Winter Blooms [open after kits post]

(OOC; i struggle with birth topics ejkfb3jrfhj)

With the sun growing higher into the sky and a cold breeze setting in, Robinloft had started to debate whether or not she should move into the nursery. The creeping chill of the wind had begun to find it's way into her fur, making her decision easy. Standing up, she clambered into the nursery, relishing the relief it's walls brought from the wind. Laying down in one of the nests, she positioned herself in a way so she would be comfortable with her large belly.

It was only but a few moons ago that Beecloud had confessed his love to her, but now they were only sunrises away from being parents. It was so exciting- she had always loved kits, and now she would finally be having some of her own, and by the looks of it, she would be having many. She had never seen a queen's belly swell up so large, any cat could see that the litter would be big. Snuggling into the warm moss, she rested her eyes, preparing to take a nap. Her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted off into the blackness of sleep- until she felt a jolt of pain in her abdomen. Quickly sitting up, she sat in an awkward position and struggled to figure out what had caused her the pain. It was then when another jolt of pain occurred, but this one was much stronger. Was... was this kitting!? As another wave of pain washed over her she called out into the camp. "Beecloud! Get Daisybloom! The kits- The kits are coming!"

---

The kitting was long and painful, but in the end Robinloft was happy. She knew the litter would be this big, but by her side lay 10 beautiful kits. Her half-closed eyes sparkled with joy every time she looked at them. They all looked so beautiful as they pawed at her belly for milk. Eyes dulled with exhaustion, she looked over toward Beecloud with a smile. "You're going to be an amazing father." She slowly reached her paw out to touch it to Beecloud's and wrapped her tail around the kits. "What are we going to name them all?"

The firstborn kit of the litter, though not the biggest, was definitely the loudest.  The little tom mewled and wailed, pushing against what seemed to be an impenetrable wall of siblings to try and find a spot to nurse.  Finally, he managed to push one of his sisters away and claimed a place at Robinloft's belly, his loud cries finally ceasing.  Brown tabby splotches covered his back and tail, but his underside was entirely white; a spitting image of his father, just without so much fluff.  Additionally, as his paws kneaded it could be seen that he sported two extra toes, one on each forepaw.  However, as his eyes were closed and mind simple and unaware, all he knew was that he was here...and he wanted to be heard.

It was odd, being born. A truly amazing, but very frightening, experience that not one cat will remember. Perhaps due to the traumatic events that sometimes take place during a kittens birth, causes the reaction of forgetting the event later on. Due to his large size, it was quite a difficult birth for the second kit of the litter. He had inherited his huge size from his father, and some other things like extra toes. However he did not remember his mothers struggle, the only thing that he remembered was the sudden icy chill that struck at his wet, slicked pelt. That and the immediate yowls of distress as he felt the shock of the wind that swirled into the nursery which the clan cats had constructed. He was noisy, not as noisy as his firstborn brother. A kit's cries were some of the loudest /and most annoying/ things you could hear.. Especially when there was ten of the kids combined.

Besides the utter confusion and empty brain, the black tom had no problem nursing from his mother. He had found the origin of the sweet scent of the she-cats milk rather quickly. Thanks to a fluffy tail and the tongue lapping at his back as he was guided towards the warmth. He hadn't payed attention to the looming cats above and the yowling mother, the only thought that had crossed his mind was how tasty the warm milk flowing into his mouth was. One by one he felt wet pelts beside him, they smelled almost identical to him. It was pretty peaceful, except for the occasional paw in the gut as his litter mates squirmed. He had quieted down and was perfectly content.

Beecloud had not quite been able to stomach the kitting. He made it through the first three kits before he was hurried outside of the den to catch his breath. Every hiss and yowl was agony to his ears as he dug his claws into the ground and waited for the horrible calamity to draw to its sudden and gentle conclusion. When he was finally called back in, he hesitated for a few moments. The tom was quickly reminded of Harefoot as a pair of emerald eyes flashed in his vision. Harefoot had been the only father he ever knew. He was gentle and patient, and perhaps he was a bit flighty... but he gave everything to his kin and ThunderClan. ThunderClan, ThunderClan, ThunderClan. Come what may. Even babies.

Summoning his last ounce of courage, Beecloud pushed through the den entrance. He was familiar with the hardships Leafbare queens often endured, and he prepared for the worst. He knew their litter would be large, but there was no telling how many would actually make it past their first sunrise. His family was not exactly known for strapping young kits. Many of his own brothers and sisters had gone to StarClan in their infancy, to play among shimmering meadows for all their days.

