Heartbreak at Sunrise

Takes place immediately after this topic.

It was too soon. Nothing was right. The trek back to ShadowClan's camp had been long and arduous, requiring all of Murkystrike's attention as she focused on simply putting one step in front of the other and getting back into camp, into the nursery. Just a few nights ago she had carefully picked a spot for her nest, weaving the moss together to make it as comfortable as she possibly could. Mistyfalcon had joined her, and the two had sat silently together, imagining what things would be like.

Never, in any of her worst nightmares, had she ever considered this.

The rogues had descended upon them out of nowhere, and they only had a moment's notice. The fight had been short-lived, with the rogues running as soon as they had the opportunity, but the damage had been done. Finally, the camp's entrance came into view, and she pushed on, any words of concern or fear falling on deaf ears as she focused in on the nursery entrance. She couldn't tell if Rookfire was still nearby, or if he had darted into the medicine den. The blood roaring in her ears drowned out any other sounds as she made her way into the nursery and collapsed into her nest, weak and injured and in pain. This wasn't how any of this was supposed to go.

---

After what seemed like a lifetime, three kits lay in the nest close to her. The only sign of movement was a shallow rise and fall of the deputy's chest as she stared blankly at the nursery wall. One of the kits wriggled at her belly, a tom. Two she-kits however lay motionless. One had never taken a breath, the other was only barely breathing, and getting weaker by the moment. Murkystrike was fading as well, the stress of the attack followed by the kitting had taken it's toll on her. She couldn't feel her paws... Her ears... Her eyes moved slightly, looking for Mistyfalcon as much as she could without lifting her head. Were her kits okay?

In the wild, it was simply luck to be born the healthiest, the strongest. A grown cat might thank the stars every day that they survived kithood, as all predators are first born as prey. Every little thing wished to kill the kits then, as they were born into the world. Whether it be foxes, rogues, or even a quiet disease. But they were safe by their mother’s side. The ever watchful queen. Weak and tired, but not surrendered. Her son mewled at her belly, hungry for milk and warmth. The healthiest of the three. It was a blessing he’d thank more than once as he grew. As of now, he was nameless. But the small black striped tom would find his identity eventually, and go from hunted, to hunter.

The world of a newborn cat was naturally dark and shapeless, guided by nothing but scent and touch, but for one of the little she-kits that world was even darker. Her lungs summoned minimal oxygen from the air, and breath left her nose in shallow, wheezing, barely noticeable puffs. All she could comprehend was the uneven, slowly fading beat of her tiny heart, and the distant notion that this wasn't right. As her brother nosily started looking for food she was left behind, still and silent. With every beat her heart got slower, and every inhale grew harder to draw. It wouldn't be much longer before the stars found her...

Mistyfalcon had been out hunting, and it was scent of blood that hung in the air that clued him into the fact that something was very, very wrong as he made his way back to camp. Fur bristling, the tom picked up his pace, dropping the hare he'd caught on the fresh-kill pile as his eyes swept around camp in time to see Rookfire vanish into the nursery. Ears slicking back in worry, he quickly made his way over to the den, though all he could really do at this point was try to keep out of Rookfire's way and be there for Murkystrike. He'd noticed the blood on her fur immediately as well as the lingering scent of rogue. She'd been on patrol by the time he'd left camp... And it wasn't hard to piece together that the patrol hadn't gone smoothly.

"Who attacked you?" His voice was a touch too calm for his expression. Murkystrike or Rookfire would tell him what had happened, and he was going to find the one responsible for this once he was sure that Murkystrike and the kits were okay.

---

Three kits. The dark, smoky tom was healthy, while a little tortoiseshell had never had the chance to draw breath. The second she-cat was alive, but didn't look to be far behind her stillborn littermate. Mistyfalcon's fur was fluffed, tail tip twitching back and forth. His claws unsheathed, and he forced himself to sheath them. There were no rogues to sink them into... For now. They'd see use soon enough. He'd alternated between quietly pacing and sitting by Murkystrike's side, wishing that he could do something other than wait while Rookfire worked. Murkystrike looked like she was barely awake, and Mistyfalcon wearily nuzzled the top of her head, though his gaze flicked anxiously toward the kits at her belly as Rookfire worked.

Rookfire had heard that stress could cause queens to go into labor, but he had never seen it himself until tonight. After rogues had just attacked Murkystrike. As the two cats made it into the camp, Rookfire beelined it to the medicine den, grabbing the chervil from the medicine den. Gazing around at the now-messy den, he realized that horsetail and cobwebs would be extremely important to patch up Murkystrike's wounds, as kitting would leave her in a weakened state. Chewing the chervil in his mouth, he rushed to Murkystrike's side. "Drink this," the tom said, squeezing out the juices of the plant for the she-cat.

