camp with a breath there is life | giving birth

[BONERIPPLE]

Spending much of her time out of camp was almost theraputic for her. Being able to do the things she had always trained to do, honing her skills with her claws and tracking her prey is much more natural than pulling up plants from stalks. Sorting them into piles and cleaning out the dry and rotten ones. A time waster for herself, someone who had always seen herself as a weapon first. Though it is harder with the weight that she now carries she is trying her best because Riverclan did not have to take her in. They did not have to welcome her into their home and now sje wishes to give back just as much as she takes. So she is doing all she can and hell, she has been trying to fish. It's not really her strong suite and she didn't catch anything her wet forepaws say as much. The chill racing up her limbs has most definitely put her off from the river and she sighs as she steps paw into camp once more. This time she has no prey to lay upon the pile, the energy she needs dragging currently. Really she debates on turning back around and going back out when a horrible feeling strikes her. It causes her to pause and the feeling seems to spread through her abdomen.
For a moment she just stands there perplexed. Confusion swelling in her burning eyes before it happens again but strong more painful.

And boy does it begin to hurt like hell. Her eyes begin to widen as she just stands there looking dumbfounded. "A-are they...? She murmurs to herself as she pulls her ears back against her skull. A sudden surge of fear surges through her and she quickly glances around for the one that had become the rock in her life. The solid being that has held her up. "Wolve, please don't be on a patrol..." And she pleads with Starclan that he is somewhere in camp. Somewhere to hear her, or see her as she calls for him suddenly. Turning she tries to make her way to the nursery, taking in labored breathes through the pain, and through her own panic. A mother. Something she has never thought she would ever be. Something she feels like she won't do justice. But she forces it down as best she can because these are her kits. These are her babies and she will raise them. To the best of her ability she will have them be loyal Riverclanners as she has dedicated herself to be.

"I just need my nest..." With a shift she is about to enter the nursery but her legs buckle and she sits down suddenly near the entrance. On instinct she lays down on her side. She huffs and breathes out harshly, scared. No, she's terrified. She is trying and she just doesn't want to be alone.

@wolverinefang
@Skunk-kit
@Sablekit
@Silentkit

- babies will be born next post!​

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : all is quiet in camp. narrow eyes of salt blue stare absently at a measly freshkill pile, long limbs tucked snugly beneath his slim form. his long tail is tucked firm around his sharp haunches and wind - bitten, aching paws, chin tucked and ears pinned against the breeze that whips away at dark curls. its cold — freezing, and he feels as though he can nearly hear the river behind him turning to thick slush, washing harshly over the pebbled shore. patrols were coming in regularly, with little to show for it despite he and buckgait’s incessant assignments. if there were one good thing about the cinnamon molly, it was that she kept them all busy . . those who could, did, until they earned their keep or collapsed of exhaustion one. but when he first spots a certain heavily pregnant molly slinking quietly back through the reeds, he stands slow, taking the time to stretch out his forelimbs, arching his back enough to pop lazily. she’d heard him scold her for venturing out of camp since her arrival, there would be little loss in waiting to repeat himself. so he stretches, watching through lidded eyes as she moves towards the nursery and —

somethings wrong. his ears swivel forward and shes calling for wolve, wolverinefang, and its certainly not him but the river king is slipping forward anyway, aiming to hopefully guide her to the ground if he gets to her in time, “ ach du meine gute, bone, you fool. “ it's soft despite its reprimanding bite ; he couldn't move her, not now. all he could do was provide a solid comfort, a presence, familiar and warm until her mate arrived. the river leader gives her a friendly, comforting rasp over the ear, a gentle lick, “ be calm, breathe. in, out . . you are safe, beesong will take good care of you. “ the cinnamon tabby was . . hesitant around him, a distant friendliness at best, but they were a damn good medicine cat — and he trusted them. entrusted them with the life of his childhood best friend, her budding offspring. he takes a deep breath, lifting his gaze towards a nearby npc, who seems flustered to have been caught craning his tufted ears towards them, “ fetch them, please. gloompaw too. “

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−−−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar is unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
• none.

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[wolverinefang]

♤ PALMS UP, CATCH THE LIGHTNING ♤​

Wolverinefang has always been a suboptimal warrior, a bare minimum kind of guy. Knowing he's surviving and skirting by authority by the hairs of his chin for most days and being okay with it, even comfortable with it. He'd fought hard to survive as a sick kit and up into his early adolescence and when it was time to reap the rewards of his struggle, he'd just mellowed into complacency instead. Struggles were always abundant in Shadowclan and here just as much as any clan but things are different now. It's not enough to just be a placeholder for a better man and he's trying to be better. That mostly involves him clonking his hardhead against something until he can find a give, a break into figuring something out and that's when he's been trying lately.