But the kits next to Robinloft did not seem that type. Tentatively, Beecloud snaked his hulking body around behind her as to not disturb the nursing brood. With great big owl eyes, he counted them. He peered over their shiny wet coats. He observed the miniature toe pads (and the extra sets on a few!). Beecloud even admired the soft color of each wee nose. A different shade of pink for each. They were all barely squirrel-sized, and he adored them more than the plumpest Greenlead catch. He could toss his entire collection of feather, rocks, and twoleg rubbish into the river for just ten more winks to stare at his beautiful creations. It was like he was watching himself from high above, in the ceiling of the den, creating a memory by which he could capture this indescribable feeling stirring within him. Ten kits in Leafbare. His kits.

When Robinloft whispered to him again, Beecloud was wrenched back into his own body. He blinked to clear his vision, only to find that tears were what was blurring it. Try as he may, there was no wiping the silly smile off his face. "Sorry... did you say name them?" he giggled in a whisper. "You truly think I can come up with ten unique names? I've got a better idea. Let's name them numbers. There's Onekit, there's Twokit, there's Threekit... Eh, maybe we can just name the rest Squirrelkit and be on with it." He thwapped his thick tail against Robinloft's, punctuating his joke.

"Maybe I'll name five, and you name five. How's that?" he hummed. "I think I had a great-grandfather or something named Eagle... so this first tom will be Eaglekit. And this one... well, that's easy. A black kit ought to be Nightkit. That one right there kind of has a 'burn' to his coat. Like yours. So he will be Emberkit. This one here, the calico, would be a nice Gingerkit. And my last name..."

His eyes fell upon a white kit with grey points to his pelt. Beecloud felt a sickly feeling intrude upon his happy day for only a second, before it erupted into something even better: an idea. "I want to offer our clan and our family a new beginning. So... our little son, Rainkit. May he be better than the last ThunderClan cat to bear his name. I know he will."

One moment she was warm and the next she was hit with a bitter piercing cold. The kit mewled and struggled against two other wet bodies before finding warmth against her mother’s belly. She let out another cry as she was kicked and nudged towards the warmth and latched onto her mother, suckling. As the warm milk flowed into her mouth she paid no mind to her mother’s yowls and cries of pain from giving birth to her other siblings. Soon enough the she cat settled amongst her other siblings getting kicked once or twice in the process the large female let out another cry before crawling towards an unknown scent, her father. Gingerkit mewled as she settled next to the big warm furry thing she was cuddling with.

He didn't know where he was but he did now he was thirsty. Being the 8th kit born made it hard for him to get milk as it was very crowded and very full. He did not like that he wasn't getting his way, so the dark brownish cat nudged one of the early kits out of the way since they could go a little longer without milk as he needed it more. He couldn't see everything that was going on around him but did know one thing, his litter was huge, and that would mean lots of problems could occure in the next few moons.

Songkit, while unnamed, had been an oddity since birth. The fourth kitten of the birth of ten, she'd come into this world surrounded by wet bodies. Feeling a rather large, fuzzy rock that was split into smaller pebbles, like a paw, perhaps (it was), Songkit latched on. Squirming, she feebly mewed as she attempted to hang on, angry with the world itself for how cold it was and how wet she was. Opening her jaws wide, she squealed, already in competition with the newly named Eaglekit for the title of loudest.

Her small form was pitiful as her paws (which had more toes on the front two) tried to scale the mountain of fur which would be revealed to be her father. She'd got around ankle height when she felt herself slipping so she resorted to chomping on her father instead. She had no teeth so it wasn't very effective, although the use of digging her claws seemed to work efficiently as she clung onto the cat for dear life, or at least what she assumed to be dear life (she wasn't as high as she'd hoped, a fall wouldn't even hurt.)

Wrenkit was the ninth one born, perhaps you could call her a runt. She laid on the ground, so still. She laid there for perhaps a minute or two, silent, just scarcely breathing. Such a weak, delicate, little thing she was, could barley move an inch. She wasn't a small one, quite long actually. Her beautiful, red coat couldn't be slicker, except maybe at the end of her tail. As she laid there for maybe a minute or two more, you began to lose hope for her. Slowly, her breathing got stronger, and stronger. Maybe there was hope after all. She wailed, but mind you it was the shrillest out of all of them, easily winning the award for loudest. She was determined to be heard, to not be forgotten. She decided she wasn't gonna sit there and die. But she couldn't figure out where the milk was or how to get there. Such a dumb, pathetic, little thing. She continued to screech until she was heard, it was all she knew how to do.

Breezekit wailed for her mother, who had grown still. She nudged her, trying to wake her up from that long sleep. The older cat's breathing became scarce, until she finally left to join StarClan. Breezekit kept wailing, mewing, asking for help, until she finally gave up and snuggled into her mother's fur. (OOC, this is not Robinloft, this is my NPC parent and then these two adopt me, sorry for any confusion.