camp the burning light will reappear on summer nights — birth

[DOEBLAZE]

// cw for mildly implied birth content

This new nest is not helping with Bobbie's anxiety right now—she figures it must be the pregnancy making her feel like this, because lately everything has felt so nerve-wracking. She's even lost the familiar safety of the nursery to a fallen tree in the rising gales, crushing the happy warmth of the den as well as some poor soul (Bobbie had been elsewhere at the time, thank goodness, she thinks guiltily). While the Clan figured out what to do, a couple of apprentices had quite sweetly helped her make a new nest to reside in; probably out of concern as much as kindness, given that she felt like a tick about to pop and looked it too. Still, she'd dragged this fresh nest into a corner, comfortably tucked behind one of the banks of ferns that sprout around the hollow of SkyClan's camp.

She's nervous. Very nervous. Bobbie has never had a litter before, does not have the benefit of experience nor a mate to comfort her or, StarClan forbid, raise her kits should something go wrong ... she tries to shoo that thought away, but it flutters about her dizzy head. She knows enough to know that birth is dangerous, that she could die, the kits could die—a reality she's refused to confront as her stomach swelled, but one that haunts her thougths now. The lilac cat's teeth grit as another wave of pain crashes over her abdomen; they haven't been letting up, these pains, over the last couple days; suddenly Bobbie almost understands why everyone seems to respect the queens so much.

Her claws slide out of their own volition into her carefully made nest, meticulously groomed fur spiking; pain sears up her body like a lightning bolt and Bobbie knows. This is it; the kits that she's breathlessly awaited so long are coming, and the queen shudders. Her eyes strain to look past the fern-bank for any passing cat (was having kits supposed to hurt this much?) and when she spots an unidentifiable face but certainly a clanmate she calls out (unsure of calling for creepy Dawnglare), "Could ... could you get someone? My kits are coming."

---

By the end of it, Bobbie's fresh nest is rent by clawmarks and she slumps exhausted in its remains. This had been nothing like the easy births described by Twolegplace queens, not that she'd expected it to be exactly the same, but she had an inkling this had been difficult even by wild standards. Still, it is done, even if it had felt like it took eons of painful, painful work; the ordeal has left her weary to her bones and she wants nothing more than to go to sleep. Bobbie lifts her head and eyelids with some difficulty: in the effort of it all she hasn't yet looked at her kits, much less considered their names. Names ... in all her thoughts Bobbie had never considered that, having no close cats for namesakes, and now she realizes that these are the names her children will likely carry for the rest of their lives. Even as the suffix changes as they grow up (oh, how faraway that felt now), this will remain. Her first gift to them.

Pale green eyes train on the trio of fuzzy bundles pressed to her belly, and her heart pangs slowly with a guilty thought: her wishes have not been answered. All three of the warm, wriggling kittens are colored a deep jet black, stark against her pale brown side, a painfully familiar color. This thought is gone in a moment and replaced by a love so intense it almost hurts, feeling unable to be contained within her heart; however much she had thought she loved these kittens before their birth, her love for them now is overwhelming. It crashes over her in a tidal wave that is for the first time not an unwelcome one; she welcomes this overflowing, overwhelming feeling. Her eyes are soft puddles of happiness as she looks at the kits. Her kits.

She truly has no idea which one was her firstborn, lost in the exhaustion of it all, and she honestly doesn't care. The first kit her eyes land upon is the same dark color as her siblings: a shekit, fluffy now that her fur was dry, long fur indeed. Colored the same midnight touched with gray as her two siblings, Bobbie notices, her heart softening: her children look so alike, and it warms her heart for some reason. As she watches this little she-kit with love in her eyes, the kitten rolls onto her back for a moment, her eyes shut but her face somehow sleepy-looking; a tiny mouth opens wide in a miniature yawn and then lets loose a whistling little snore before snuggling back up to her stomach, and it occurs to her. Bobbie has no mate to offer these names as a suggestion to, but it feels right somehow to say it out loud, to make it real. Her mew is tired but soft as she noses this kitten gently, "You're Drowsykit."

