The future's in your paws. Shape it well.Roleplay in a cat Clan of warriors. Based off the Warriors series by Erin Hunter. Takes place in an AU before the cats in the books existed.
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Had RiverClan’s territory always been this big? Or was it just how ill she was feeling that made it seem that way?
Perchstar had been walking through the forest for the better part of a day. She managed to make it from SkyClan territory and across the river without being seen. And she knew exactly where to find RiverClan camp. However, her pregnancy compounded with her exhaustion from traveling for a moon was slowing her down greatly. She tried to stop and catch a fish at one point, but had difficulty leaning over the river with her lopsided weight and decided to give up. Her energy was best used traveling as quickly and efficiently as possible.
It was newleaf in the forest. Bright green shoots were covering the trees, and the grass was darkening in color after moons of being buried beneath pale snow. Sunlight filtered down onto the ground, and the bushes were always rustling with a squirrel or a vole. She should have felt comforted; she should have felt home.
Instead, despite the decision she had made so confidently yesterday, she found that doubts were once again circling through her mind. She would not be returning just as the leader of RiverClan, but as a cat who had been stolen by Twolegs and missing for a moon. And she was pregnant with the kits of a loner, which was against the words of the warrior code. The fact that this had not been her intention would certainly not win her any points with the stars, especially when they had punished her so much already. What if her Clan rejected her for breaking her own rules? What if they would rather be led by Poppyshine? Did her friend’s love and care extend past the boundaries of the code?
This was not how she had wanted to return.
Perchstar let out a quiet sigh and kept trekking onwards, her footsteps heavier and slower than usual with the extra weight dragging her down. She would not abandon her kits, despite the inconvenience of their appearance. If the Clan cast her out, then so be it. Technically a queen was not required to reveal the parentage of her kits, but it would not take a genius to realize that there was no possibility of her mate or companion being a RiverClan tom. Surely they would notice, and think less of her. Perhaps they thought less of her already for being gone so long. Perhaps they thought she had abandoned them.
If nothing else, she would need to return, if only to face the truth. Some quiet part of her still desperately hoped that she would be welcomed home--that she would see Poppyshine’s face break into that radiant smile again, that her Clanmates would be glad to see her and rejoice--but she knew that it could just as likely go the other way. But there was nothing for it at this point but to return.
She was only one more hour’s walk away, from what she could tell. If she could just make it, then maybe everything would be okay.
...What will I do if they choose to turn me away?
A sharp pain suddenly stabbed into her side. Perchstar let out a gasp, stopping in her tracks. Maybe she had been pushing herself too hard after all. If she just rested for a second, it would probably fade, and then she could keep going. She held still for a little while. The pain faded, and she sighed quietly in relief. She had to be patient. As much as she wished she could sprint the whole way to camp, she had already been exhausting herself every day, and she was at a far lower capacity than normal.
Shakily, she took one more step forward--then collapsed onto the ground as the pain returned. It was no longer just one, but several pangs rattling her entire form. Though she was not a medicine cat, it didn’t take much more thinking for her stomach to drop as she realized what this kind of pain meant.
Stars, no. Not now. It’s too early!
There was no way to reason with the aching that was making her breaths shorter. Instead, Perchstar set her sights on the roots of a nearby willow tree, curled up in such a way as to provide a decent makeshift resting place. Slowly, one step at a time, she crawled over to it, trying to keep her belly from dragging on the ground. Eventually she made it. Gasping, shuddering, she curled up in the tree roots, trying to calm her racing thoughts. What happened during a queen’s birth? What was she supposed to do? Was there even anything that she could do? From what little she did know, she could tell that it was too early for her kits to be arriving. Was there any way to prevent them from coming?
She had never seen a queen give birth before. Every time, she had been out of camp on some errand or other. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. There was no Cloverheart, no Doveshine, no Sandyshell. She had no medicine cat nor herbs to assist her in this.
As another pang swept through her body, she gritted her teeth. She supposed it was only fair. She hadn’t been there to help Mallowmist, or Mapleleaf, or Poppyshine with their kits... and now, no one would be there for her. She would have to do this by herself, too. This must be another way for the stars to punish her.
All she could do was slow her breaths, close her eyes against the agony, and trust in her instincts to carry her through.
Perchstar did her best to remain silent. One or two quiet groans made it past her tightly locked fangs, but nothing more. Hopefully no predator would have any clue as to her presence. The pain was awful--she realized belatedly that she had felt something similar before, during her leader ceremony. But this time it was not brief. It simply continued on, short bursts racking her frame before fading, then returning.
Her vision began to darken. She felt light-headed. Giving birth took a lot of stamina and energy, and she had already been entirely exhausted, running on very little food and sleep for several weeks. It was a miracle that she hadn’t passed out yet.
It took hours--several long, agonizing hours. There were moments where Perchstar felt blackness encroaching on the edges of her sight and worried that she might die. She knew what it felt like to lose life, and she knew that she was on the verge of passing away rather than just passing out. However, she dug her claws into the earth, bit into the tree roots, and held on for dear life.
Eventually, eventually, it was over. Four kits--too small, forms coated in blood and dirt, but moving, shifting, breathing--lay at her side. She was nearly too exhausted to even look at them. But she knew just enough to remember that she was supposed to clean them off.
Her kits.
The thought was strange. She didn’t know what to do with it. She knew it was a concept she would be wrestling with for the rest of her life. Right now, though, she took in breaths as deep as she could and savored the feeling of the pain fading, and that all four of her kits had survived despite the overwhelming odds against them. The willow tree sheltered her as she tucked them into her form.
