This is a challenge for CloudClan.
. . .
Above everything, Mintleaf desired perfection.
She wished for the perfect mate, the perfect family, with perfect kits as a forefront. Mintleaf knew it could be done; it had been done with herself and her own sister, Maplefall.
The pair of them had been the perfect litter, with sleek pelts and perfect blue eyes. They were perfect. She was perfect. Their mother had told them so, after all.
"Perfect," Mistyheart would purr, coiling her tail around them and pulling them close. "My perfect little kits."
Mintleaf's life had been perfect; she had everything: a loving mate, kits on the way, and supporting parents who only wished for the best for their daughter.
She remembered when she was still Mintkit; she was quiet, shy, and adored by the nursery queens. Maplekit was her best friend, and together, they were the perfect match. Every she-kit wanted to be her, and every tom wanted to be with her.
Yet she let no one into her exclusive group, save for one other: Silverkit. They were inseparable, the three of them, and they did everything together.
And Mintkit saw him.
He was already an apprentice, but Mintkit still admired him from afar. She admired his sleek golden fur, his amber eyes that seemed so perfect.
She wanted him.
Mintkit wanted Fernpaw.
But he was Fernpaw, while she was still Mintkit. There was no way that an apprentice would spend time with a tiny kit like her, no matter how perfect she was.
And so, when Mintkit became an apprentice, she decided she would do anything it took to get him, even sabotage her own Clanmates.
Especially Amberpaw.
The pair- Fernpaw and Amberpaw- were the oldest apprentices in the den, but they never hung around. They were always together, either curled up in the corner, or their pelts just brushing. They gazed at each other with such love in their eyes. The sight sickened Mintpaw.
And so she resolved to break them apart. Mintpaw knew that she deserved to be with Fernpaw- she was perfect. She knew it. Her pelt was sleek and shiny, and the cats that padded after her told her that it reminded them of freshly fallen snow. And her eyes! They were green; toms swooned over them.
Mintpaw could have whoever she wanted, but she only wanted him. Fernpaw, with his golden pelt and perfect amber eyes. She loved him. She loved him so much. And she would be the one to have him. Not Amberpaw, not anyone. Her.
And so she old him. Mintpaw told him exactly what she wanted.
"I love you," she said, nearly pressing her face to his. "I love you and I need you."
Fernpaw was a gentle cat; always had been and always will be. There was turmoil in his amber gaze, and it only took a second before Mintpaw knew that he didn't feel the same way. He loved Amberpaw. But not for long. He would love Mintpaw, and it would be soon.
So Fernpaw shook his head and turned away. "I'm sorry, Mintpaw," he said sincerely. "But I don't feel the same way. I love Amberpaw, and we've already decided that we're going to have kits. After we become warriors, of course."
Mintpaw nearly hissed. No! She wouldn't let him slip away. And so, she blurted out the only thing she could think of, which turned out to be: "I saw Amberpaw with Birchclaw, and they were sharing tongues! Fernpaw, I think Amberpaw's cheating on you!"
Everything she said was the truth. She had seen Amberpaw with Birchclaw, and their position practically screamed 'more than friends'. Mintpaw just hoped it was enough to tear Fernpaw apart.
It was.
His eyes watered almost immediately, and he shook his head. "Amberpaw?" he questioned, a wry tone entering his voice. "No. She would never do thing. Not to me, not to us."
There would be no more 'us'. Not if Mintpaw had anything to say about it.
And there wasn't.
Fernpaw and Amberpaw broke up a while later and went their separate ways. They became warriors- Fernheart and Amberfur, respectively- and Amberfur went on to become mates with Birchclaw and eventually nurse his kits.
Fernheart was as torn as any cat could be. He had just lost (what he believed to be) the love of his life, his parents were dead, and he had nothing.
He could only dedicate himself to his Clan.
Mintpaw preferred it that way. Now, no one stood in the way of getting what she wanted. There was no more 'Fernpaw and Amberpaw forever'. Now, there was only 'Fernheart and Mintpaw'.
And Mintpaw loved him. She loved Fernheart more than anything, more than life. She knew that they would have the perfect family together. Perhaps their kits would have his golden pelt and her bright green eyes, or her own pale grey fur and his beautiful amber eyes.
She was perfect; after all, she had been raised to be perfect, and she would not let her mother down.
