A/N: This is just a small idea that I was playing around with. I hope that you all liked it, and that I'll hear from some of you soon!
Once upon a warrior's dream, a mother could save her kits. Raise them, love them, adore them with all of her heart. She could keep them safe, even in battle, even in death, even in the grasp of the enemies claw.
Once upon a warrior's dream, Emberflight believed all of that. Her kits, she thought, would always be safe.
And in the glow of the moon, shining down on their still damp fur, Emberflight really believed it. Her kits had survived the river, and they were still strong. Still healthy. Just a little cold, a little wet, didn't even need the medicine cat to look at them.
They were safe.
Even as the badgers came, Emberflight's belief didn't waver. Her kits, grown warriors now, rarely left her sight. Where they went, she went, and not a sould dared to argue with her. Even the esteemed leader couldn't tear them apart.
Even as the walls of their camp were torn down, she looked after them only.
And in the glow of the moon, she saw her only son's blood be spilt. Firestorm was no match for the badger and Emberflight was not quick enough, her own hindleg wounded from the too-large claws.
Her belief was shaken.
Warriors ran around her, striken with fear. The badgers kept coming, pouring in through the bracken walls. There were so many of them, more then the Clan had ever seen before, and Emberflight was terrified. But her two daughters were still alive, and they were fleeing.
Warriors tried to stop her, from running towards the badger, but none could keep her from her kits.
And in the glow of the moon, Emberflight watched as Ripplestream and Flamebird were cornered by two badgers. She leapt at them, claws digging into one of the beasts neck - but there were two of them and only one of her, and Flamebird could not get away.
She was failing.
But Ripplestream managed to run, once more heading towards the nursury. There were kits in there and she did not want to leave them, mewling for mothers that would no longer come to them. Emberflight was bloodied and sore, red staining red and chest heaving, and she almost didn't get away from the badger.
But there was something in the nursury already, and Emberflight could see it's dark amber eyes.
And in the glow of the moon, she heard her final kit's cry. Her legs were stiff and could not carry her quick enough, and by the time she reached the den, Ripplestream was hanging from a badgers mouth.
Her faith was gone.
The Clan survived the battle, but barely. Those who could not manage to retreat were left. Those who could not walk on their own were left. Those who were not important were left. Emberflight was not among those who did not make it, but the trek was hard on her and she slept for many days after it.
The Clan could see that was with them, but that she was not really alive.
Once upon a warrior's dream, a mother was the only God that her kits believed in. She was their saviour and vowed to always protect them. And when that vow was broken...so was she.