Post by Nightmare on Aug 22, 2014 8:53:50 GMT -8
Green eyes, where the sparks lie
Oh oh oh, oh oh oh
Oh oh oh, oh oh oh
Snowball had long laid next to the gorge, where the water thundered like a storm beneath the frothy white surface, her small body rising rapidly under her thick, soft white fur. It was sunset, the sky darkening, ripped at the horizon by a bloody red gash, parting the fluffy New-Leaf clouds. It seemed like years since her last meeting with her secret lover; really, it had been less than a moon. The she-cat was sure her kits had came far too early, but she hadn't consulted the medicine cat to see when they were due. In fact, Snowball wasn't even sure if the medicine cat knew.
It had been as the sunhigh patrol re-entered camp and settled into their regular routine that the snow-white she-cat had exited, her stomach feeling heavy with kits and her heart even heavier. It had been like an omen - a very dark one at that - and she had hurriedly left camp, feeling as though her kits would be coming. Until the sun began to reach towards the horizon, she had wandered the territory, listening to the birds in the trees and taking in the beauty of the Clan's territory. Out of nowhere, like a sudden clawswipe, a flash of pain had rocked her, making her breathing rapid and her paws shaky. It didn't take a medicine cat to work out what was happening, and without thinking, the warrior/queen made her way to the border.
Now, that's where she was lying. The water ran along side her, like a noisy, yet silent companion. Her kits had came, three small bundles of brown, fawn and white fur. And they were small. Snowball herself was tiny - a thickly-built, thickly-furred monster who barely reached other cats' shoulders. Blackstripe, on the other hand, was an average-sized tom, with a slinky build and long body. It was obvious the kits took after their parents, and this sent a thrill of worry down the white she-cat's spine. It was obvious. She couldn't hide it. She would either be banished for breaking the code, or something worse. This was bad. his was very bad.
Snowball lay on her side, panting and wincing from the fleeting pain of her kitting. Kit-scent and blood mingled in the air, like a layer of invisible smoke, so thick it could choke a cat who wasn't expecting. Looking down at three bundles suckling at her side with affectionate green eyes, the tiny white she-cat smiled and wished her mate would hurry up.
The kit closest to her was obviously a she-cat, with pale brown fur and dark stripes. Not quite a copy of her father, but pretty close.
The kit furthest away was, by what their mother could tell, the only tom. Now, he was a direct copy of his father, with the fawn base and black stripes. If he had the murky, almost hazel eyes of Blackstripe, the father and son might be confused for one another. Both looked healthy and fighting fit.
The third and final kit was a she-kit, sandwiched between her siblings, almost hidden. Snowball wouldn't have noticed her among the larger kits if it wasn't for the stark contrast of fur colour.
With long, thick, bright, snowy-white fur, the second born kit was definitely the runt. She looked just like her mother, with the fur and size. But, from where Snowball was lying, she seemed to be small and frail.
Curling her tail protectively over the little bundles, the queen blinked tears from her emerald green. Her kits, and she wouldn't raise them. Lowering her head, her body cuddled the three kits, keeping them from the harsh world outside. The harsh, harsh world she hoped their father would protect them from.
"You-you gave birth!" Speak of the devil. Snowball glanced up with bright green eyes and met the excited hazel gaze of her secret mate, his fawn and black form taking unsteady, wobbly steps as he approched, the river roaring behind him. "You-You actually gave birth! This is fantastic! Our kits, Snowball, our beautiful, beautiful kit."
"I don't the Clans will think of it like that if you don't quiet down a bit," she hissed, staring around anxiously. The tom dropepd his eyes and dropped his voice, before taking gentle steps forward. "Come on, then. Meet your daughters and you son."
Hazel eyes stared at the three tiny bodies, moving swiftly over each sibling, stopping for a few seconds to watch them carefully. A thrill of worry ran through the queen's body. What if they aren't good enough? she thought, waiting for her mate's reaction. What if they don't match up to his last litter?
"They're perfect," he whispered, making Snowball's concerns drop instantly.
"They are," the mother answered quietly, nudging the only tom back beside his siblings with her tail. "Come on, then," she said suddenly, making Blakcstripe jerk his head up. "They need names. Any ideas?"
"Brook-kit," he stated, pointing to the pale brown tabby she-cat who lay nearest the border. "I'm not calling her 'Gorgekit', so Brook-kit's a nice alternative."
"I like it," the white she-cat giggled in response, smilling as she licked the young kit's head. "How about Bark-kit, for the tom. We are surrounded by trees, after all."
