AN: Well, this my first story on here. It's about my favorite OC and warrior persona, Juniperfang. Rated T for some rough deaths, especially in this chapter.

Unlike others, I remember just about every single detail from my kithood, most of my apprentice days, and some parts after that. No, I don't have a photographic memory. Life has just beat me so many times I can't help but count them.

My name is Juniperfang, but I have been known as several different things throughout my life, including some things I probably shouldn't mention. I am a warrior of Forestclan and I have no true my family left. I have a hard time trusting; it takes me at least a half a season to build up even a little trust towards someone.

This is my story. It's not a happy one. I've experienced more misery than most cats feel in a lifetime. Let's start with my kithood, shall we? Here's a hint: it wasn't all playfights and milk.

Ravensong trudged to the river, dragging a piece of moss with seven tiny kittens on it, all mewing a different rhythm. Her heart was heavy, but deep down she knew it was for the best. The clan couldn't know that she was mother, and they definitely couldn't know who the father was.

The pitch black she-cat turned her attention to the seven crying kits on the moss. The loudest of them, a large tom with grey fur, was beginning to get on her nerve. "Shut up." She said, her voice a barely audible whisper. "Shut up!" She loudly commanded, but her two week son did not obey. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" She screamed, at her wit's end. Several birds flew away and the forest turned quiet, all except her kits. And it only caused her son to meow louder. Tired of his racket, she brought her unsheathed claws down on him, causing blood.

It happened in a blink of an eye. When she raised her paw, her son was dead. Feeling paralyzed, Ravensong stared at her snow white claws, which were now as red as a fox. Her gaze shifted to her scarlet-stained kit that she had brutally murdered.

Ravensong expected for realization to hit. To find out what scarlet really means, the running red that leaves permanent damage to one's heart. But it did not come. No guilt, no sadness, no anger towards herself. Nothing. All that inhabited Ravensong's soul was a feeling of pleasure and revenge.

Maybe that was the way to dispose of her kits, by repaying the pain they caused her. The pain when she found out she was having kits, the pain of knowing she could no longer do what she loved, the pain when she broke up with who she loved. And worst of all, the painful decision of deciding what to do with them.

Her original plan was to put them in a log, float them down the river, and hope that someone found them. But this way was much more gratifying. This way she could control everything. What happened them, how they died, and if they lived.

But she was positive that none of the kittens were going to live. That would just complicate things more. Then she would have to figure out what to do with them, who to give them to, and so forth.

Ravensong picked up the next kit, a black she-cat. She wasted no time swinging her head and releasing her kitten into the icy cold river water, watching her helpless daughter sink into the murky water, while a sick smile spread across her face. The she-kit's mangled cries and gurgles satisfied Ravensong.

Ravensong's twisted smirk grew bigger as she discovered her true nature. Now she knew why she was so fascinated with becoming a medicine cat. The crimson, the death, and how measly and weak cats were right before the end.

Ravensong harshly grabbed a grey tom-kit, nearly identical to his father, which angered her even more. With incredible force for a little kit to take, she swiped her paw quickly, wounding her son. Growling, she threw her kit into the river to drown or bleed out, whichever came first, along with the body of the first kit she killed.

Next, she picked up another black she-kit by her scruff. Ravensong bit down harder and harder as she tasted blood. The she-kit writhed in pain, but Ravensong was too far off in her own world to realize she was murdering a kit, let alone her own. The kit fell motionless and Ravensong heartlessly dropped it as she slowly licked the blood from her lips, savoring the taste.

When a rustle in the bush sounded, Ravensong had no time to prepare. There she stood, painted with red and growling, when Pinestripe, her fellow clanmate, approached. Pinestripe froze, suddenly scared of the supposedly gentle and loving medicine cat. Ravensong didn't care, though. Laughing maniacally, she threw herself into the river, laughing until the water filled her lungs.

Pinestripe was still unsure of what just happened. Instinctually, he rushed over to make sure the remaining kits were unharmed. Sighing in relief, he gathered the living kits in his and took they from the bloody moss. The kits, whose eyes were already open, shrunk back, scared after what they just seen. "It's alright, little ones, I won't hurt you," He cooed. "Don't worry, you won't remember this for long, hopefully."

Feeling an attachment to the kits, Pinestripe decided that they at least deserved names. "You," he said to the grey tom while motioning with his tail. "Will be Blizzardkit. And you," he said, moving on to the black tom. "Will be Spiderkit. And you," he said as he pointed to the grey she-kit. "Will be Juniperkit." Pinestripe nodded, pleased with his names.

Before heading back to camp, Pinestripe looked around with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, like he was being watched. To protect himself and his new family, he let a prayer flow out of his mouth. "Dear Starclan, please keep these kits safe from harm," He prayed.

Determining that it was just his imagination, he shrugged it off and picked up the kits, taking them back to the clan, though the eerie feeling remained, along with confusion.

Little did he now, someone was watching. And they saw everything.