This second kitten is the same deep faded ink tone as his siblings, one of two tomkits, but white splashes his belly and paws, a bit bigger than the other kits curled against her stomach. His fur is long too, wispier than Drowsykit's, but a fluffy little puffball indeed. She notices with some amusement as she leans down to give him an affectionate lick of the forehead that his tail protrudes from this ball of fuzz, languidly long and so fluffy it could almost be mistaken for another kit. Bobbie looks at this feature, ponders it; after all, this will be the name carried by her son for the rest of his life. It occurs to her what that distinctive tail reminds her of: one of the little bright spots of her life lately, the colorful puffy blossoms that have dotted their camp in late newleaf spanning still until now. Bobbie's mouth curves into a loving smile as she names him, "And Lupinekit."

Her last kit, another tom, is a touch smaller than the others but puffed up by the same long baby fluff as his siblings. His fur is a deeper jet than the other kits, perhaps not by much, but she notices it nonetheless. His tiny paws and face are almost pure black in their color, although his body is lighter, and it reminds her of the birds she occasionally sees dotting the fresh-kill pile or lending their caws to the chorus of open beaks. She curls around her kits as she chooses the name of this last one, her second son, "And Crowkit."
​

// @DROWSYKIT @CROWKIT! @eezy
they're born!! you all can post with your kittens now, they're newborn here but starting at 2 moons to avoid 2 months of playing kits that do nothing lol
i'll post an official "first time out of the nursery"/kit intro asap!

 

[FIGFEATHER]

FIGFEATHER ♀​ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥​

//tw for grief (sry for the sad bomb) It was hard to be in camp. The fallen tree, the destroyed walls of the nursery, it was so hard to look at. That tree had taken memories of her kithood. Memories of Daisyflight, memories of sleeping at her belly with her litter-mates and Butterflytuft. The tree had taken her brother. Figfeather had loved the trees, she had been heartbroken when she had lost the ability to scale them when her leg had broke. All her life, shes harbored nothing but respect for the towering pines that shielded them from the swelling heat, that provided them food and gave them shelter. But now the trees have taken from her, it's taken something priceless. The young molly stares at the scene now. Snowpath had been dragged away, buried, Figfeather had cried and cried... and cried. The apprentices were working on carrying out the debris now, and though its a difficult scene Figfeather cannot help but feast her eyes upon it. My brother has died with the den we had grown up in. Standing onto her paws she forces herself to walk away, what good would this do her? SkyClan? Anyone? Thats when a voice speaks to her through the ferns, 'Could... could you get someone? My kits are coming." Figfeather's heart races, Bobbie was kitting! Of course, the whole clan had been expecting her kits to come any day now. With newfound determination she nods and sets off for @DAWNGLARE 's den, they've not talked much at all since her departure from his den, even more so after Mallowlark... but in this moment she forgets any inkling of ire she holds against the tom. "Dawnglare, Bobbie is kitting!" The sun drifts across the sky, its a new time of day by the time news begins to flood the camp that Bobbie has successfully kitted. It was rude to barge into the nursery (or in this case, the ferns) and immediately intrude yourself upon a queen and her newborns, so Figfeather does not. Instead she watches cats purr and chatter with giddy, rumors of what the she-cat has named the three kits spreading like wildfire. Yet griefs sticks its evil claws right into her heart once more, her happiness falters, Snowpath will never meet these kits. Figfeather sits on her haunches and looks once more at the fallen tree, the destroyed nursery. He might not... but in his memory we will build a better nursery. Where more memories will be created, ones like mine of Daisyflight and afternoon playfights with Snowkit. And one day, Drowsykit, Crowkit, and Lupinekit will cherish the new nursery like I did the old, built in inspiration of the sacrifice my brother had made, and the bravery he displayed. This fact, along with the arrival of new life, is what comforts Figfeather. Welcome to SkyClan, Drowsykit, Crowkit, and Lupinekit.