"Perfect," he purred happily. "What about the last kit? The white one, in the middle, that looks just like you. The runt. She needs a na-"
"Shhhhh," she cut him off violently, with an annoyed lash of her fluffy tai, before curling even closer around her new-borns and nuzzling the white kit carefully. "Don't call her the runt. He doesn't mean it, my little Lavenderkit. He's just a bit careless, that's all."
"Lavenderkit?" he questioned. The queen gave a shrug of her muscular shoulders.
"It suits her. I just, you know, half named her in my head. You can change it if you like."
"No, no, no no no no," he replied promptly. "You're right. It suits her. There we are, all named. Our kits."
Large white paws crept around the small bundles and pulled them closer, licking their heads and listening as they squeaked.
"You don't want to leave them, do you?"
"How can I Blackstripe?!" she wailed, tears staining her spotless white fur. "They're my kits! My own flesh and blood, and I'm giving them up. I don't want to leave them, but I know I have too." The tom nuzzled her and lay with her, letting the the ex-kittypet sob into his fur.
"I'll look after them, I promise," he whispered, licking her ears. "I promise, I'll always keep my kits safe." Sighing, the queen pulled herself, slowly, to her paws, her daughters and son crying in outrage at the absence of her warmth.
"Take them, Blackstripe," she told him bluntly, her tail swishing in distress.
"But-"
"The sooner they get to FrigidClan the better. You have your excuse?"
"Yep."
"-Then tale them." Carefully, she picked the only tom of the litetr up and passed it too the tom, who had now leapt to his paws and awaited further instructions. Next came the pale brown tabby kit. And, finally, the tiny white scrap of fur.
"I love you," she told him, licking his muzzle, which was now stuffed with kit.
"I 'ove uo oo," he muttered through a mouthful of fur, making Snowball laugh as she pushed him away with her large paws.
"Look after my kits!" she called as he crossed the border, watching his tail disappear between the widespread oaks of FrigidClan's territory. It hadn't been long ago that she had seen that - a black-tipped tail, waving as the owner carefully trod a path back towards his camp. But, now, there was the hanging dread. Turning her head body back towards her own camp, Snowball through a fleeting green glance over her shoulder. She had some explaining to do. The blood on her fur, the kits she was sure her Clan she knew was expecting, and probably a lot of questions from annoying apprentices. But, Blackstripe had it worse. He had to explain where he'd found three newborn kits, finding a way too make his Clan ignore the iimpossibilities of whatever story he spun.
It had been as the sunhigh patrol re-entered camp and settled into their regular routine that the snow-white she-cat had exited, her stomach feeling heavy with kits and her heart even heavier. It had been like an omen - a very dark one at that - and she had hurriedly left camp, feeling as though her kits would be coming. Until the sun began to reach towards the horizon, she had wandered the territory, listening to the birds in the trees and taking in the beauty of the Clan's territory. Out of nowhere, like a sudden clawswipe, a flash of pain had rocked her, making her breathing rapid and her paws shaky. It didn't take a medicine cat to work out what was happening, and without thinking, the warrior/queen made her way to the border.
Now, that's where she was lying. The water ran along side her, like a noisy, yet silent companion. Her kits had came, three small bundles of brown, fawn and white fur. And they were small. Snowball herself was tiny - a thickly-built, thickly-furred monster who barely reached other cats' shoulders. Blackstripe, on the other hand, was an average-sized tom, with a slinky build and long body. It was obvious the kits took after their parents, and this sent a thrill of worry down the white she-cat's spine. It was obvious. She couldn't hide it. She would either be banished for breaking the code, or something worse. This was bad. his was very bad.
Snowball lay on her side, panting and wincing from the fleeting pain of her kitting. Kit-scent and blood mingled in the air, like a layer of invisible smoke, so thick it could choke a cat who wasn't expecting. Looking down at three bundles suckling at her side with affectionate green eyes, the tiny white she-cat smiled and wished her mate would hurry up.
The kit closest to her was obviously a she-cat, with pale brown fur and dark stripes. Not quite a copy of her father, but pretty close.
The kit furthest away was, by what their mother could tell, the only tom. Now, he was a direct copy of his father, with the fawn base and black stripes. If he had the murky, almost hazel eyes of Blackstripe, the father and son might be confused for one another. Both looked healthy and fighting fit.
The third and final kit was a she-kit, sandwiched between her siblings, almost hidden. Snowball wouldn't have noticed her among the larger kits if it wasn't for the stark contrast of fur colour.
