Broken Hearts[open]

Around moonhigh, just a few sunrises after Copperlark had begun staying at the barn with Brakenwing and Whisperear, the tortoiseshell felt a sharp pain in her belly. She gasped, shocked by the pain, but it just kept coming. Screwing her eyes shut, the queen longed for the soft moss of the Thunderclan nursery and Fawnshine's experienced voice beside her. Why had she left? What was she thinking? The pain clouded her mind, and all the she-cat could do was scream as her world crumbled in waves of red.

...

She was so, so tired. Her limbs felt as if they were made of stones, and she couldn't muster the strength to draw them closer to her body. Her tail twitched, the fur around her flank and belly drenched with blood. The blood scent filled her senses, and Copperlark wondered if she was dead. She opened her mouth to take in a deep breath, but the sweetest scent filled her senses. The pale she-cat's eyes widened, and her head snapped up, all her exhaustion gone. Her gaze quickly found the five bodies tucked into the curve of her belly, suckling strongly. They were so small. Had they really come of her? It seemed impossible to think that all the pain she had just gone through was caused by these precious bundles of fur.

Copperlark curled herself around the five small bodies. They were no bigger than mice, their fur so soft and fluffy they looked more like pinecones then cats. The golden light of dawn was streaming into the barn. Copperlark could see a tom-kit's fur turn to flames in the sunlight. Just like Sunfire's had, in that field of flowers. It seemed only fitting, to name this flame-coated kit after her older brother. "Sun," Copperlark whispered, resting her tail on the kit's head. She stroked the kit for a while, entranced by the fact that this perfect kit had just come out of her. It didn't seem possible.

Another kit squirmed closer to her, catching Copperlark's attention. It was a little she-kit, her fur as soft as down and creamy like the dawn sky. She had Cedarstalk's pointed ears, and Blazefang's slim tail. Or was it from her? This kit was obviously the prettiest of the litter, and now that she was naming her kits after her loved ones, it only felt right to name this kit after the prettiest cat she knew. "Shrew," Copperlark announced, giving the she-kit a gentle lick on the head. The kit's fur was the softest she had ever felt, and her scent was sweeter than honey.

Copperlark turned to the rest of her kits. A she-kit with fur as dark as the sun during the sunset, fur sleek as a fish and tail plummed like a feather. A tom-kit with dark mottled fur, blending into Copperlark's fur like a shadow. His stripes were sharp and defined, like Cedarstalk's had been, and he had the same build that promised broad shoulders and string hindlegs. Copperlark recalled when she had been a mere kit, and how she had told Cedarstalk, then Cedarkit, that he would grow to be a strong warrior. This tom-kit would do the same, she was sure. "Amber and Cedar," The dilute tortoiseshell mewed, brushing first the she-kit then the tom-kit. Named after Amberblaze and Cedarstalk. With Shrewpaw, they had made Birdclan, a light-hearted group of friends. Now, the thought gave her nothing but a bittersweet pang in her heart.

And now, the last kit. His fur was a patchwork of Cedarstalk's and Copperlark's, defined stripes running across flame-coloured fur and disappearing into fur black as night only to emerge again. His tail was thick and fluffy, like Cedarstalk's had been. His face was a bit more angular, slanting down into a longer muzzle, like hers did. His ear brushed softly against Copperlark's fur. "Bird," She decided at last, resting her tail-tip on the tom-kit. These kits' lifes were the most precious in the forest; she would do anything for them, she knew that now. They were all that she had. Copperlark blinked away the sudden tears, and curled herself around her kits so that she could breathe in their scents as she fell asleep. Sun, Shrew, Amber, Cedar and Bird. She kept repeated those names in her mind, almost like if she stopped they would go away. Like this dream would end and she could wake back into the nightmare that was her reality.

The newly-named kit squirmed under his mother's touch, lips curled in disgust at the sticky, goo-like substance that coated his body. The tom-kit stretched, trying to move itself enough to get it off him, but to no avail as his mother simply bent down and drew him closer to the mass of warm, sticky bodies that were his littermates. Barely-formed claws scrabbled against the dry hay of the nest, trying to get away from it all. Strange sounds clashed around his ears, only serving to drive the tom-kit to his limit. With a half-formed growl, Bird bit into the cat closest to him: his own mother.