When Mintpaw became a warrior, she knew she had a chance with Fernheart. It was not a choice of 'if', it was 'yes'. Yes, Fernheart would become her mate, and yes they would have kits together.
When Mintpaw became Mintleaf, she instantly approached Fernheart, who was skulking around the back of the crowd.
He was older than her by many moons. He had been an apprentice when she was a kit, then a warrior when she was an apprentice. But now they were finally equals- they were both warriors, and Mintleaf loved him, needed him- like the sun needed the moon to rise. He was her sun, and she was his moon.
They would be together forever.
"Fernheart," Mintleaf greeted happily.
"Mintleaf," he returned, his voice a deep, pleasant rumble. "I see you've become a warrior."
"I know," she said giddily. "Isn't it great?"
"I guess." Fernheart hesitated, and Mintleaf visibly deflated. "I mean, I'm happy that you're finally a warrior."
"It means we can spend more time together," Mintleaf gushed.
Fernheart grimaced a little. "About that. Mintleaf-"
"I know," she laughed. "You don't have to tell me. You love me, too, don't you, Fernheart?"
Fernheart shifted uncomfortably, while Mintleaf prattled on. "I love you, Fernheart, I really do! I hope by StarClan that you'll become my mate. I'll give you better than Amberfur ever could. Together, we'll have the most perfect kits. We'll build a life together, Fernheart. Don't you want that, love? Don't you want a life?"
Slowly, Fernheart smiled. "More than anything," he agreed.
"Then I can give it to you."
And Mintleaf was giddy, because now, she had everything. She now had the cat she she'd loved from afar for so long, and they would be the perfect family. They would have two kits, and they would have his majestic golden pelt and her bright green eyes. One would be a tom, and the other, a she-cat.
The she-cat would be beautiful, just like Mintleaf.
The tom would be handsome, just like its father. Just like Fernheart.
They would be a perfect family. Nothing would tear them apart.
Mintleaf swore it.
. . .
The moment Mintleaf began kitting, Fernheart felt a terrible dread pool in his stomach.
He wasn't allowed to watch the birth; Flintfoot forbid it. They needed as much room as they could get, he'd said.
Fernheart had allowed it, though his heart wrenched at the thought of his mate, lying on the ground, as vulnerable as a newborn kit.
He loved her, as much as he loathed to admit it. Mintleaf filled his life with sunshine after the gaping hole that Amberfur had left him with.
And by StarClan had he loved his old mate. He had loved Amberfur as if it were the day ever, as if she were the last thing he would see. And he had thrown it all back in his face- by getting with a cat she had once proclaimed to hate.
And then Mintleaf had come along.
The she-cat was every bit as lovely as the Clan said. Her pelt was like freshly fallen snow, and her eyes were as bright as the grass on a newleaf day. She gave him everything, Fernheart knew. But to him, that was not enough.
He just didn't love her enough.
When Flintfoot popped his head out of the nursery, Fernheart felt his heart leap. "Is she okay?" he asked worriedly. His anxiety rose.
Slowly, Flintfoot nodded, and Fernheart had to contain a sigh of relief. She was fine! They would all be okay. They were all together.
"You can come in and see her," Flintfoot offered. "You have two daughters and a son. They're all healthy, if a little tired. I'm sure your mate would be very happy to see you."
"I'm glad," Fernheart purred. "I'll go in and see her right now."
Flintfoot stepped aside, and Fernheart slowly padded inside, his gaze searching for Mintleaf. He found her lying in the far corner, three tiny bundles of fluff curled at her belly. His eyes lit up.
"Mintleaf!" He bounded over to her and licked her roughly on the cheek. "How are you feeling?"
"Just fine," she mewed irritably. "And you? No, wait, you'll be feeling fine. However, I just gave birth to kits!"
"And they're beautiful, just like you," Fernheart replied, gently licking her ears.
He lowered his gaze down to the kits- his children- at Mintleaf's belly. One was eagerly suckling, and it was a dusty golden colour, like the sunrise. A smile formed on his face as he observed his other kits, one who possessed sleek white fur just like Mintleaf. The last one was significantly smaller than the others, and was obviously a she-kit. Her pelt was white and fluffy, and every once in a while, a weak cough would escape her.
"They're beautiful, Mintleaf," Fernheart whispered. "Absolutely beautiful."
"I want to call the tom Sunkit, after your pelt," Mintleaf mumbled. "And the she-kit can be Cloverkit."
