Title: we'll show them together
Rating: K
Characters/Pairings: Mosspelt, Stormkit, Featherkit, Graystripe; Graystripe/Silverstream, teeny tiny hints of Mosspelt/Graystripe.
Summary: Graystripe laughs lightly. "We're a team, I guess." Mosspelt purrs. "Yeah," she tells him, bumping his foreleg with her nose. "We are."
Authors Note: Simply written because I really wanted to write something to do with Mosspelt and Graystripe's canonical relationship, and how I really wished this family got more screen time. Ah well. Title from "You'll Be In My Heart" by Phil Collins.
Mosspelt looses her first litter a few days after they're born, due to the poor conditions of the camp from the floods and the constant rain. The loss of her three kittens hits her hard, so very hard, and it's understandable to everyone when she doesn't go back to her warrior duties just yet. Silverstream, the only other queen in the nursery at the time, offers her comfort and support during those few, anguishing days.
The pair had grown close during that time period, and, because of that, Silverstream was one of the only cats in the Clans who knew how bad it was for Mosspelt. Blackclaw – the cat that she had chosen to father her first litter – left her soon after the death of their kits. It wasn't out of meanness or because he blamed her; they weren't even really an item in the first place. He just didn't understand how to deal with this yet, he tells her gently. He cared about her, but he knew that she just needed a bit of time to heal.
So it was completely understandable and almost like a second nature for Mosspelt to agree to nurse Featherkit and Stormkit, the two little kittens of Silverstream and the former ThunderClan warrior, Graystripe.
The death of her once-friend sends a sharp twist of agony through her chest when she first hears about it. Blood loss while kitting, Crookedstar murmurs in a grave tone, green eyes glazed over and downcast. His twisted jaw quivers and clenches in his heartbreak, and Mosspelt finds herself pitying him more and more at each word he says.
The leader was no longer confident and proud; he was grieving, a shell. And RiverClan – the Clan that she had grown up in, had provided her services to time and time again, was feeling it immensely, in almost everything Crookedstar did for those next few days.
But even though Silverstream's death leaves a nest of thorns around her chest, strangling her and making it hard to look at the faces of her Clanmates, of the cats who all loved and missed this warrior so dearly, especially that poor Mistyfoot-
-Mosspelt has to move on. She has to focus on Silverstream's two little kittens now; she has a responsibility, one that she was positive she'd do everything in her power to keep going.
Little Featherkit is the carbon copy of Silverstream; her soft and delicate features are defined with wisps of soft fur, a silver tabby coat already holding a shimmer in the soft sunlight that bathes the nursery at sunhigh. Her plumy tail gives her the name, and Mosspelt just knows she'll grow up to be a beautiful cat. Her brother, Stormkit, takes after his father, noticeably so. Broad, strong features, with fur that's not quite as silky and thick as his RiverClan family. If he only had the strange, darker stripe down his spine, then Mosspelt is certain she'd mistake him for Graystripe when he grows up.
Graystripe's visits to the nursery are frequent, and usually filled with such a joyous vibe that it leaves her smiling over how much he loves his kits. Really, seeing a tomcat so invested in the lives of his offspring is so refreshing and pleasant.
He garners looks, that Graystripe – his fear of water makes him an unwelcoming addition to RiverClan, and it's not like many of the Clan can really hide their anger at him for becoming Silverstream's mate and ultimately causing her death. But Mosspelt has always been taught, from a young age, that no matter what Clan a cat is from, no matter what their rank is, you should never judge them for that. Only for their character.
It's the main reason why they have such a friendly and easy relationship; more often than not those two little kittens are out of the nest, playing out in the camp with their father and grandfather.
(The two new additions to RiverClan have eased off portions of the leader's grief, but even still, Mosspelt notices that Crookedstar is not the leader that once ruled RiverClan. He's changed.)
"Hey, you two," she meows one humid evening, watching as Featherkit looks up from where she's pinning her brother to the ground, an attentive look gleaming in her blue gaze. Mosspelt smiles, and then looks to the sky; it's getting dark, more gray and purple in the sky than pink and gold.
Featherkit follows her gaze, and than sighs, looking down at her brother and getting off him. "It's time to go inside, Storm," she tells him, frowning and sitting down, watching him get to his paws.
Stormkit huffs, flattening his ears to his head and looking over at Mosspelt. His amber eyes are wide, wider than they normally were, and pleading.
"Aw, Mosspelt," he cries, flicking his tail over Featherkit's muzzle and ducking a swipe from his sister. He twitches his whiskers. "Can't me and Featherkit stay out for just a little bit longer?"
She purses her lips; even though Crookedstar kept a strict curfew for kittens and young apprentices that said that they must be in their dens before dark, it wasn't yet night. Perhaps for just a while longer, and then she'd hustle them off to their nest.
