DISCLAiMER: i DO NOT OWN WARRiORS, BUT THIS iDEA AND ALL CHARACTERS ARE MiNE. DO NOT STEAL OR i WiLL RESORT TO USING MY DEATH KITTEHZ. BEWARE.
Summary: Foxkit is born into the clan like almost every cat before her. She looks strangly like a fox. Her fur looks like that of a red fox, and this saved her life when a group of foxes take her and two other kits to their home, a den. The first one is killed, and the second and herself are survivors. They learn the way of fox, and on the day of their next raid, Foxkit, now named Ahukin, must make a decision between two things she loves: Her birthright or her family.
My first 'Fanfic', so go easy on me.
If somecat said that the sun was opposite of the moon, they would be correct; the sun is furious, the strength of the predator held in the scorching rays of light. Moon would be the opposing of this. She would be prey, ignorant and quiet, her beautiful drapes called moonlight softly calling the wind to it, letting the once hot day become the cold and silent night. At this time, the moon was present, her silver luminescence spilling across leafy treetops. Each frond of leafs had the light upon themselves. Every here and there the light slipped through this green blanket and reached out, only to press a paw to the soft, soil floor. Only a few leaves scattered upon the ground; enough to say they were meager. A few twigs, too, littered the silver ground, and any other clan cat would think it would be near impossible to hunt without stepping on a million of those fragile sticks and other things that would make annoying noises. The sun would be involved in all this, but the moon, being the opposite, would turn her nose to this foolish things. The only reason she stared upon the land was because that was her duty to the universe.
There was a flash, too fast to determine the color. It was bright, and a blur as it rushed through the forest, its paws seeming to fly as if he was in pursuit of a predator. The blur slowed as the animal's muscles started aching. The cracking of twigs slowed from a slur of noise to occasional steps. Now the shape was easier to comprehend, and a ginger pelage rippled as muscles pulsed fluidly. As soon as he had slowed, he had sped off again, the cooling air brushing against him. There could have been a gale, and he wouldn't have noticed; weather could not be as fast as he. This tom was called Solartide, named for the light ginger pelage he wore; the bright colors a tide over his coat. Every step he took was not a step, but a bound, and his heart slammed against a thick ribcage as he rushed through the forest.
Solartide was nearly the only source of racket in this forest. Many felines would have thought that there was an assailant treading upon his tail, but their accusation would have been faulty. Still, he ran as if it was so, ignoring the burning pain in his throat. Within his jaws lay a dead rabbit, gray fur brushing against his tongue. The blood that it shed was slowly cooling, but this was not the reason he ran. No, the reason was very much different. The rabbit that lay in his jaws was not for him, or else he would have already devoured the delicious body. But this was for someone else, someone special to him. It was for none other than his mate.
At the thought of his mate, the tom pushed himself even faster, not even slowing as he dodged a tree that seemed to be deliberately blocking his path. Tonight would be the very night; Hazelleaf herself had no doubts that night seven moons ago when she had told him. Every time he closed his eyes, the thought haunted him, rather than giving him happiness. Lately, his make had been sick, and that made him worry. Visions of the birth rioted in his mind, visions of a bleeding mother with her kits strewn throughout the den, all moaning in pain, a few bleeding profoundly by the mouth. He had thought he was unable to forget today was the day; he was sure to be there the moment she gave birth… her comforter. And now he had gone and completely forgotten about it. He was aware until this night. Bloodpaw, his old apprentice, had become a warrior, and to celebrate, he had decided to celebrate to catch some prey for his mate and Bloodpaw. Her new name was Bloodstream, and she would be guarding the camp tonight, in case of intruders. And while he caught the rabbit, the blood had reminded him that tonight Whitenight would be having her kittens. No… not her kittens. Their kittens.
The tom's paws slipped through the small grasses as he dashed closer and closer to the thorn barrier, slipping through it, slipping out too fast and slamming into the small she-cat that was guarding the camp: Bloodstream. The she-cat turned to him, her brown eyes narrowed as she bared her teeth at him. She opened her jaws, ready to send a warning to the clan, but noticed who it was. Her ears flattened against her head as she mouthed the words, 'I'm sorry,' and turned back to her post, shaking off some leaves that stuck to her due to his crash.
"Uhm… sohree 'bout dat," Solartide mewed apologetically through a rather large piece of dried together rabbit fur.
