Snowfall in July

The world was confusing mess of smells and light, of vibrations and slow, tender movement. The air was fresher than anything Yew had ever tasted before, and the feeling of something bumping into her tiny head forced a little squeak out of her.

Yew mewled, disoriented by the sudden loss of warmth. She felt her belly growl, unaccustomed to being empty after- what was it?- moons of sustenance. Where did it go?

Darkness. That was all Salamander knew.

The tiny newborn squealed as the cold outside air hit his tiny body, momentarily stopping when something warm bumped into the tiny body. Another kit? It didn't matter, because it tumbled away just as quickly. He flailed around blindly, unable to see or hear, trying to wind warmth. Warmth. Where was it? He was cozy, and then he wasn't. His crawls proved successful as he bumped into the soft fur of his mother, and he immediately began suckling, comforted by the soft tail wrapping around him.

OOC: mobile and lazy

Shade lay closest to her mother's belly, she could only taste the milky scent from her mother, she heard mewling from other kits and a meow from her mother, of course she couldn't understand them, not just yet... ignoring the mewls and meows she began to suckle, her soft, kit fur brushing against her mother's.

Night laid with her tiny calico limps, pulled close to her chest. She was aware of of mewling bundles besides her, but the loudest sound she heard was her mother’s soft gentle breath in the dark den. The calico let out a sharp mewl as kitty fluff blinded her way to her mother, her nose being the most useful sense she had, and made her first adventure crawling up and over a sibling to reach the security of her mother. Making herself cozy, Night’s mouth parted in a little breath enjoying the warmth she was given.

The world has gotten chaotic, Ash was used to quiet and soothing warmth. Now there is noise and smells disturbing her peaceful warmth. Things bumping into her, making her feel discomfort for the first time in her life. Ignore it, sleep is best...

The fact that Silent Snows would be the one to bear his kits was no surprise, to either of them. It was long overdue that they had planned to be mates and wished to spend their lives together. She had been his queen, sticking through the transition from clan life to leading others away from the deceitful claws of Starclan above. This was only right. Of course, the pair would lead their kits in the way of the new world, raising them in Stagclan. That thought was a beautiful one to the calico tom. For so long he had fretted over the lives of the cats around him, fearing what would come from the senseless ways of the old warrior code. Would his kits die in one of the many battles that wrought this land? Not as long as he was alive, no. They would be safe in Stagclan, as long as the cats from other clans kept to their own territories and left them alone. His message had only been one of peace.

The kitting seemed to come quickly, time passing by faster still. Throughout the whole ordeal, he was faithfully by her side, gathering anything she might need to make the process less painful. And then it was over. Six beautiful kits rested gently at their mother's belly. All of them sought out the warmth they had lost by entering the world and milk for sustenance. A true miracle of nature, it was. Burnt purred softly as Silent called him closer. He bent his head to lick gingerly at her forehead. After, he did the same to each of the little kits that nuzzled and kneaded at her soft stomach. Then, Burnt turned to her with a pleased smile, pressing his cheek to hers as me meowed softly, "They're just as a lovely as their mother. And strong too. Perfect Stagclan kits. And they are ours."

The brambles of the nursery were strange and different from that of ThunderClan's. Thankfully Flintfang found he held no nostalgia for his birth clan, and welcomed the thorns that left scores on his pelt. They hardly made a difference anyway. Streaks of pink scar tissue crossed his figure in many places, rendering him experienced, while in reality, the tom was only middle-aged. Burntstag stood taller then his gray counterpart, however they both bore their scars, things like that didn't go away. That counted as one of the three permanent things in this life; in Flintfang's mind. The other two were kits and death. Silent Snows had given birth to the former, although her white pelt would make a stunning deliverer of the latter. StagClan's inhabitants seemed to carry with them a resolve similar to the brambles of the nursery. Strong, thick, and willing to cut on command. Yet, they stood peaceful. Not a drop of blood had been purposefully shed from the claws that resided here, and Flintfang applauded Burntstag for it. He had taken to calling himself Burnt now, sacrificing his clan-given name to their cause. Noble, poetic. It made the gray tabby feel almost powerful, meaningful.

All that was washed away however as the tom entered the nursery. Silent Snows lay on her nest, six kits wriggling at her belly. Burnt praised her in his deep voice that made even Flintfang's angry fur lie flat. But even with the added calm, the tom still felt as big as the Great Rock near the small, wriggling shapes. Some of them resembled Burnt while others were white like his mate. It was strange to imagine something so serious and very much alive could arise from a simple thing as love. But Flintfang knew full well love was not so superficial. It was even capable of ensnaring a cat such as Burnt in its jaws, wrapping around his heart and siring kits into the world. Silent Snow bared evidence, her frame rounded with pregnancy, body made ready to provide nutrients for her litter. It made Flintfang uncomfortable to see her this exposed, but he was here for Burnt. Support.

Littlesun and Silent Snows bared some resemblances, and Flintfang was familiar with the smell of milk from the nights he spent sleeping next to his own mate. Perhaps all she-cats carried that same aura with them, or perhaps he had been ensnared by love as well. It was very well and possible Littlesun could be pregnant with Flintfang's offspring, but every time his mind strayed to the topic, the tabby felt the need to throw himself off the gorge. Burnt's love was true and noble, and just as real as his drive for peace. It was no wonder Silent Snows had given birth to his kits, it only seemed right. But Flintfang was a scoundrel and fell deep into love, swirling and spinning in its depths, ungracefully choking on the thick jelly that was feelings. Something as tainted as that could not lead to something as permanent as kits, it didn't seem real. But the possibilities made the gray tabby want to puke. His scars were permanent, and so was Mosspaw. However any more stability in Flintfang's life may kill him. And then again, death was very much permanent as well. Wanting very badly to leave and find Littlesun, Flintfang dipped his head and gave a simple; "They're good kits. Strong, with legs and tails. I'm sure they'll make fine cats." Wincing, Flintfang wanted very badly to find the exit, but sat and waited for a window.

Shade stopped suckling and turned her tiny head to the two new voices and let out a soft mew, she snuggled deeper into her mother's fur, as it was the only cat (apart from her siblings.) Who she knew were safe. But then she felt something, maybe she had to be brave and face the new cats, maybe she could see the world. She let out a pitiful mew as she struggled to lift her eyelids. Suddenly, her blue eyes fluttered open, she saw two toms and her mother's white fur. She looked down at her fur, then back up at her mother ~woah! Better than I thought!~ But her eyes felt heavy and she had to close them again, almost giving up, she rested her head in her paws, for a rest.