The ex-Shadowclanner too is out floundering in the water for some food and reluctantly at a few trees length off from his mate. Bone doesn't like to be babied but it's hard not to hover when she looks more swollen than a long overripe pear. He's not particularly good at all of this but he's trying in the shallowest regions of the waters. His fur carries too much water weight and if he weren't used to the soggy ground of the marsh, he's sure he would have caught his death many times over by now. He knows that eventually someone will have to perform the miracle of getting him to swim but for now, he's content to wade through and use his large body to muck through the muddy banks.

Just like she, he's dragging his moppy form back to blessed land and fights the urge to collapse with a defeated sigh. This is miserable but at least he can look semi-accomplished. He takes to plucking some slimy reeds from the banks because at least he can plug some holes in the nests. He looks back to call his mate he'd last spotted in the distance but she's not there. The tom smears his lip back and tries to follow her scent and luckily its fresh enough to do so. As he approaches the nursery, he catches Bone's voice as he watches Cicadastar step along at her side. The plants go tumbling from the tom's mouth and he trips over them, scrambling his way to Boneripple's side with his eyes dragonfly wide. He nods toward the leader with curt appreciation, searching hard for words that elude him.

"I-- what? Now?" He only realizes just then that he honestly has no clue what to do besides gawk. Wolver blinks rapidly, pounding heart trying to run blood to his empty skull, and stares down at her. Immediately he can see the terror in her eyes and it sends a chill down his soaked spine. It sears into his mind and drags out courage from deep inside (though that's easier for him to say when he doesn't have to push the rascals out). Wolverinefang's not often seen his lover so frightened. Disgressed, wary, sure- but this, it seems to knock an iota of sense into his mind. The usually hefty tom, now leaner from the winter moons, kneels down and presses his forehead against Bone's firmly. "Everything's going to be okay, Bone. Be strong. Just like you always are. Bite my toes off if you have to, I don't care!" He chuckles lowly into her fur, excitement lacing his tone on a slight tremor, and lies down so that the queen can rest her head against his gut. ​

GOD-LIKE ISN'T LIKELY — ♛​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

When she goes down, she feels her fall break with the help of someone else. Her eyes find that of her best friend and she takes in another shallow breath. Hearing his words she knows he doesn't mean it. Knows that he is only concerned but her fear surges. "Sorry...I'm so sorry. I just wanted to be useful, I just–," She just wanted to be useful again. For the first time since the clans were created she felt she could accomplish something. Anything but continue to kill her own clanmates necause she doesn't know enough. Watching them die at the mercy of her ignorant paws. It hurts, it hurts so much and she has to see those faces she failed. Her jaw grits as another pain shoots through her and she swallows thickly once more. Hoping and praying to Starclan to give these kits a better life than she had. She listens and she tries to breath as much as possible. To quell her own demons and do what she needs to do. It's Wolverinefang and his voice that also helps, makes her nod slowly. "Yeah...yeah now." She hisses softly through her teeth and his words give her strength. Be strong.

Has she always been strong to him? She presses her head back against his own as she shifts to lay her head against him. Shifting her body another strong wave moves through her and she grits her teeth. It takes a moment, it takes time but the first kit is born. A she-kit with fur dappled with white and spiky fur. The woman turns and she tries to lick her child, tries to get her warm out here in the cold. It's freezing but she has little time to pull the buddle to herself and her mate before she has to push again. It takes longer on this one and she huffs sharply, the cold is sapping her energy but she keeps going and soon the second kit is born into the world. Much like the first this one is also black and white. Prominently on their chest and chin. Longer fur and she is quick to try and coax them to her. To warm them up as quickly as possible. Her eyes droop and she lays her head back onto Wolve thinking she is done. That this must be it. But then the pain happens again and her eyes widen. "Another one...?" She breathes tiredly.

And the blood, there is already so much of it. Yet she strains, she pushes. The pain in her lower half almost unbearable. But soon the kit comes forth. He is much like his siblings. But what sets him a part is the white stripe along his spine. Her jaw quivers and she exhales in relief, she feels empty. Happy. Tired. Drifting. For a moment she cleans the last one and then her head lolls to the side, eyes fluttering. "They're so beautiful..." There is the sound of tears in her voice. As she looks up towards the two toms with her. Tired. She will just rest for a moment and then she shuts her eyes.​

 

[CLAYFUR]

Kittens being born in the wintertime is uncommon, and yet the clan is set to have two litters so far this winter. Of course, they had only planned for one litter—Poppysplash and Willowroot’s bunch—but then Boneripple and her family showed up, and of course Cicadastar wouldn’t turn away a pregnant queen. And despite the risk that an outsider such as the black and white she-cat posed, she was still a healer, and many of the clan have fallen ill. He doubts she’ll actually use her knowledge to help out with sick clanmates, mostly because she’s going to be busy with her kits and she shouldn’t risk falling ill herself, but she’s still nice to have around.