---

After Murkystrike gave birth to her three kits, Rookfire almost breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that the hard part was over. Now he just needed to patch up Murkystrike. At least, that's what he thought, until it became clear that the two she-cats that the queen had were not breathing properly. As he got closer, he saw that one wasn't breathing at all, and the other was just barely breathing. Iniko and Freckleface was the first thought that rushed through his mind. He couldn't worry about the kit who wasn't breathing, as he needed to help save the still-breathing kit's life. Maybe if he breathed into her lungs, she would be able to survive. Maybe I can still save her. Hustling over to the barely-breathing she-kit, the tom opened her mouth and breathed air into it, being careful not to breathe too hard. He honestly had no idea if this crazy idea would work, but maybe it could. Maybe it could save her life.

The queen had obediently followed Rookfire's requests, and a gentle nuzzle made her blink before she focused on Mistyfalcon's worried face. A low purr rumbled in her chest as she licked his cheek gently, trying to comfort him. Rookfire was nearby still, bent over one of the she-cats. The other she-kit still lay motionless, and Murykstrike reached over with a forepaw to nudge the small body gently. Still no movement. A low whine hummed in her throat as she nudged the tortoiseshell again before pulling her closer to her face. The too-still body never moved of it's own accord, and Murkystrike pressed her nose to her daughter's body briefly before a wordless mewl caught her ears. She looked away to see Rookfire breathing gently into the other she-kits mouth, and her heart clenched at the sight. Still, neither were the source of the mewl, so her eyes continued on until they found the little tom cat. Using a hind paw, she nudged him carefully towards her belly, waiting to look away until he was settled comfortably. Only then did she look back to Mistyfalcon. "It was rogues... Two attacked us on the patrol. They fled before we could get any real answers..." She mewed, anger and grief tinting her words. "Foxspark was ordered to retrieve more cats to finish the patrol and attempt to find them. Could you let Flintstar know, if he doesn't already? Patrols should be increased even more, both in numbers and in occurrences." Her voice broke as tears filled her eyes once her gaze fell back on the silent she-kit. "....Turtlekit...." She mewed, nuzzling her body gently and pulling it close to her. What little warmth lingered was fading quickly, and the queen knew she would soon have to let her go... But not yet. Sharp pain at her belly made her wince, and she looked to the sole tom of the litter. "That stung, little one... Your name will be Hornetkit." She mewed, brushing her tail over the tom's head lightly before looking to where Rookfire was still attempting to breath life into their other daughter. She tried to speak, but the words kept catching in her throat. What if she didn't make it? Would they be forced to bury two daughters, instead of one? She turned wordlessly to Mistyfalcon, tears running into the fur at her cheeks. A silent plea for help, for comfort, for anything to ease the pain she was feeling, physically and emotionally.

"I'll let him know." He said quietly. Whoever the rogues were, their days were numbered. He was almost tempted to do that now, to pull Batglow in and go hunting for the rogues that were so cowardly as to attack a pregnant she-cat. One look at Murkystrike, and at Rookfire still trying to save the little she-kit kept his paws from moving, however.

Murkystrike pulled the too-still she-kit towards her, and Mistyfalcon winced internally. The gray and cream tortoiseshell was named, and Mistyfalcon nodded. He just hoped that they wouldn't be burying two kits. One was more than enough to have to bury. Murkystrike grumbled a bit at the pain of their son nursing, dubbing him Hornetkit. Mistyfalcon managed a weary smile.

The she-kit that Rookfire still worked on had fur that was a patchwork of soft orange and black, not unlike Murkystrike. "Basilkit, maybe?" It seemed like Murkystrike was overwhelmed enough, and the dark-furred warrior shifted closer, resting his head against the top of Murkystrike's as he half-curled around her. He hadn't imagined things would end up this way, but Murkystrike was alive. Hornetkit was alive. Basilkit... She'd make it. Rookfire was skilled and knew what he was doing. Mistyfalcon didn't want to think of what would happen if he didn't.

Out of the dark nothingness came something unexpected and mysterious, a warm breeze gently blowing air into her nose and mouth that was much different than the stifling wall that had been drowning her before.  It was only a new sensation for a moment, but after several breaths, the newborn felt a single ounce of strength enter her body...and that was all she needed.  She coughed, a tiny and weak sound, that gave way to her first gasping breath.  One after another, little Basilkit let in breath after breath until it grew natural; however, it still wasn't the easiest thing for her to do.  For now though, she finally noticed the chilliness of her still wet coat, and instinctively reached out with her forepaws towards the closest warmth she knew.  Bapping Rookfire on the muzzle with her tiny paws, she emitted a raspy mewl to her savior.  She was alive...and very hungry!

Running back into camp, Hopepaw skidded to a stop as she heard a number of cats around the entrance of the den. What was happening here? She knew that Murkystrike was pregnant and...Oh, wait. Right. She must be kitting now. Hopepaw was intensely curious about the kits-she didn't have a sense of being replaced or anything, she was simply happy to see new life.

She made sure to make herself loud enough to hear when approaching. She stood outside of the den, making sure she wasn't getting in anyone's way, and tried to squint into the den to see the kits. She could sense the gloomy atmosphere, which confused her. Kitting was supposed to be a happy thing, right?

She decided not start talking until she could clearly figure out what was happening. Until then, she stood there, looking very puzzled indeed.