Knowing that the new warrior wouldn't respond to him – she was sitting vigil, it was against the warrior code – he twisted back to the task he owned, while Bloodstream's brown eyes flicked through all possible entrances in camp, her eyes as round as the full moon. Solartide walked slowly up to the fresh-kill pile, plopping down the now-cold gray rabbit on the fresh-kill pile. He dare not take it with him, for he was not there to brag about his rabbit, but to comfort his mate, whether the kits had been birthed or not. He hoped severely the rabbit would be there when he got back, but he held no promises; it was a doubt within itself. An apprentice would probably spot it on the fresh kill pile, rub its scent upon it, and brag about it too his friends. When he was a apprentice, he would have done the same. Which was how he knew it would happen. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he started to dart to the nursery, anxiety once again flashing in his mind.
"Hey there Solartide," A soft, kitten-like voice squeaked from behind him.
Without even a single double-take, he knew who the voice belonged to; the one cat who he dreaded almost as much as death; her name was Moonpaw, an apprentice who was apparently in love with him. She wouldn't stop following him, and she always asked him innocent questions, which he thought much have some evil apprentice-like intention inside of it. He turned toward her, his eyes narrowed with annoyance as he stared back into her own eyes, her gaze becoming confused, as if she didn't know why he was staring at her like that
"Why are you staring at me like that?" she mewed, her eyes looking down at her paws for a split second, before shooting her head up again. "And where are you going?"
Inwardly, he wanted to scrape off her mouth and yowl at her to stop talking, but he knew Midnightstar wouldn't have particularly liked that. So instead, he mewed, "To the nursery to see my mate." The emphasis on the word mate was intentional, but he felt guilt inside of himself. He turned away before he could see the hurt on Moonpaw's face. He turned back to his work, and ignored the gaze on his pelt as he ducked inside of the small nursery.
The pure silver of his mate's fur surrounded a near dead body. The she-cat's eyes were closed, and her stomach was no longer the size of a curled up tree branch, and three large newborn kits lay by her side, squeaking and pawing at her belly. Upon the sound of paws swishing against the dirt floor, she jerked up, one of the kits pushed away from her body. Her eyes were narrowed, and she looked paranoid as she stared at Solartide; her tail swept the kit next to her. Her gaze didn't falter as she noticed it was her mate; she barely noticed it at all.
Her silver fur covered the kits, and Solartide was unable to see the kits. Whitenight bared her teeth at the tom, and hissed. "Who are you, and what do you want with my kits?"
Her question shocked him to the extreme, and he was unable to answer. Instead, a golden she-cat moved, and she was unnoticeable before. But now she was as clear as day, and she turned to face Solartide with a sad look in her eyes. "She has lost her memory, Solartide," She mewed mournfully, her own ears laying back as she gazed at the warrior with tears in her eyes.
Without even thinking about it, he knew what was going to happen now. "You're… killing her?" He mewed softly, soft enough that Whitenight couldn't hear.
"It's so that she lives a better life in Starclan," replied Goldflight, and returned back to the place where she was sitting. A moment later, she showed Whitenight the red berry. "It's a raspberry," She mewed quietly, giving it to the she-cat, who tried to spit it out, but failed.
A few minutes later, the cat he had once called mate was writhig in pain, choking and throwing up, but it was too late. She was dying, and there was nothing Solartide could do about it. Before she died, she looked at Solartide straight in the eye, and mewed, "If you take my life, I take his."
She shoved the black kit forward, who cried out with fear. Ignoring the shriek, Whitenight unsheathed her claws and brought it down on the kit, and Solartide could hear the cracks of the bones under her paws. Her eyes suddenly rolled into the back of her head, and she was dead.
Solartide dragged forth the other three kits, glad that they were unharmed. The first was golden, and had darker smudges on her pelt. The second was silver with ginger flecks on her tail, legs, flank, and face. The third was completely russet, with black ears and a white tailtip, a stripe surrounding the outside of the white. Her paws, too, were black. They were all females.
"The ginger one is called Foxkit," He purred, caressing the kits fur with her long tail, and her voice weakened as Goldenflight started licking the other two. After a long moment of thought, he pointed to the silver one. "This one shall be named Splatterkit" – he pointed to the other kit – "and this one shall be Eclipsekit."