 

[DAWNGLARE]

The voice is familiar. Ringing in his ears draws him like a divine bell, red and white forme is brought from hollied depths (A place in tact, thank the stars. His own bushel is succinctly and wonderfully safe). At the same time, the voice makes him want to rip his ears off. Looking closer to a fox emerging from its den, his ears never quite remain still, ever - shifting toward the bright red she - cat as if she were far, far, from him. In reality, it was far from the truth. Sun - bright paws guide him up to a face creased by grief. A shame, that was.

" Kits! " the tom exclaims. And it's funny. Like this, it sounds like he cares a great deal about them. Crystaline eyes narrow in the direction of the was - nursery (now rubble). " Already plenty around, don't you think? S-so many! " he muses, low - spoken. No hostility rises in his voice, but his eyes glare at nothing in a way that makes him seem angry. Furious, even! Like he would rip the tongue out of any kitten he saw. Of course, he wouldn't do that though. And a blink brings him back to wide - eyed awareness, paws sliding across the ground.

It's too late when he realizes he has been trodding toward the former nursery still, and when his eyes come to level with holly litter and shattered bark, he blinks, bewildered. He barks a laugh, suddenly, though an expression cut from a confusion does little to match it. " W-where am I? " Topsy - turvy, turned around really. He spins in a circle, and really, he feels as if he's never stepped foot outside his little hovel a single moment in his life. Of course that wasn't true, now was it? Pink lips purse in a now - discarded thought. She finds it– finds her eventually. She almost asks what she's doing here, even though he knows why.

In his madness, he'd forgotten to pick up a stick. She seemed fine anywho. No worries. No bother. Dawnglare stands by idly, and his initial assessment proves real and true ( For why wouldn't it? How very useless would that make him? )

Should he scream? Should he cry? Should he cheer, for a job well done? Dawnglare does none of that. The kits are wriggling, ugly, wet messes, and Dawnglare does none of that. The names are stupid, but miraculously, Dawnglare does not say that. Drowsykit in particular is a deliciously and abhorrently simple name. Along those lines, what kept any queen from Screamingkit? Yellingkit? Wetkit? Perhaps being a father sounded appealing only for that reason, that he could pin them with a name like that for life. He wonders why more queens don't do that.​

 

[Fireflyglow]

Talk amongst the Clan was that Bobbie had her kits, but oh! Fireflypaw was so late! The wind swept against his face harshly as he trudges over to the birthing Queen and growing group, heavy footsteps leaving imprints in the grass behind him. His eyelids, cracked wide open to reveal milky blue eyes, stare sightlessly down at the sound of crying kits. It sounded like she came through the other side okay.. His head swivels to Dawnglare, listening to him speak- his laugh makes him grumble in embarrassment, though he keeps his opinions to himself in favor of checking over the kits with every tactful sniff.

"Three healthy kits.. Congratulations, Bobbie." Fireflypaw hums in satisfaction as he backs away, haunting eyes flicking over the tiny bundles of fur. "We should probably rebuild the nursery.. These kits need to be out of the wind." He murmurs to himself, a rambling bunch.​

SKYCLAN MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE ✦ 10 MOONS ✦ CHUNKY, BIG-FOOTED SEAL POINT ✦ TAGS​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

Snowpath has joined StarClan. In his wake, a queen gives birth amidst the remnants of the pine that’d taken his life. The wind howls like a forlorn hound, welcoming SkyClan’s newest members into the forest with cries rivaling their own. The Ragdoll comes to settle beside his son and Figfeather, ignoring, as he always does, the unwanted presence of Dawnglare.

“Well done,” he murmurs to the lilac queen, noting how all three kits are identical, looking nothing like their mother at all. He blinks; do they resemble their fabled father?