Besides the obvious advantage she could give RiverClan over the other clans, Clayfur likes the intimidating warrior. She’s confident and fierce in a way that’s similar to Cicadastar—all brutality and lightness at the same time. He doesn’t know much about her mate, a skunk-striped tom who seems very devoted, but Wolverinefang hasn’t given Clay any reason not to trust him. The dirt-colored tom is happy to see both of them welcoming a litter, though, especially in RiverClan. This means there will be more kits for him to play with once they’re old enough!

He spots the queen when she nearly collapses to the ground, though her fall is padded by the leader’s spindly form, and then her mate is there with her too. Clayfur should leave or something, but when the warrior rushes off at Cicadastar’s demand to fetch one of the heaters, he decides to stay. He’s just hovering around, in case he’s needed to help move Boneripple or fetch anything else for her. Just as he’s about to ask whether he should go get something, the queen rests her head against her mate’s flank and her expression changes to soemthing tight, pained. Clay stays silent during the entire process, waiting a couple fox-lengths away to offer space if wanted, or support if needed. He doesn’t watch while they’re being born, though—it’s gross anyway, and it feels a bit too intrusive to watch. But once the she-cat murmurs something quietly, he looks over to her again.

He shifts up on his toes a bit, trying to catch a clear glimpse of the kits while staying back far enough that he isn’t intruding. This doesn’t seem like something he should be watching, much like the birth of Willowroot’s kittens. They’re tiny—like, teeny tiny, and he’s almost afraid to even look at them lest he crush them with the weight of his gaze. But they’re also so cute and perfect, and he can’t help but think that he wants that too. Little baby kits of his own, wouldn’t that be perfect?

He shakes his head; he’s getting distracted, and in the time he’s been staring blankly at the kits, their mother seems to have suddenly grown very tired. Is that supposed to happen? "Is she—okay?" Concern is plain on his face, but he doesn’t move to step closer. He doesn’t have any aid to offer if something is wrong, so he’d just be in the way of anyone who could help the queen.
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[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

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[Sablemist]

In every situation you give me peace

All is warm and dark, until it is not. A flash of light floods the lids sealing her eyes and frost bitten cold snatches away the comforting warmth that was once there. An explosive mew of discomfort escapes the kitten as long spindly limbs thrash about in dismay. So fragile and helpless at this stage all she can do is cry and make her desperate request for warmth and nourishment known. Before long a tongue rasps over her dark frame and she is transferred to rest against a wall of soft fur. The girl's wails die off, now appeased, but a shudder from the nipping cold racks her tiny form. Time is lost to her, however she notices it growing increasingly warmer around her as her siblings join her side and as a result her shivers are less violent.​

Don't gotta be afraid because you're in the lead​

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[BEESONG]

the npc rushes into beesong's den, exclaiming that bonejaw's kits are on their way into the world. the cinnamon tabby is quick to gather up the herbs he needs and ushers gloompaw along with him; chervil for pain, and a stick to bite down on. beesong has never cared for the dark-furred molly, and his opinion certainly has not improved since she'd abandoned her own clan and responsibilities to flee to the river, but his biases do not belong on the work field. his own duty, as riverclan's medicine cat, is to help his clanmates regardless of his own feelings.

i hope your plans are laid out differently, dawnglare's voice echoes in their head as they head towards the nursery. they aren't going to be the next failed medicine cat in the steadily growing list.

they stay by bonejaw's side throughout the birth, silent but watchful. cicadastar's presence is, as always, unnerving; they feel the pressure of authority, yowling at them to succeed or face consequences. there is quite a bit of blood, unlike icesparkle and willowroot's deliveries... and, helpless, beesong can only hope that the bleeding subsides as time passes. how would they even staunch the bleeding during a delivery, anyhow?

eventually, thankfully, the bleeding slows to a stop. bonejaw lies in her nest with three new squirming, mewling lives nestled at her belly. comparative to willowroot's birth, bonejaw's goes by without any tragedy... no lives lost, no children taken to the stars before they could breathe their first breath. still, beesong cannot help the minute wrinkle of their nose, as they examine each kit... all appear to be healthy, but stars, they'll never get over just how alien the little things look. all bobbling head, with too weak of limbs to support themselves, eyes and ears sealed tight. it's hard to imagine that they once looked like that, too.

clayfur slips into the den, asking if bonejaw is okay. beesong hums, nodding. "she's fine, but i'm sure she's tired," he says, a warning not to crowd her hidden behind his words. he's never experienced childbirth himself, thank the stars, so he can only imagine the toll it takes on one's body. the healer wouldn't hold it against bonejaw if she wants to be alone with her family, now that all is said and done; her eyes have already drifted shut.

he already feels as if he's overstaying his welcome, anyway.​