Prologue
Judging by the look of Smallflower's kits, Herontail had some speculations. Of course, her mate, Thornbush, looked proud enough, standing by the three kits. Herontail had never seen a prouder tom in his long years of life.
Forcing the parents from the den, however, he did notice that two of the kits were similar to Smallflower- the only daughter and the second born son. The young she-kit had wavy dark, dark fur, a tan colored stomach, and the bright blue eyes of a kit. Her brother had lighter brown fur, and a white underbelly, with white paws. His eyes were still closed.
The littermates did indeed look like Smallflower. They were healthy looking- the she-kit a little too small for her age, but good enough. But the first born tom, with a gold colored pelt and white dustings of fur, looked nothing like his parents.
He looked uncomfortably a lot like the deputy of Birdclan.
Herontail said nothing to the parents. It wasn't his place.
He didn't care much for Thornbush. Smallflower was his kin, his siblings first litter. He cared for her deeply, but this was her news to tell, if she ever planned to.
No, Herontail's main concern was for the she-kit. Just two days after the birth, the small kit had almost died. A lung failure. Herontail had barely managed to keep her alive. He was grateful for his apprentice. Without her, he would have never been able to revive the small kit.
Herontail had observed, feeling like an old grandfather, which was almost essentially what he was to her, the little kit. He watched her grow, too fast, in his opinion. However, he couldn't stay for long before his own passing was there.
He was there, however, when Thornbush came to the realization. It was one hell of a night, Herontail keeping the kits with him, tucked closely against him, as they cowered from their yowling parents.
Thornbush calling the golden kit, Sunkit, he was called, obscenities Herontail wouldn't have dreamed of. He followed suit with the other two soon enough. The other tom, Elmkit, was turned away from the cat he had believed was his father, racked with sadness. And the little kit, Everkit, watched the whole thing with eyes wide. They had slowly turned from blue to a cold shade of brown, dark and unyeilding. They were nothing like her mother's eyes, playful and sparkling.
When her adoptive father turned on her, ignoring the pleading of Smallflower, she stared unblinking into Thornbush's eyes, cold and unbetraying of emotion. She looked bored, even.
Thornbush had stopped mid-yowl and left.
It was that very next morning when Grasspaw had found Thornbush's body, downstream. He had jumped, presumebly, rather to spend his time sulking in Starclan than except his wife's story.
This was Herontail's first sign that there was something a little off about Everkit.
Smallflower was overcome be grief. Some believed, whispers among the clan, that she would soon follow. She sat by his side all night. As did. most the clan. They valued Thornbush, but they held no hostility towards Smallflower about what she had done. They were sympathetic. They were kind, even though they had the full right to not be.
Elmkit had pressed his nose briefly in his adoptive father's fur before turning away. Sunkit was besides himself. Elmkit didn't let him pay respects. He didn't think he deserved it.
Herontail offered Thornbush the same farewell as Elmkit. He had retreated to the end of the clearing when Everkit, out of nowhere, approached her adoptive father's body.
Elmkit appeared curious at the bloated appearance of his drowned body. She never came within a foot of him. After circling around him three or four times, she sniffed, and turned, and vanished into the shadows of the clan.
Herontail's worry was forming in the pit of his stomach, but the old cat did nothing.
As their kit days past, Sunkit and Elmkit always in the clearing, scuffling, Everkit was the one who beat them in every fight, clawed them until they mewed their pain.
Smallflower was falling into a mentally unstable routine. Herontail did his best to look after his niece, but it was hard. Greencough season had come, and he had a clan to look after.
Sunkit and Elmkit had the most trouble, health wise. They caught sicknesses like magnets. Elmkit never had a hair out of place. It was bothering, and unheard of. Not even a cough.
Herontail soon brought Goldenclaw to Smallflower. The true father of her kits, Herontail had gone to Birdclan and practically begged the deputy to come. When it was apparent that Goldenclaw wanted nothing to do with Smallflower, he had seen the kits.
Herontail had lumbered into the nursery that day, drawn out the three kits (frightened, upon seeing Everkit simply staring at the wall) and had them dusted off the best he could, before bringing them to Goldenflower.
Goldenflower took a special interest in the kits. Sunkit looked like him, and the kit was proud. Elmkit had seemed more at peace, but when Goldenflower moved to Everkit, she stared at him with her cold eyes.
Goldenflower had recoiled, demanding to know what was wrong with the emotionless kit. And Everkit spoke her first words to her father,
"You have ruined my family."
She turned on her paw and left, her walk too graceful for a kit, too fast for one, away from the clearing.
Herontail passed soon after, making his way to Starclan.
Leaving Everkit to her own story.