speckled tansies Δ open

ooc; let ruskavelle and pinely post first.

To the cats that were bystanders to Newtface's long "temper tantrum", it would've been odd for them to know that he now had kits of his own. The moment he had found out that Tansyheart was pregnant with his kits, he had felt a surge of emotion in his heart. It had been a feeling that he hadn't felt in a long time, but it seemed to course swiftly through his veins. It had been joy, and it was something that the speckled tom had been feeling lately. His love and appreciation for Tansyheart had begun soon after that dreaded day, the day he had almost taken his own life in act of blind stupidity and sadness. Whenever he looked at the black-and-white feline, he felt nothing but thankfulness to the cat that had saved his life.

If he was dead, then he wouldn't have had the opportunity to meet the little bundles of happiness that were his kits. The little ones had only been freshly born when he had first seen them.

Starlingkit, was a black-and-white she-kit, and the oldest of the litter. The middle kit was Rookkit, a pure black she-kit. The youngest kit, a white tom speckled with black, had been born still. Newtface had had to take the stillborn out into the territory to be buried, and he had left his son in a small grave beside Rosepaw's. It had been a difficult night for him, but at least he had two darling daughters, left. Cats gave him strange glances as he padded into camp with a vole hanging from his jaws and a smile on his muzzle. The nursery awaited him as he ducked his head to enter, and he nuzzled Tansyheart gently before dropping the vole in front of her.

"Hello, little ones!" He greeted his daughters, the bright smile still painted on his muzzle, "How have you been doing?"

There was silence. Darkness. The first memory was the feeling of rough licks against her small body. She was a loud kitten, mewling as hard as she could muster at the disturbance. She was cold, wet, and completely helpless.

Suddenly, her nose picked up her first scent. It was strong and overwhelming smell, but comforted her somehow. Rookkit scrambled instinctively toward the enticing smell. All she knew is that she was hungry, and the smell only made her hungrier. The newborn was met with an odd texture and a new feeling- warmth. She nosed her way past fur before finding the source of the milky scent. Rookkit fell silent as she had her first meal, pushing her nose roughly into her mother's fur, but kneading gently.

Tansyheart looked up as her mate dropped a vole in front of her. "Thank you, Newtface," she purred gently, looking lovingly down at the two tiny kits. She smiled up at Newtface, the cat who not so long ago had scorned her and avoided her. It seemed like yesterday, that the tom had been sulking alone, mourning the loss of his previous mate. The day he had left camp, alone, to take his own life. She could only thank StarClan for the way he had turned around, how happy he had become, and how happy he had made her.

"Good hunting today?" she asked cheerfully, taking a bite of vole. She didn't want to mention the little life that had been snuffed out so early. Her youngest kit, a tiny black-and-white tom, had not lived to see the light of day. Newtface had left in the night to bury him, only now returning.

Tansyheart continued to gaze at her mate. He had been so much happier lately, but she knew by the way he had dealt with Rosepetal's death, that he didn't deal well with loss. She searched his eyes for any sign of sadness or regret. The last thing she wanted was for him to become distant and isolated, like he once had been. She willed him to focus on the joy that his daughters would bring, rather than the death of his son. The queen found herself thinking of what she had said to him, when he had been so close to taking his life. For me.

Pushing these thoughts aside, she turned her attention back to Starlingkit and Rookkit, still mewing peacefully at her side. No good would come from fear, but it would only take away from these precious moments.