Prologue: The Rabbit and The Bird
Petalstep let out a slow breath and exited from the acrid–smelling medicine cat den. She could feel her body starting to contract as the she-cat began to walk stiffly to a gray tabby across the BrushClan camp. The tom was about to grab prey from the fresh-kill pile as he saw mottled orange and black fur out of his peripheral vision. He lifted his head and faced the anxious medicine cat.
"Ryewhisker, they're coming, I can feel it. We have to get out of here." her soft voice pleaded anxiously.
Ryewhisker nodded slowly to show that he understood, then turned around with a flick of his tail. The pair of lean felines trotted briskly through the gorse and out into the grassy plains. The air was warm and stagnant, no wind was rustling the blades and few birds were flitting back and forth amongst the overcast sky.
The tortoiseshell stopped in her steps and tightly clamped her eyes shut as a ripple of pain spasmed through her torso. Clenching her teeth and letting out a hissing breath, her claws dug into the earth, leaving small grooves. The thin tabby paused and turned back to look at her her with an expression of concern on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a trembling voice.
"We have to move faster," the shivering medicine cat whispered, and dragged herself in front of the taller cat.
Now walking with a new sense of urgency punctuated by the pregnant she-cat gritting her teeth, they soon arrived at the BrushClan border. After the pair had staggered past the scent markers, the contractions became more frequent. Petalstep soon found that she was unable to keep walking and lay on her side underneath a large briar patch. Her bobbed tail was flicking in agitation, and she flinched again, her eyes narrowed to slits.
"Ryewhisker, please - AH - get me a thick stick, There was one - ARGH - a few fox-lengths to the left," she managed to sputter out between the labor pains. The gray warrior leapt from the bush, anxious to help his mate in the best way he could, and after a few seconds of searching found one. Holding the stick in his jaws, Ryewhisker returned to his mate and gently nuzzled her, placing the small branch in front of her. With a growl of resolve, she clamped it between her teeth.
Breathing heavily, there was barely a few seconds of peace between the contractions. Petalstep was biting into the wood with all her might so that it began to splinter. Her mate, fur bristled with worry, could do nothing but stand beside her and watch her.
Exhaling sharply as a contraction caused her body to spasm, the medicine cat's usually calm face contorted with pain and she pushed. A growl emanated from her throat and her fangs gouged into the stick as some of the pressure she felt was relieved. A small wet bundle lay on the ground beside her. Ryewhisker, ever so attentive, swiftly began to lick the warm fluid and blood off of the small kit. The warrior purred, nudging the tiny, black mewling mass closer to its mother. The black and white kit gave off tiny mewls before it nuzzled into the warm curve of her stomach, its bobbed tail pointed upwards and its fur wet and soft.
Petalstep lay panting, sharing none of the relief Ryewhisker had. The stocky she–cat gripped the stick firmly, saliva crawling out of her mouth, and stared meaningfully at her mate. The look in her vivid green eyes which were dim with pain told him that another kit was about to be born.
A low growl ripped from Petalstep and the stick, crackling as if aflame, snapped into two. Another kit was then wriggling in the dirt, mewling loudly, and was quickly cleaned by the attentive tongue of Ryewhisker. It was then directed to his mother, who was loudly panting yet relieved that the procedure was over.
Petalstep visibly relaxed, spitting the splinters of wood out of her mouth. She glanced with tired yet nonetheless loving eyes at Ryewhisker, and the two cats paused to calm down in the lull of the moment.
The small black shapes at her flank were identical save for one, had her bobbed tail. The pair of toms were pitch black with soft white underbellies, paws, and each had a small white dash up the bridge of their nose. Their eyes were squeezed shut.
The kits' tiny paws kneaded and suckled as their mother and father touched noses. Ryewhisker gave Petalstep a swift lick on her cheek.
"You did great, my love... They're beautiful," the gray tom purred, love evident in his tone.
The medicine cat closed her eyes and gave a tired smile. "I have the perfect names for them," she croaked and reopened her eyes to look intently into her mate's blue eyes.
"This one is Warrenkit," she stated and licked the first born tom on the head. It squirmed but resumed its suckling. Ryewhisker laughed with joyous mirth. Petalstep resumed her explanation, her voice eager with renewed vigor: "His tail looks like a rabbit's, and I hope he will be as sharp and as swift as one."