"What about the last one?"
"Oh, her?" Mintleaf questioned, scorn in her voice. "I don't know. She's the runt, the smallest kitten in the litter. She probably won't even survive the night, with the way she's coughing. Better to not name her and save us the trouble of missing her."
Fernheart stared at her, too stunned to speak.
Finally, his mate grunted. "Fine," she snapped. "Name her whatever you want. But she's probably going to die anyway, so I wouldn't get too close with her."
"Why are you like this?" Fernheart whispered. "This is your daughter, Mintleaf. Your kit. You can't just toss something away like that."
Mintleaf sighed in exasperation. "She's not perfect, Fernheart," she mumbled. "Look at her. She's too small, she coughs too much, and her fur's too fluffy. There's no hope for her."
"There is," Fernheart snapped. "And I won't be giving up on her. You shouldn't either, Mintleaf. You're her mother, and mothers are supposed to love their kits no matter what. What happened to a mother's love, Mintleaf? Because you sure as StarClan don't seem to have it."
"I love you," Mintleaf murmured, her voice cracking. "And I love them. But she's not perfect, Fernheart. Don't you see? We were supposed to be a perfect couple, have the perfect family."
"And yet, I found myself struggling to grasp your twisted views on perfection," Fernheart answered darkly. "I don't know if we're good for each other, Mintleaf. You and I, we have different views on how to raise kits. We have different views on life."
"Are you breaking up with me?" Mintleaf asked incredulously.
"No," Fernheart grunted. "I'm trying to make you see the truth. You love her, I know you do. It's buried deep down under that wall of bitterness you put up. You're not perfect, Mintleaf, and you never were. I love you, perhaps not as much as I should, but I still love you. You wanted me so badly, wanted your perfect little family. Well, I hate to break it to you, Mintleaf, but I'm not perfect. My parents are dead, my first mate cheated on me, and now my second mate wants me to abandon my kit. Really? Do you that's really going to happen?"
Throughout his entire exchange, Mintleaf was gazing at him wide-eyed. She dropped her head when he was finished. "I… I don't know what to say," she admitted.
"Say something," Fernheart urged, nearly snarling at her.
Their argument made the kits pause in their actions. And, soon enough, they began to mewl loudly.
Fernheart noticed the smallest she-cat, the kit with the fluffy white fur, was struggling to be as loud as her littermates. But she was failing spectacularly. Her cries were tiny and weak, her little lungs gasping for air with every mew.
"Flintfoot!" Fernheart called. "Flintfoot, we need you!"
A few moments later, the medicine cat barrelled into the nursery. "What is it?" he demanded.
"It's her." Fernheart gestured to the smallest kit. "She's not breathing properly."
Flintfoot carefully observed the small kit, before looking up, the moonlight reflecting the sorrow in his gaze. "I'm afraid she won't survive the night," he mumbled. "She's too small. It will be a miracle if she survives to see the sun rise."
Mintleaf's face slowly crumpled. "I'm sorry," she wailed, roughly licking her youngest kit, who let out a weak squeak. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"No," Fernheart said softly. "No one's dying tonight. And StarClan is not taking my kit away from me! We'll sit with her. We'll stay up with her all night if we can. That way, if she does pass, then she'll be in the presence of her family."
"I'm sorry, Fernheart," Mintleaf cried softly. "I wanted our kits to be perfect. I prayed to StarClan every night. And they are. They are perfect. I got carried away, and for that, I'm sorry. I love you, Fernheart. Will you forgive me?"
"You're already forgiven," Fernheart mumbled, his gaze resting on the gasping form of his tiny daughter. "Cloudkit, my sweet, you'll be fine. I promise."
"Cloudkit?" Mintleaf asked weakly. She nodded. "Cloudkit will be fine. Do you hear me, Cloudkit? Mama loves you."
They stayed with the small kit for hours, and watched as her soft gasps slowly became stronger. She was gaining strength! Her gasps became pants, then soft mewls, and finally, a full on wail.
By sunrise, Cloudkit was screaming at the top of her lungs.
Fernheart knew it was her way of telling her parents that everything was well.
She would be fine.
And Fernheart bent down to her scrunched up face. Her cries were disturbing her littermates, he noticed in amusement.
"Daddy loves you, Cloudkit," he whispered. "Do you hear me? Daddy loves you, and he always will."