if we stop dreaming, we’ll never clear the clouds [semi-open birth topic]

Forest Speak
Feral Speak

It was only within the last few days that Silverdusk had accepted that they needed to sleep in the nursery, and step down from their duties. Though without a medicine cat they weren’t sure if it mattered if they gave birth here or in the forest. It would be a major inconvenience to their patrol mates, and there wouldn’t be any moss bedding she supposed. The molly’s angular head rested on her paws, green eyes half-lidded, tired. Sleep was so hard. Everything ached and everyday she missed Wiggleworm more and more. Their kits would be here any day now and he still hadn’t returned. Would he ever return? Her ears fell back, a sigh escaping their maw. Silverdusk didn’t know if they could raise their kits without him, would it all be too painful? What if they all looked like Wiggleworm, a constant reminder of what had been taken from her. For a moment they felt resentment welling up towards their unborn children. Selfishly, they debated pawning them off to some other queen in the nursery, maybe they’d understand. She could watch from afar, or maybe not. Pretend they hadn’t loved Wiggleworm, didn’t care for the kits. Forget about all of it. They didn’t doubt that they could do it, she was strong willed enough, but it was wrong. Guilt burned in Silverdusk’s core at her own thoughts and feelings. These kits didn’t deserve to be abandoned, it wasn’t their fault. It was no one’s fault, and there was hope yet. She would love and care for them all the same. Wiggleworm would come home soon, and then it would be okay. It would be okay.

Their breathing slowed, thoughts of the world rightening soothing the warrior. If she closed her eyes, maybe sleep would come, they were feeling at peace for once after all. Silverdusk stretched and moved into a more comfortable position. Her chest rose and fell in an even manner, they were about to finally fall asleep when a sudden excruciating pain tore through their body. A uncontrollable yowl of pain and surprise was ripped from their throat. Her claws flexed into the moss nest beneath, and she gritted her teeth as another wave tore through them. “They’re coming!” hissed Silverdusk, but she had little concern if anyone came. There was no medicine cat, she had to do this alone and they’d known that from the start. The molly grabbed the poppy seeds she had gathered beforehand and took them, she was unsure of how much was needed, but the pain was so severe and the more it was dulled the better. They clamped their teeth around the stick just as the next wave wracked their body.

—

It had all blurred together, but finally four bundles lay at the she-cat’s belly. All of them alive and perfect. Silverdusk sniffled. How could they have ever thought about abandoning them? She’d cleaned them as they came and now she admire them all. A lilac tom, a spotted ginger, a dusty brown she-cat and a tiny tabby. She purred, pulling them closer. “My children.” hummed Silverdusk, nuzzling them. “I suppose it is up to me to name you. I hope you like their names, Wiggleworm.”

Her gaze landed on the lilac tom, his pelt silvery and striped a spitting image of their own. He squirmed and wiggled against his siblings, full of energy as he fought for his position. The way he moved reminded her of swirling fog, lifting in the morning. ”Fogkit.” She wasn’t sure what language to name them in, but using the feral tongue, the tongue if their father felt right. It made her feel closer to him, and even if Wiggleworm wasn’t here they hoped he would appreciate the gesture. Next she moved on the ginger kitten. His fur was spotted and short like his father’s, but his frame more closely resembled Silverdusk’s own. The tom’s little pink nose was turned up sniffing the air, curious and cute. Kind of like a bean. “Beankit.” If he ever asked they would tell him something more dignified than ‘you have a cute nose.’. Silverdusk’s eyes then fell on the dusty brown molly with her light striping. She squirmed just as fiercely as her brother, Fogkit. The way her stripes fell and the way she moved her body it reminded them of a caterpillar “Caterpillarkit.” Lastly her gaze settled on the smallest of the four kittens. She was tiny by comparison and so different. She hardly resembled her mother, her pelt was so similar to Wiggleworm’s; the same colour, the same pattern. And then there was the bobtail, by assumption they guessed Wiggleworm’s mother had looked the same. Silverdusk smiled at the thought, the tom hadn’t known his mother perhaps he would be happy to see a part of her in their daughter. The little kitten was such an oddball, almost like how mushroom’s were the oddballs of all the plants that grew in the forest. They didn’t have leaves, much like how the kitten before them lacked a tail. “Mushroomkit.” they finished.

With that, Sioverdusk pulled them all closer with their feathery tail and turned her head skyward. Wherever Wiggleworm was, they hoped he knew he had four perfect kits.

the young kit felt a warm breeze fill the air, she wiggled so much that she started to kick away the other kits next to her. with her just wiggling like a worm in the end trying to shoo the other warm bodies away.

The silver liliac tom was from birth, full of energy, sprawling and wriggling around like a mad cat. His movements somehow mimicked the fog, and so he was named appropriately. ‘Fogkit’, has a nice ring to it. While this small silver furball didn’t understand either language he was hearing, it was still kinda entertaining to see him react differently to the different languages. He would wriggle around more when feral was used, but squirm more when forest was. Even so, after his stomach was full, enough was enough, even for one as energetic as this. So he took his napping spot right next to his brother, Beankit. Shortly after he slept like a log.