Have you ever seen a kit die? I have.
It was a dark and stormy night. The night of a Gathering, actually, but nobody would go, obviously. Not in weather like this. No. Tonight would be the night, I told myself. So at midnight, sharp, I got up from my nest, and with a happy kind of flick of my tail, I was ready. My paws grew damp in the soggy mud, as I padded to the entrance of the MoonClan nursery, but I didn't care.
I slipped into the nursery quietly, my eyes fixed upon the slumped body of the kit. I slid up next to the young kit, who was gazing out of the back entrance of the den. "What are you doing?" I murmured. The kit turned toward me, eyes sharp with intelligence.
"Thinking of my mother," he mewed. He looked half happy, half sad. "Is she coming tonight?" I gave the kit a tiny little nod, and stood up.
"Would you like to come with me and get her?"
The kit sprang to his feet, a joyous expression painted on his face. "Of course," he cried.
The kit bounded up to his mother, who began to sob dryly when she saw him. "My kit," she whispered. "My beautiful, beautiful kit."
In reply, the kit only smiled. "Mother," he purred. "I've been waiting for you for so long." His eyes were large and young once again. "Is Lilyfoot okay?"
The she-cat gave a little laugh. "Yes, sweetie. She's fine."
As the two cats greeted each other after the many moons since the kit killing spree, I felt a prick on my neck. I turned to glare in the direction of the wicked tom who had torn apart the mother and son. He gave me a twisted little smile from the Dark Forest border, before turning and fleeing.