The orange and black medicine cat then nuzzled the younger kit, who lay still but was fierily suckling. "And he will be Ravenkit, because his fur is as dark as a raven's feather. I hope he will be as sly and as clever as one."
For the next few moments, all was silent save the purring of the new mother and father as they curled next to each other, the kits between them. As the soft pitter patter of drizzling rain became apparent around the bushy clump of briar, Petalstep raised her head, breaking the spell of silence.
Suddenly, worry and fear for the future crashed into her like waves on the beach. Lifting her head to gently gaze at her mate, Petalstep's eyes were dewy. "Ryewhisker... What will we do?" she asked sadly. "I'm a medicine cat. If our kits are discovered, I will stripped of my rank and the kits could be treated as outcasts." Her green eyes flicked towards the small shapes nestled against her and felt overcome with ferocious yet bitter love.
Ryewhisker paused, thinking, then curled his long tail around the smaller cat. "Smokethroat and Rosebelly will be entrusted with Warrenkit and Ravenkit... They can keep a secret," he meowed level–headedly as he rose to his paws in one fluid motion.
Ryewhisker looked slightly concerned as Petalstep uncomfortably adjusted her laying position, yet he did not argue and instead looked down to the sleeping newborns. With a moment's hesitation, the warrior left her and the far off sound of thunder rolled across the plains.
The svelte tabby's long legs carried him swiftly across the grasslands, the rhythm of the falling rain had become much melodic and its noise matched the sounds of his pawsteps thudding across the dirt like drumbeats. As the form of the tall, dead tree that stood in the center of his clan's camp grew more apparent on the horizon, Ryewhisker ran faster. His long tail streamed behind him and his gaze was hardened with determination.
The warrior ducked through the parting in the gorse and looked around the clearing, relieved to see no cats around. Tasting the air, Ryewhisker followed Rosebelly's and Smokethroat's scents into the warriors' den. The short deep gray tom and the orange tabby were sitting next to each other on the far end of the den.
Smokethroat was whispering something to Rosebelly, who looked despondent. Ryewhisker approached them, panting heavily and feeling his pelt grow heavy with each step from the rain soaking it.
"Smokethroat," he said, "please come with me- it concerns your sister."
Both of the warriors looked up, "What do you mean?" questioned the orange she-cat, a tone of concern highlighting her voice.
Ryewhisker glanced around warily. "Please come with me," he meowed more firmly and pivoted to the exit. The two warriors behind him shared a uncertain look yet nonetheless followed suit. All three cats moved quietly out of the nearly empty camp.
Ryewhisker, Rosebelly, and Smokethroat had broken into a sprint to reach the briar patch. On the way there, adrenaline coursed through Ryewhisker's veins to think of what the two senior warriors would make of Petalstep's scenario.
When the trio paused before the briar patch, the tabby tom motioned under the bush with his nose. Smokethroat crept under first with an aura of slight suspicion, and the two others followed suit. Indignation wormed its way onto the stocky tom's expression as he saw his sister with the two kits nuzzled into her.
"What is this! You're a medicine cat!" he snarled softly as Petalstep looked away. Rosebelly put her tail on his flank and gave him a warning look. Smokethroat snorted and averted his eyes from the tortoiseshell.
The other she-cat knelt down to get a better look at the little squirming toms, a soft smile appeared on her features.
"Rosebelly.." the tortoiseshell began "I know your kits were stillborn a couple days ago..."
The orange she-cat visibly stiffened, sadness flickering in her gaze.
"However, I know your milk hasn't run dry yet. I don't want to take my kits to the clan yet, they look exactly like my mother and one has my tail. I fear I'll be found out," Petalstep explained tiredly.
Thunder rumbled across the sky once more.
"I want you and Smokethroat to help me care for them. It's the middle of greenleaf and prey is plentiful; the clan is at peace. Cats have more leisure time. It wouldn't be suspicious of us to be leaving camp for a few hours and returning. You and me can feed the kits and the toms can watch them between feedings," Petalstep reasoned out her plan to the group an regained her brothers attention. After a short pause, she protectively covered her two kits with a foreleg and feebly added: "Please."
Ryewhisker nodded in agreement and Rosebelly wrapped her tail around her paws. Smokethroat sighed before reluctantly complying. A fork of lightning split the sky and the ground danced with the spray of the rainfall.