Mosspelt smiles, padding over to give the space between Featherkit's
(she smells just like her mother it's like nothing of her can be traced to Graystripe or his side of the family-)
ears, and nosing Stormkit's cheek and relishing in the giggle it causes the tiny tomkit.
"Just a few more minutes," she meows, glancing down at them and twitching her whiskers. "After that, you two can go to the warriors den and say goodnight to your father, and then it's time to go to sleep."
Featherkit squeaks; her eyes widen in glee and she hops around her brother, pausing in front of Mosspelt and rubbing her cheek against her forelegs.
A powerful feeling wells in Mosspelt's chest, as she watches Stormkit pad up to her, reaching up to touch his nose against her muzzle. It causes her heart to thud in her ribcage, her smile to grow broader, and that fierce urge to protect these two kittens with her life grow even stronger.
Love, she thinks, bending down to touch her muzzle to both of their foreheads, purring. Even though, by blood, the pair weren't even hers, Mosspelt is certain that she loves them. More strongly than she could ever for another cat, she thinks.
You always love your kittens differently than your mate, Petaldust had told her as an apprentice, staring at her with only love and care in her amber gaze. It's stronger, more deep and profound. You'd do anything to protect them.
Mosspelt watches her foster kits play for their few additional minutes, calling out helpful tips to each of them when they begin to have a play fight session. She calls to them again, reminding them now that it was time to go and say goodnight to Graystripe.
Featherkit is triumphantly smirking, pawing at her twins muzzle and purring. "I beat you again, Stormkit! You're getting fat," she tells him, causing Stormkit to scoff in disapproval.
The silver tabby kitten scrunches up her muzzle. "Kinda like Dad."
"Hey now," Mosspelt pricks ears, and glances up, almost flushing when she sees Graystripe padding toward them, a humorous glint in his large yellow eyes. "I am not fat. This?" He takes a paw, gesturing to the long fur on his flanks. "Is mostly fluff."
"Mostly," Mosspelt echoes, twitching her whiskers when she sees Graystripe's gaze snap to her, and an brow is raised jokingly.
Graystripe snorts. "Well, I have muscle, you know."
Mosspelt tuts, leaning forward to poke the tom's side with her paw, almost bursting out laughing then and there when she sees half of her paw disappear into the fluffy mass of gray fur.
"That is not muscle," she tells him, grinning. "To be honest, I'm not even sure what that is."
The former ThunderClan warrior rolls his eyes, but still grinning at her. "You believe what you want to believe, Mosspelt."
She raises her muzzle in the air. "I suppose I will."
A yawn from Stormkit stops Graysripe from continuing what he wanted to say; both adults move their attention down to the two tiny kits by their paws.
"Looks like somebody's tired," Graystripe purrs, leaning down to push his nose against his son's forehead, and licking the space after a small moment.
Stormkit tilts back and forth a little; his eyes begin to droop, one almost closing completely. "Not me," he meows, shaking his head and yawning once again. "I mean, I'm a little tired, but."
"'But' nothing, little warrior." Mosspelt says, grabbing Stormkit's scruff and raising the tomkit above the ground. She looks to Graystripe, to see that he's already tending to Featherkit, but not before rubbing their noses together and cooing over his daughter. He grabs her scruff, and begins to follow Mosspelt to the nursery.
Once they're comfortably settled in the soft nest, Mosspelt watches as Graystripe sets Featherkit down next to her brother, the two kits immediately curling up together in a tight ball, with Stormkit's head on his sisters back, and her tail around his body.
"She's just like her mother," Graystripe meows, exasperatedly, and Mosspelt looks up to see his eyes glazed over, as if he's recalling a memory. "I see Silverstream in her more and more every day."
Mosspelt smiles weakly, nodding.
"Silverstream would be proud of you three, you know," she tells him, causing the fluffy gray tom's ears to prick up. "I know you hear it a lot, but it's true. She loved you, and these two, more than anything. You have to remember that."
He nods, sighing, and smiling down at her. "She'd be proud of you too," he tells her, and Mosspelt blinks, tail-tip twitching. "You don't give yourself nearly enough credit; if it wasn't for you, I'm not sure how I would've adjusted to RiverClan."
"Everyone likes you," she tells him quickly, shaking her head. "You're a natural at social interaction, Graystripe; sure, some cats are wary of you still, but no one outright hates you as an individual. It's not just me."
Graystripe laughs lightly. "We're a team, I guess."
Mosspelt purrs. "Yeah," she tells him, bumping his foreleg with her nose. "We are."
A pause goes between them, but it's comfortable at least.
"Goodnight, Graystripe," she says, allowing him to lick the space above her eye in a farewell. "Have good dreams."
"You too," he meows, flicking his tail and giving each of his kits a small lick of affection, before turning and padding off, disappearing through the reeds.
She watches him go, sighing softly and resting her head on her paws. She wraps her tail tighter around the two kittens, contentedly stirring in the light breeze that wafts through the nursery.