One Good Thing

Leafstorm was lying down in front of the Nursery, watching dutifully as Bramblekit played in the weak winter sunlight.
It had been two Sunrises since Specklefang had died, and Leafstorm still felt his heart speed up every time he ducked out of the warrior's den, expecting her to be padding into camp with a mouthful of prey or standing guard at the camp entrance. Sometimes, the tall tomcat could've sworn that she was just behind him, grinning.
But no. Specklefang was gone. His green eyes followed his son as he rested his head on his forepaws, hunting for any sign of the small kit's mother in him. Bramblekit, his last son. The last thing that connected him to Specklefang.
The day he was born, Leafstorm promised himself to guard the small tom with his life, and since Specklefang's death, he had taken over as the sole provider for him, catching mice and various other rodents to feed him every few hours.
It was dull work, but what else was he useful for?

Bramblekit, padded around the Camp, never straying too far from the Nursery that had been his home for his entire, short life. The young kit swiped halfheartedly at the few remaining dead leaves that littered the ground, the brown foliage crunching under the weight of his tiny paw. The Camp didn't feel the same anymore, not the safe, warm place that he'd never thought could be broken anymore. His mother was gone, and while he was still too young to understand why she was gone, he knew it was Riverclan's fault. The once loud, brash kit had become sullen and silent, no longer interested in the stories of the Elders or the accomplishments of the apprentices that he had once sought out, now his only concern was growing stronger, so that he might rip out Ivystar's throat and avenge his mother.

The dark-furred kit padded over to where his father lay and butted his head against the older cat's shoulder, amber eyes searching for green, "I miss mother." He mewed simply as he curled up against Leafstorm's side, letting the warm, reassuring pulse of each breath wash over him. At least, thought the young tom, his father was still the invincible Warrior he'd always known.

Birchheart padded stiffly into camp. Her wounds were sore and every slight movement tugged at the healing skin. She looked over at the dead eagle, still not finished but certainly appreciated, and snorted. What luck. Looking around, she saw Leafstorm and the youngest, newest member of the family, Bramblekit. She trotted over, dipping her head in greeting. Dropping her chaffinch and squirrel at Leafstorm's paws, she offered a warm smile. "It isn't much of a catch but, it's all I would risk with these dumb wounds." She'd kept herself very busy since Specklefang's death. It distracted her rather well and the idea that she couldn't work as hard scared her. Settling down next to her father, she looked out at the snowy clearing. It bothered her that she was mourning Specklefang. She was a cold-blooded murderer that had killed an innocent apprentice. It didn't feel right. But- she'd be seeking her mother's love for all her life and it was hard to stop thinking of it. Sighing, she shoved the thoughts to the back of her head. She couldn't let her grief of one cat push away the many she cared for. Not when they needed each other so badly.

Sunpaw looked up from where he had been dozing in the snow when he heard the voices of his family. Looking across the camp, he saw his father, sister, and brother speaking to each other. Sunpaw smiled faintly as he stood. Bramblekit, though saddened after their mother had died, remained a source of light for Sunpaw, and like a moth, he gravitated towards it. He stumbled through the snow, joints stiff from sitting for so long. Finally, when he had reached the three cats, he settled back into the snow, his thick fur shielding him from the worst of the chill. "Hello everyone." Sunpaw mewed, looking upon his family with warm yet tired eyes... he hadn't been able to sleep, the images of Specklefang biting down into those berries flashing behind his closed eyelids every time he tried.