SWEETHEART I OWE YOU THE WORLD [✦] birth

[Starlingheart]

Starlingheart knows that this day had been coming. The gradual swelling of her belly had made it so that walking and moving was a chore, though that did not stop her from waddling about the medicine cats den, ensuring everything was perfect for the arrival of her kits. She had moved all her herbs up high, out of the reaches of curious mouths, she had ensured time and time again that she had a nest away from Magpiepaw and the rest of her patients so that they would not be disturbed and vice versa. She had checked time and time again that everything was right, that everything was safe and ready for the new arrivals. She did not have the luxury of retiring to the nursery like a warrior did. The Clan would not stop getting sick or injured just because she was caring for kits and she knows that, though Magpiepaw's training was coming along well she could not expect him to do everything. He was simply not ready yet.

It is when her mind is preoccupied with nervous thoughts that she feels the first pang, a crippling feeling that leaves her crying out. "Magpiepaw!" she looks around for the black and white tom. She had done her best to prepare him for this moment, but she knows from her own process that experience is worth its weight in prey, that telling someone how to heal a wound or deliver kits is much different then actually doing said things. Her eyes are wide in terror as she also seeks out her mate. "Granitepelt, br-bring him please" she says, her voice warbling with pain. She is afraid. Afraid because she does not know what will happen. Images of Viridianskies flash in her mind. A queen who she had failed and she squeezes her eyes shut, willing such frightening thoughts away. She had helped Forestshade and Betonyfrost deliver their kits without a hitch. She tells herself that it will be okay as she bites down on a stick and prepares for another wave of pain.

// next post they will be born!
@GRANITEPELT and @Magpiepaw
​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

He’s just returning from an early hunting excursion when familiar, freakish violet eyes hang on his features. Somehow, as soon as he sees the medicine cat apprentice greeting him at the camp’s entrance, he knows something is amiss. Forestshade’s kits had been born only days before, and Starlingheart’s belly hangs low and swollen. “Take me to her. Now.” His order is swift and decisive. He will be there for her while she endures this. He must.

Their den is dark and strangely cool, a refuge from the climbing heat. She’s curled in the shadows, her pale green eyes bright with fear. The scent of blood accosts him—and though he knows all queens endure this, a tight knot of panic hardens in his abdomen. “Starlingheart, my love... I’m here. You can relax now. He won’t let anything happen to you.”

He glares in Magpiepaw’s direction, his voice like an adder’s poised to strike. “Well? Help her,” he demands.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — granitekit . granitepaw . granitepelt
  — he/him ; warrior of shadowclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Starlingheart
  — short-haired gray tom with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Meg

​

 

[Magpiepaw]

The call of his name has him dropping the watermint he was looking at, trying to recall what it was used for again by giving it a hesitant sniff. Blue-violet eyes widen as he sees the dark molly crumple under her own discomfort; she had been muttering about 'any day now' for so many days that he had not actually expected anything to happen anymore, now when faced with it his immediate response was to freeze up in a panic until she stammered out a demand. Granitepelt. Bring him.
The order is enough to snap him back into action and he rises to stand and dash off out of the den as quickly as he can with his teetering steps and swaying gait, managing an almost perfectly straight line for once the second the gray tom comes into view. Thankfully the warrior needed no actual explaination as the breathless apprentice could not even get a squeak of a sound out at first and he turned to follow briskly along behind him as he took off to the den he'd just left. His face must have told it all, sometimes he was glad for how emotive one could be; silence often spoke volumes more than most words.
Magpiepaw hovers uncertainly in place for a moment, dancing from paw to paw in anxious worry.
He knows where kits come from despite it being a little hard to wrap his head around initially, Starlingheart said it would make more sense when he saw it and he only nodded because he trusted her but he also knew personally that to see something was to better understand it. Suddenly he is understanding it a lot more than he might've wanted. Granitepelt looks at him so sharply he might as well have drove his claws into him and the medicine cat apprentice answers the look with his own intense and unblinking stare. He ignores the copper scent, nose wrinkling as he tries not to think about it and the stick that Starlingheart had kept within the den this entire time is clamped between her teeth now Stick to bite on, cause having kits hurt; he could not even imagine how badly but seeing his mentor's face crumpled in agony was heartwrenching on its own.
The black and white tom scoots to her side, kneading the bedding himself in a nervous gesture before sucking in a breath to hold. They had plenty of moss, they had plenty of cats present with working tongues who could help clean a kitten proper. He just had to be calm, he just had to be there...
"You've brought in several litters already, Starlingheart, this'll be easy...this'll be fine." He had missed Forestshade's kitting sadly and he wished he hadn't-he might've been better prepared in this case.
​