With long, thick, bright, snowy-white fur, the second born kit was definitely the runt. She looked just like her mother, with the fur and size. But, from where Snowball was lying, she seemed to be small and frail.
Curling her tail protectively over the little bundles, the queen blinked tears from her emerald green. Her kits, and she wouldn't raise them. Lowering her head, her body cuddled the three kits, keeping them from the harsh world outside. The harsh, harsh world she hoped their father would protect them from.
"You-you gave birth!" Speak of the devil. Snowball glanced up with bright green eyes and met the excited hazel gaze of her secret mate, his fawn and black form taking unsteady, wobbly steps as he approched, the river roaring behind him. "You-You actually gave birth! This is fantastic! Our kits, Snowball, our beautiful, beautiful kit."
"I don't the Clans will think of it like that if you don't quiet down a bit," she hissed, staring around anxiously. The tom dropepd his eyes and dropped his voice, before taking gentle steps forward. "Come on, then. Meet your daughters and you son."
Hazel eyes stared at the three tiny bodies, moving swiftly over each sibling, stopping for a few seconds to watch them carefully. A thrill of worry ran through the queen's body. What if they aren't good enough? she thought, waiting for her mate's reaction. What if they don't match up to his last litter?
"They're perfect," he whispered, making Snowball's concerns drop instantly.
"They are," the mother answered quietly, nudging the only tom back beside his siblings with her tail. "Come on, then," she said suddenly, making Blakcstripe jerk his head up. "They need names. Any ideas?"
"Brook-kit," he stated, pointing to the pale brown tabby she-cat who lay nearest the border. "I'm not calling her 'Gorgekit', so Brook-kit's a nice alternative."
"I like it," the white she-cat giggled in response, smilling as she licked the young kit's head. "How about Bark-kit, for the tom. We are surrounded by trees, after all."
"Perfect," he purred happily. "What about the last kit? The white one, in the middle, that looks just like you. The runt. She needs a na-"
"Shhhhh," she cut him off violently, with an annoyed lash of her fluffy tai, before curling even closer around her new-borns and nuzzling the white kit carefully. "Don't call her the runt. He doesn't mean it, my little Lavenderkit. He's just a bit careless, that's all."
"Lavenderkit?" he questioned. The queen gave a shrug of her muscular shoulders.
"It suits her. I just, you know, half named her in my head. You can change it if you like."
"No, no, no no no no," he replied promptly. "You're right. It suits her. There we are, all named. Our kits."
Large white paws crept around the small bundles and pulled them closer, licking their heads and listening as they squeaked.
"You don't want to leave them, do you?"
"How can I Blackstripe?!" she wailed, tears staining her spotless white fur. "They're my kits! My own flesh and blood, and I'm giving them up. I don't want to leave them, but I know I have too." The tom nuzzled her and lay with her, letting the the ex-kittypet sob into his fur.
"I'll look after them, I promise," he whispered, licking her ears. "I promise, I'll always keep my kits safe." Sighing, the queen pulled herself, slowly, to her paws, her daughters and son crying in outrage at the absence of her warmth.
"Take them, Blackstripe," she told him bluntly, her tail swishing in distress.
"But-"
"The sooner they get to FrigidClan the better. You have your excuse?"
"Yep."
"-Then tale them." Carefully, she picked the only tom of the litetr up and passed it too the tom, who had now leapt to his paws and awaited further instructions. Next came the pale brown tabby kit. And, finally, the tiny white scrap of fur.
"I love you," she told him, licking his muzzle, which was now stuffed with kit.
"I 'ove uo oo," he muttered through a mouthful of fur, making Snowball laugh as she pushed him away with her large paws.
"Look after my kits!" she called as he crossed the border, watching his tail disappear between the widespread oaks of FrigidClan's territory. It hadn't been long ago that she had seen that - a black-tipped tail, waving as the owner carefully trod a path back towards his camp. But, now, there was the hanging dread. Turning her head body back towards her own camp, Snowball through a fleeting green glance over her shoulder. She had some explaining to do. The blood on her fur, the kits she was sure her Clan she knew was expecting, and probably a lot of questions from annoying apprentices. But, Blackstripe had it worse. He had to explain where he'd found three newborn kits, finding a way too make his Clan ignore the iimpossibilities of whatever story he spun.
But, he also had to explain, not only how he found the kits, but why one looked exactly like him, and why another looked exactly like a tiny, fighter of an ex-kittypet warrior in the enemy Clan. Dear StarClan.
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Adoxography 2.0
Adoxography 2.0
