perfect little fledglings (c)

Her kits were almost here, and they wouldn’t be safe.

Paledove lay awake in her nest, eyes fixed on the night sky, unable to calm the pounding in her heart. It was instinct, snarling in her chest and throwing itself against her ribcage like a wild animal, shrieking out they’re coming they won’t be safe here not safe not safe.

She couldn’t stay here.

The faint, logical part of Paledove’s mind reminded her that queens went away from the Clan to have their kits all the time, that she’d be back before anyone noticed she was missing. The rest of her was too busy conjuring up vivid imagery of what could happen, what would happen, she couldn’t trust anyone here with her precious children—

There was an old abandoned predator den, not far from SkyClan’s makeshift camp; clutching a stick in her jaws, Paledove slunk inside, shaking the snow from her pelt. They would be cold, but they’d be safe, and her long fur would keep them warm, and she was out of time.

One painful exhausting night later, Paledove licked the blood from her kits’ pelts. They were perfect. They were perfect, every last hair on their pelts, every single tiny mew that escaped from their maws. She curled around them, keeping them warm, shielding them from the world outside, heart warm. She loved them. She loved them. They were perfect, and they were hers, and she would keep them safe from everything that might ever hurt them.

Six perfect kits, two toms, four mollies. Perfect in every way, and she would give them the perfect names to match.

The first tom was a pale fawn colour, with white splotches and a curve of the muzzle that reminded her of herself. He needed a strong name, a SkyClan name, a name that would strike fear into his enemies’ hearts. “Condorkit. May you have the keen eye and quick wit of your namesake.”

It was the second tom that reminded Paledove, however faintly, of his father, with a tabby coat and the same white splotches as his brother, as if a tiny part of her clung to his pelt. She liked that. “May you be as deadly and stealthy as your namesake, Yewkit.”

Paledove turned her attention to the first molly, one with a pelt of fawn and grey, as if her fur had been spotted with the dusk and the dawn. “My little Myrtlekit. May you be as graceful and elegant as the myrtle’s slim branches.”

The next molly was already a little larger than her siblings, already squirming around as if she longed for adventure, and that adventurous spirit combined with the markings of her brown tabby coat made her decision. “Ospreykit, bold and fierce as the hunting bird, swift of wing and sharp of eye.”

Paledove leaned down to give the next kit a gentle lick, purring. Her coat was dappled orange and black, like the fawns she’d heard tell of. “May you be swift and sure of foot, my little Deerkit, and may you grow proud as the mightiest stag.”

The last kit was another molly, one almost pure white but with unusual patches of tabby and tortoiseshell. She was the quietest, had moved the least, and even though Paledove knew they were all alright, it still worried her. “May your voice be loud as the summer swamps, Cricketkit, and just as piercing. Keep your head high, my love.”

Curled around her kits like a mother wolf around her cubs, Paledove let herself relax, let herself bask in the warm love of their perfect little forms. Soon enough she would return to SkyClan, let the medicine cat check them over, but right now they were hers, and they were perfect.

Yewkit snuggled as desperately as he could into his mother's pelt, letting out the biggest yell he could manage. It felt loud to him, but it was most likely a soft squeak like he had heard only moments before. His fur was still wet, and the cold was so scary and unforgiving. In fact, everything is so scary and new. He could sense the subtle shivers of his littermates.

His nose was shoved into Paledove's belly, his paws resting on either side of his muzzle as he clung to her with his tiny claws. Her purring was a comforting melody and her scent smelled like home. She was so warm. He was exhausted but found safety and contentness surrounded by his mother. He tried to return the rumble to whoever was listening, purring softly as he drifted off to sleep.

It was a great big world Ospreykit had just arrived in, and the newborn kit still so, so small. Yet from even just her first minutes nestled by her mother's side it was clear she wouldn't let that stop her. Her golden eyes were still unopened and fluffy ears still folded down but she used what limited senses she had to investigate her surroundings. Her squirming was rather lively as she nosed at her siblings, sniffing and nudging at each one in turn. Bored with this- and receiving several annoyed return jostles from her littermates -Ospreykit went further. The curious scents of dead leaves, snow and dirt were all fascinating to one experiencing them for the first time. The newborn explored these hungrily and strained her head upwards the few degrees that she could, even managing to momentarily wriggle away from the cozy confines of her mother’s belly.

After just a few moments, however, the tiny kit began to shiver, still not equipped for the world she longed to explore and her fluffy coat no match for leaf-bare’s chill. With a pitiful mew she turned back towards the comforting scents of milk and her mother, letting Paledove scoop her back to safety. With a few more wiggles the bold kit settled in to nap at her littermates’ sides. Her first adventure may have been ended quickly but to the kit this was only a temporary setback. One day, it was certain, Osprey would get to see that great big world.

Deerkit was annoyed with her siblings' squirming, she wanted a calm and peaceful place to rest. She quietly wiggled up towards her mother's face and nestled in under her chin. Finally, a calm restful spot to get some sleep. It's a big world after all and a newborn needs all the sleep they can get.