules. They will know one father, one devoted father. Even against her instinct, the five kittens' heritage begins to blur together in her mind.
Could that be the sleepless nights? Could that be the contemptuous glares her Clanmates cast her and the father of her children?
They are alone. They are an island. And on this day — she thinks she can feel a nip in the air, even tucked away inside the nursery — something stirs between the five of them. Bluefrost earnestly cleans small, stout, fluffy-furred Foalkit after a feeding, and as she turns him so he faces her, she is met with —
"Thriftfeather!" Her breath catches in her throat. "StarClan, look! Foalkit is..." The tightly-sealed slits in his face have parted to reveal a milky sky-blue. He sees. He sees them, his mother, his father, his siblings.
Something twists in her belly; it is the most she has felt in days. The gray-pelted queen leans closer to her son, staring into his eyes as though he will speak to her. "He sees us," she whispers, still startled.
- ooc: @Thriftfeather @FOALKIT @Comfreykit @Asterkit @sootkit.
-
-
Bluekit.Bluepaw. Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
— "speech", thoughts, attack
— 18 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
— mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
— windclan queen.sootstarxweaselclaw, gen 2.
— penned by Marquette.
lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.