 

[Starlingheart]

His voice is like a distant drone, barely there but still she is grateful for his presence. Like a rock in a storm she clings to that voice, lets it guide her through the torrents of pain that now wrack her body. She is sad that she didn’t have enough time to prepare her apprentice for this event, sad he had not been there to witness the birth of Forestshade’s kits so that she could guide him through this, but he is right. She had delivered four litters now and though the first two had been wrought with tragedy the last two had been healthy, beautiful. She can only hope the same outcome had been written in the stars for her.

When the ordeal is over she looks at her kits with tears in her eyes. Three of them.

The first born was a tom, gray and white fur resembling their father. Her first born. She touches her nose to him with tears stinging her bright green eyes. "He's beautiful" she says quietly, her voice breaking, and then her eyes sweep over all of them "Theyre all beautiful" and like she had said to Forestshade, healthy. That was the most important part. She looks up to Granitepelt, her eyes filled with love. "Your first son… would you do the honors of naming him?" she asks, then leaves him to think about the name.

Second to come into the world had been another tom, though his fur was cinnamon and not black or gray like she had been expecting and his head and paws are devoid of color. "Another son. He- He will be Nettlekit, after the herbs of the den he was- he was born into" she says, the name reminds her of her mothers name as well but she does not say so. She sweeps her tail over him and leans forward, licking his brightly covered fur with loving strokes before she turns her attention to the next kit.

A girl. One whose fur is midnight black like her own, but on one half of her body and on her face the color is lost. It reminds her of someone she’s lost and in a soft voice, full of grief she says "Ghostkit. Our daughter wi-will be known- known as- as Ghostkit" thinking of the pale bodied apprentice makes her eyes fill with tears again but she quickly wipes them away, refusing to allow grief to marr such a beautiful moment.

@FLINTKIT
@NETTLEKIT
@GHOSTKIT

​

 

[GHOSTMASK]

†—— She enters the world nameless—a wriggling bundle of black and white, knowing of nothing but the instinctive urge to crawl towards the scent of milk. At her father's birth, had they known what he would become? Would they know now what she would become? They do not, her mother curled around her and her barely-older siblings against her, though perhaps her father has an inkling—an instinctive dislike earned by nothing but the name she will bear. To them she is their only daughter; to her mother, beautiful, perfect, to her siblings just another wiggling shape fighting for milk.

Graced with the name of an apprentice dead by her father's claws, a name she will carry for the rest of her life—a name her father will hate for the rest of her life. Ghostkit now, she crawls to the scent of milk until the instinct quiets in the gentle warmth against her mother's flank, as do her low cries—nothing like the screech released by one of Forestshade's newborns. She is new to the world, the dark things in her mind sleeping dreamless, for these brief moments an innocent thing; the world now is governed by milk-scent and darkness, not morals she will never understand. She is Ghostkit.

---

┏━•†˚୨୧⋆ OOC ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ INFORMATION ⋆୨୧˚†•━━━━━┓ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ༘*.ﾟ

• ooc: she's reeeeeeal

• 

• † ghostkit — named after the deceased ghostpaw she/her ; afab cisgender female — shadowclan — kit — feetus —— ghostkit is the daughter of the soft-spoken medicine cat starlingheart and her possessive mate, granitepelt. she looks just like her mother, and while she can be a little difficult, there's nothing really wrong with her ...... right? —— smells like milk, herbs, and .... iron? ; sounds like tbd ; speech in #EB80B7 ; thoughts in #253DC6 —— peaceful / healing powerplay permitted ; attacks/contact in underline ; won’t start fights ; will flee ; will show mercy ; won't kill or maim (kitten) —— too young for romance ; open to enemies, "friends", tormenting other kits, plotting ; not open to battles, romance penned by dejavu— desklamp9 on discord for plots

• shhh don't look here (battle info will go here at some point)

​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

He cannot bear to see her suffer. She is strong, even in the face of what he knows is nigh-unbearable agony—and despite his curdled expression, pride rages through him at her tenacity.

