Wow, it's been a long time since I've written, so cut me a bit of slack if I seem rusty. Either way, enjoy a story I've finally decided to touch on after many years. A bit of backstory: Years ago, a friend and I came up with four fan clans, those being Iceclan, Fireclan, Darkclan, and Lightclan. Original, right? We were 10, leave me be. But I've had several characters that I kept, along with these clans, that I felt needed to be developed. While Gingerspots, the main character of this story, isn't my personal cat, he does end up the uncle to my current cat, Icestorm. So, without further ado, the story.
Cries of alarm rang through the air as cat met cat in a fierce struggle, blood splattering the ground and fur flying. This was a scene that had been played out many times before, over and over for years upon years. The animosity between Fireclan and Iceclan had been ingrained into the minds of every kit born into both clans, until it had become just another common occurrence, such as the changing of the seasons. To fight like a Fireclan and Iceclan cat was a common saying when two cats would become hostile between each other, regardless of their clan of birth, with the origins being quite bloody. Out of all four clans, these two fought the hardest, and the most often, with their battles leading to the most deaths the clans had ever known.
On this moonless night, the two clans clashed once more on an island, one of the many along their border that was almost constantly changing owners. Tonight, however, Fireclan had the upper hand. A large, dark grey tom pushed himself away from another cat who had previously had its claws buried into his thick fur, looking around the battlefield in desperation. He called out to his clanmates, his deep voice echoing above the screeches, the hisses, and the snarls of each cat.
"Stand together, Iceclan! Do not let these mangy foxhearts drive us away!" he yowled, determination written on his broad face, golden eyes only enhanced by the framing of lighter grey around them. Another tom appeared from the fighting, nearly out of breath. He was all white, save for the golden stripe down his back and the blood from a gash on his shoulder. The cat seemed unsteady on his paws, but fierce nonetheless. His slender body swayed as he panted, growling for a moment as he glanced around at the fighting.
"Stormstar, we must retreat. We can't hold out much longer, and we've already lost Smokeytail to the fighting," Sunstripe gasped, joined soon by another grey tom, this one bearing white markings. His white tipped ears were flattened, the top of his nose torn open and oozing blood. The newcomer mewed his agreement, kneading anxiously at the ground as his thick, white striped tail lashed back and forth. Stormstar knew why he was so worried, as Warblerwing's mate, Lynxfang, would be kitting at the moment. With another look around, a resigned sigh left the leader, those broad shoulders of his slumping a bit in defeat.
"You are right, Sunstripe. We will not win tonight," he said in a softer voice, shaking his head. His voice rang out again, this time sounding the retreat, though almost halfheartedly. His warriors broke away from their battles as best they could, though he saw that many were battered even harder as they fled. They followed as he lead them back across the shallow stretch of water between the island and their own territory, the sting of defeat weighing heavy on him. The icy cold water numbed his paws but did nothing to numb his heart as the triumphant yowls of the rival clan sounded behind them. He gritted his teeth and pressed on towards home, trying to ignore the sounds as best he could, to no avail until they finally faded away into the night. The sounds of night closed in heavily around the fleeing cats, cutting them off from the cries of the victores and leaving them alone to reflect.
The camp was quiet when the defeated warriors returned, exhausted and battered. Warblerwing was the only cat who did not slump down upon returning, instead making his way towards the nursery almost immediately. He nearly ran straight into the brown tabby who was pushing his way out, looking quite startled by the appearance of the warrior. However, one glance around the camp put a spark into the young cat's eyes as he nodded, the fur around his shoulders fluffing up almost instantly.
"You're free to go in, Warblerwing. I promise nothing bad happened while you were out," Quillpaw meowed to the other tom, giving his shoulder a flick with his tail before racing off to the medicine cat den. Warblerwing blinked after him before pushing his way inside, eager to meet the kits he knew had come while the clan had been away fighting.
Darkwater was still with his mate, pushing some leaves towards her and giving soft instructions, her head bowed and a tired look in her eyes. They had obviously been there for a while, as the kitting had started not long after the war party had departed. As he approached, the medicine cat sat up, turning her head towards him and offering a soft purr.
"Well, look who's back," the pale grey tabby said. "You're the proud father of three kits, Warblerwing," she added, moving closer to him and lowering her voice. "However… the little she-cat is very weak and I don't know if she'll make it. I know you lost two kits with your first litter, so I'm hoping that this one won't go as well. But… We'll just have to wait and see." The tom nodded, his tail drooping slightly, moving aside to let the medicine cat leave. He turned towards Lynxfang with a brighter expression on his face, approaching the nest and crouching down next to her, purring in response to his mate's own purr.
"They're beautiful, aren't they, my love?" she murmured, nuzzling his cheek gently. Her voice sounded tired, the she-cat leaning against him as the two gazed down at their kits.
"Yes, of course they are. They're ours, and that makes them the best kits in the world," he rumbled in return, puffing up with pride as he looked down upon his children. A little grey and white tom, just like him, a ginger and grey tom, and a silver tabby she-cat. "What shall we name them?" he asked, turning his blue gaze back to the brown she-cat.
"I was thinking Icekit for the one who looks like you, Gingerkit for his brother, and Featherkit for the little she-cat," the new mother purred quietly. Her mate nodded in agreement, gazing down at his kits lovingly.
"I think those names are just perfect," he responded, his voice no more than a whisper. She leaned her head against him and the two remained close, watching over their newest litter in contented silence and simply enjoying each other's presence.
And there you have it, the beginning, albeit a short one. I plan to upload as often as I can. I do work and all that, so it may be hard to find time or the motivation.