Whitekit was born just as the air had a cold tinge to it. As he cats walked around the camp foing their usual duties of patrols, hunting and alike, their breath rose as mist into the bitter white sky. The fresh kill pile was getting noticably smaller every day and Whitekit's mother was tired and hungry.
However, when Whitekit was born, she felt a sudden twist of hope. The pure bundle of joy that cuddled up to her swollen belly, mewling softly brought pride into her life. She knew that he might catch a cold, or even freeze to death, but until then she was happy with him.
The next day, her precious son opened her eyes. They were the exact colour of ice, frozen blue shining with curiosity. They reminded her of her moons as an apprentice, when she would slide on the ice with all her friends. And hunting with her mentor on freezing morning, marvelling over how the sun shimmered like a golden ray on the slippery surface.
She remembered how as soon as Whitekit set eyes on the world he clambered clumsily out of the nursery to the frozen soil and dead plants of the clan's camp. Mewling happily he pawed at the ground and ran after the other kits who had opened their eyes long ago.
That afternoon, it snowed. White flakes drifting down from the sky. Whitekit pawed at them and laughed, His eyes reflecting the ground as the snow built up and up. It was the same colour as his coat, a pure blank sheet of coldness. Whitekit couldn't leave it. He spent all day rolling around in it, kicking it at his fellow kittens - he even tried to eat it once. He returned to the nursery frozen stiff and tired. As soon as he reached his mother, he drifted off like a snowflake into a land of dreams...
And he never woke up. Whitekit didn't live one moon. The medicine cat told his mother it was an illness, hypothermia or something. But she knew Whitekit, no, Snowkit was living in his winter wonderland somewhere far away. So she didn't mourn for Whitekit. She buried him in the snow, right where he belonged.