Spiderleg sighed, his long limbs were heavy with the exhaustion of a day's work. He considered skipping his evening meal in favor of retiring early but eventually decided against it, padding up to the fresh-kill pile.
"Hello!" Spiderleg jumped, releasing the vole he'd had clamped in his jaws. He spun around to scold whatever mousebrain had scared him but looked to see no one.
"Hello!" The voice called again and Spiderleg tipped his head down, introducing a tiny kit into his field of vision. It was Rosekit. Spiderleg shifted uncomfortably, searching for a way to escape the wide eyed gaze of the result of his misguided night of fun. Spiderleg lifted a paw delicately, instinct telling him to move slowly for some reason. The Warriors den was tantalizingly close. Just one pawstep and then another and-
"Hey!" The cream she-cat meowed indignantly, her fuzz fluffing out irritably. Spiderleg flattened his ears, his plans of escape thwarted. He'd been so close.
"My name is Rosekit." The cream kit continued cheerfully. Spiderleg stared at her awkwardly. Rosekit flicked her ears, confused by Spiderleg's odd reaction, but carried on anyways.
"Daisy says your my father." She purred cheerily, her chest puffing with pride. Spiderleg shifted guiltily. Knowing full well he was unworthy of being called anyone's father and a little sad that Rosekit was proud to be related to him. She surely wouldn't think so for long and Spiderleg grimaced, the innocence of kits was bittersweet in many ways. "And I was wondering..." Rosekit wrinkled her nose, as though she was suddenly lacking the words she wanted to use next. "Well, you see, Blossomkit, Briarkit, and Bumblekit have their father, Graystripe, and he...he..." Spiderleg shifted warily. Surely nothing good would come of Spiderleg being compared to Graystripe.
"He tells them stories and your my father so I thought you could tell me stories, too." Spiderleg felt like he's been kicked in the chest. Stories? Rosekit wanted Spiderleg to tell her stories? Suddenly, a thousand memories flashed before Spiderleg's eyes.
"Daddy!" Spiderkit squealed, pouncing onto Dustpelt gleefully. His father only chuckled, the movement inadvertently shaking Spiderkit loose. Spiderkit landed with an ungrateful splat but his good mood could not be deterred. It wasn't as though seeing Dustpelt was a rare treat, he came to the nursery rather often, but he made every time an adventure, recounting takes of heroics and mischief. If you asked Spiderkit, his father was the greatest warrior in the whole forest. Shrewkit wiggled away from their mother, Ferncloud's, busy tongue and scrambled up to their father. Spiderkit and Shrewkit spoke in unison.
"Can we have a story?" They begged, eyes wide with pleasing. Dustpelt purred and settled in next to them. In the corner, their mother sat watching with adoring eyes.
"Have I ever told you about the time we took on BloodClan?" Dustpelt teased playfully, knowing full well the answer. Shrewkit and Spiderkit shook their heads though they knew it by heart. They spent that night curled between their parents, mouthing along excitedly to Dustpelt's every word.
Spiderleg softened at the memory. He ached to think of Shrewpaw, his fallen brother, but even his loss could not shake away the happiness of the memory. It had been one of the last times he heard that story. In time, he had become an apprentice, too old for tales from his father. He looked down at Rosekit, her eyes sparkling like stars, entrapped in them was the same feeling of anticipation and wonder Spiderleg had felt himself as a kit. He crouched down to Rosekit's level. The kithood nostalgia hanging like cobwebs in his mind made his voice sweet when he spoke.
"Yes, Rosekit. I can tell you a story." He picked back up his vole, his dreams of falling asleep early now dashed and his stomach gently rumbling. He sat in the cool shade, Rosekit nestled beside him, lashing her tiny tail with excitement.
"Have you ever heard about the time the Clans took on BloodClan." Rosekit shook her head and Spiderleg began weaving his tale, the words falling from his lips like a still remembered lullaby.