Slowly, he tears his eyes away from the newborn kits at Bobbie’s flank, surveying the damage done to their camp once more. His paws ache from digging at debris, from trying to free Snowpath’s body from its broken prison. There is still so much to be done. These are not the first kits born to SkyClan without the comfort of a nursery, but he does not wish it to become commonplace. “We should make sure you all have some shelter. It may not be cold, but this wind… it worries me.” He frowns, nodding in agreement with Fireflypaw.
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[DOEBLAZE]

All of a sudden it seems that a small army has gathered to (sort of) see the Clan's newest additions; she'd been excited herself about this, obviously, but somehow hadn't anticipated what an exciting event a birth seemed to be to the Clan. She's not at all objected to it; it makes her feel more than a little special, and her fur warms not unpleasantly with embarassed happiness as cats sit at a respectful distance from her little nook behind this fern bank and chatter about the new arrivals. It's unexpected and strange to be here, away from the warm comfort of the nursery she'd grown so used to, but what truly matters is that her kits are here; safe, healthy, beautiful. None of the terrifying scenarios that had been possible had happened, and she dips her head for a moment to lap at one tiny forehead, eyes glittering with happy held-back tears.

Bobbie nuzzles the fuzzy little heads, swiping at her eyes with one exhausted paw; moments ago she thought she'd simply collapse after naming them, but she wraps herself about her kits for this warm and stolen moment before she greets the sort-of visitors. Her kits; she loves them so much already she thinks it must shine out of her ears and eyes like a gilded sunlight in the cloudy windswept skies. She's never been a mother before but she wants to do her best for her children; she wants to show them how much she loves them every breath of every day, and although Bobbie knows there will be frustrating moments ahead, right now it feels impossible to be irritated with these beautiful mewling little bundles.

She pulls herself reluctantly from this special moment bound in milk-scent and black fuzz, looking up at the visitors just beyond the fern-bank; several of them appreciated, one of them now (Dawnglare is still creepy), but she feels as though she owes something to them all. Bobbie prepares her voice and calls out softly, "Thank you all. Especially you, Figfeather," Her shiny green eyes seek out the warm pelt beyond the foliage; if Bobbie's (often poor) memory serves correctly, her brother had been the poor cat crushed beneath that tree, and yet ... she was still here, had fetched Dawnglare for her and now sat at a respectful distance to welcome them. The gold-pelted warrior was to thank for the presence of the medicine cats, even if one of them was ... less than helpful (whatever, she'd gotten through it in the end), and the bravery against grief's turmoil is something the lilac queen admires.

Blazestar and his son agree: the nursery must be rebuilt, and while Bobbie cares little for where she herself sleeps at this moment, she agrees instinctively. Her kits need not face the high winds that had brought the tree down in the first place, StarClan forbid they catch a chill this young, and she nods in exhausted agreement. Bobbie's face is rendered tired from the surprisingly intense ordeal of kitting, but her eyes remain gentle and she swipes at them again; maybe it's the birth that's made her so emotional, goodness. The queen recalls the various congratulations and repeats, blinking tiredly, "Thank you. I ag-agree, but you all don't have to trouble yourselves too much for my sake."
​

 

[FIGFEATHER]

FIGFEATHER ♀​ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥​

Figfeather continues to watch on, her fur ruffled by a harsh breeze as Blazestar arrives to gaze upon the clan’s newest arrivals. The large leader and his son exchange agreeing comments, the nursery needed to be rebuilt, especially now that they had three new pairs of kits. Initially Figfeather opts to not comment but the two masked toms have her agreement. Thank you all. Especially you, Figfeather. Figfeather blinks, she looks at the collared queen as she feels her cheeks flush. The warrior did not feel like she deserved any thanks, especially one of higher praise. Any warrior would’ve done what she would’ve… though she does suspect Bobbie is thanking her for more than just that. Perhaps she was aware of the demons the marmalade tabby had to face just by being in camp, let alone hovering so close to the fallen nursery. ”It was nothing,” Modestly Figfeather says, ”I’m just glad I found Dawnglare and Fireflypaw as fast as I had.” They were the true heroes of the day, even if bile lumped at the back of her throat when speaking their medicine cats name. His mateship with the former WindClan Tom had shaken the little trust she had gained for him, but she’d never take his skill in healing and the help he provided today away from him.