For him, she suffers.

Granitepelt stays hovering over her shaking shoulders, watching Magpiepaw’s dizzying movements through narrowed emerald slits. He paws a well-bitten stick toward his mate’s jaws, and she clamps her fangs around the thickest section as their first kit is born.

A son, she says, tiny and perfect. Granitepelt’s eyes widen with wonder. His fur is slicked back, but as Starlingheart begins to groom him it lightens and fluffs up. It’s the same slate color as his pelt, with similar white markings. He looks as Granitepelt must have fourteen moons ago—as his father must have before that. “Flintkit.” His firstborn should have a strong name, and although his father’s legacy has been tainted by Sootstar’s secret, Granitepelt knows his son will bring greatness back to the soiled name.

A second kit follows his brother, vibrant sand-tinged ginger with a moon-white skull. Granitepelt studies his movements, saying nothing as Starlingheart gives him a name—Nettlekit. It’s not a bad name, though there’s something he doesn’t like about it… regardless. Two strong kits latch onto Starlingheart’s flank, and soon, a final joins them.

This one is female, and to his pleasure, looks like her mother. Granitepelt touches his nose to Starlingheart’s shoulder, preparing to murmur some praise, when she names their lastborn. Ghostkit, she murmurs. The blood frosts in his veins, and he chokes on whatever he’d been about to say.

StarClan is laughing at him.

He takes a clumsy step back, coughing and spluttering. He does his best to avoid meeting either healer’s gaze and mutters, “I need some air. Excuse me.”

He all but flees from the den, from the squirming black and white shape and the fool who mocks him from his grave.

// out <3

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — granitekit . granitepaw . granitepelt
  — he/him ; warrior of shadowclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Starlingheart
  — short-haired gray tom with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Meg

​

 

[FLINTWISH]

Small pool of slate gray sits nestled at his mother's belly. Only still water better mirrors his father than the kitten does; their pelts are the same ashen hue, crusted with the same white patina; even the newborn's frame is larger, eager to grow to Granitepelt's size and strength. And he will grow, someday, into a perfect ShadowClan warrior. He'll rend his heritage back from Sootstar's claws; he'll make his mother and father proud, he's sure.

Starlingheart touches her nose to his forehead and the newborn mewls in protest, as if he has already learned that love is a thing to be afraid of. But only a few breaths can be taken before he finally succumbs to the hunger that gnaws at his belly, foreign and desperate; he nurses silently, pink paws pressing his littermates out of the way, a competition to be won. Each movement is strong and sure as the mountains. It is this promise of anchoring; of rock-solid stability; of clifflike impenetrability that Flintkit carries even in his first moments on this earth, and it is this promise he intends to keep.​

 

[NETTLEPAW ♡]

Clay and snow clash to form the colours of the kitten's tiny frame. He stood the odd one out among his siblings, little mirrors of their parents- the hues that make up this ones fur were lumbering deep in lineage, pulled from a long-dead grandfather. In time he would grow, would mirror his mother more in stature, but for now he was just as any kit- writhing, squirming, hungry. Blind and barely-formed, there was little he could do than simply surge ahead in pathetic struggles, unaware of his father's sudden absence, of his name. Nettlekit bore not the briars of his name as he latched onto the familiar warmth of his mother. There was no intention to let go anytime soon.

This was love, given to him readily. He was loved just by being, and would love right back. Bonds forged by blood and familiarity would run deep within this den; but love itself, in time, would grow less familiar to this snow-bathed kit. Nettlekit would bear his thorns around his heart, in time- but for now, he was just hungry. ​

penned by pin ♡​