Their fur colors became visible as she licked them gently, cleaning them and keeping them warm. The gesture was unfamiliar, but somehow came almost naturally. Two of them were silvery gray, and two black. She wouldn’t see their eye colors for some few days, but a quiet voice in the back of her mind wondered whether their eyes would be blue or golden.
Names. Right. She needed to name them. This was her job.
Perchstar looked first at the oldest--one of the silver tabbies, who was the quietest of the four. A little she-cat. Though she hadn’t put much prior thought into the names, since she had so much else on her mind, she found that one came to her naturally. ”Willowkit,” she whispered, leaning her head against the sturdy bark of the tree sheltering her. Everything would have been far more difficult if not for the coverage the tree’s roots provided.
A black kit was next--the one burrowing into her stomach. The she-kit was mostly dark furred, but there were spots of white around her chest and paws. A combination of her parents. Above them in the tree, a small bird sat, evidently not taking notice of the small family being created below it. Perchstar glanced up at it for a moment, then gently licked the black she-kit’s head. ”Wrenkit.”
The third kit was the other silver kit, also a she-cat. She would have been nearly indistinguishable from her sister if not for her significantly longer fur. It poofed out as it dried, making her resemble a piece of moss more than anything else. Though it wasn’t funny, Perchstar let out a tired chuckle. The light silvery white reminded her of early mornings on RiverClan territory... and the soft way that the kit was nuzzling her side reminded her of stumbling into the nursery to find kits surrounding a young friend’s unmoving form. She felt a brief pang of grief as she murmured the name: ”Mistkit.”
Then there was the final kit. The only tom. He was obviously the youngest, and most definitely the smallest of the four. But thankfully he was breathing, and he was strong. His dark black fur was long, making her think he was identical to his father until she spotted the single patch of white on his nose. The pattern was strikingly similar to another cat that she remembered with fondness and sorrow. For dual reasons of his size and her former apprentice she missed so dearly, she gave the final kit his name. ”Tinykit.”
Completely exhausted now, Perchstar stopped moving, allowing herself to remain still as she curled around the small forms of her kits. She needed to rest for a little while before she went anywhere. Thankfully they weren’t far from camp... but now the question remained how she would get all four of them back with her--and whether they would be accepted to her home.
The little bundle of black and white fur, newly named Wrenkit, squirmed in the pile of her siblings. She twisted until she found her mother’s side, seeking her out by scent and muffled instinct. She was noisy the whole time, mewling and huffing as she squirmed into place. But once she felt the comforting warmth of her mother, she calmed, and settled with a massive yawn that clicked her tiny teeth when she closed her mouth. Her tiny body was already exhausted just from the the effort so much moving and complaining took.
Though the burst of energy had driven her forward, it quickly sank back out of her. No matter, she had plenty of time to regain it. Before very long she would be able to open her eyes and explore this world, so brand new and exciting to one so young. But for now, she would rest, and dream, contently snuggled up to her family. She had all the time in the world.
There had been a subconscious warmth that the two-toned feline had known for all of her life, one that simply felt... as it should be. Given it was all that she had ever known, that much made sense. For all of the time that she had been conscious, it had been nothing but dark, warm, comfort. Her senses had been muted, knowing little about the world around her. When that had all been whisked away, it was more than just a small shock to the tiny bundle of fur. Her internal denial of it all was strong, much stronger than it should have been. A willingness to let go of the struggle that it was to find that warmth again had found her for some time, as well.
As opposed to her sister, who cried louder than the bird she was named after, the molly who had taken on the name of Mistkit didn't cry much at all. In fact, she was mostly silent, save a few piercing wails when she was the furthest away from her mother. Even then, the scrap of warmth, the scent that called to her very soul, soothed what little sounds she had made. She found her warmth, the source of it being a silver and white body whose shades seemed familiar enough to her own. Shaky, uncontrolled paws were somehow willed to keep her in that direction, flailing and pushing against the warmth as if it somehow brought more of it into her little body. Compared to her siblings, at the very least, there was a thicker coat keeping her warm. It was her safety, her comfort.
She didn't need words to express her joy, or squeals or sounds. Not that she could hear whatever wails she made, anyways. Just the content of warmth, of finding her place in the new world.
Quiet much like her sister, Willowkit allowed Wrenkit to provide enough noise for the whole litter. She relaxed as her mother cleaned her, taking comfort in the gentle repetition of her strokes. When she was cleaned and her mother moved on to clean another, Willowkit offered a whine no louder than a breath. She shuffled closer, finding her mother’s warm stomach and curling up against her. She felt the tiny bundles of her siblings around her as she took refuge against her mother, and it left her feeling warm and safe.
She was surrounded by family, and while she would be taken to a place with more familiar scents and sounds, for now, all she needed to feel safe was the presence of her family. Her mother, her sisters, and her lone brother; warm milk and a feeling of safety enveloping her; there was not more that Willowkit needed.
The black kitten snuggled closer to his mother, weary from the ordeal that was birth. He lifted his head as he was groomed, instinctively reaching out for her familiar, comforting scent. His sister seemed intent on mewling enough for the entire litter, so he let her have her moment, letting out a small yawn and subsequent squeak of contentment. Only Starclan knew what the young kits future would hold, but for now he was too tired to do anything but drift off to sleep among the warm, wriggling bodies of his sisters.
