The mountains were rather bleak before dawn.
It was an endless field of gray. The slanted ground with flat breaks, where the only color were the hints of grass and shrubs. Even then, they were few and far between. Further up than the den, a silver-blue and white waterfall rushed down. The river it fed into wasn't very far from the rocky, make-shift den three young cats sat under. The sky before the sun rose was just as bleak and grey, but kept the warmth of night in its edges.
It was not pretty. But the smell of the sea from several, several eagle-wings below, the warmth of littermates and the dirty, warm scent was so comforting. Ivy wouldn't wish to be anywhere else.
Ivy and her littermates, Cotton and June, had a bit of a schedule. Their mother would leave the den at half-high moonset, while her kits were sleeping. She would return when the sky was gray, too fast for the sun to be there. She never came home when the sky had color.
So, when their mother didn't come home when the sun's pink claws made themselves known, they were a bit worried.
Cotton, the biggest worrier of the triplets, was pacing. June, the most stoic, had his front legs crossed and his tan tail tapping impatiently. Ivy, the smallest, last born, and most stupid, was idally watching the waves crash into the rocks down below. They were louder and more violent now that the sun was rising. The wind picked up, blowing Ivy's fur just enough for it to move.
The breeze carried the salty, dusty scent of the ocean and rocks. The warmth of the waterfall and the river was stronger. Suddenly, another warm scent struck Ivy. It made her heart stop a moment as it hit her nose. Cotton, behind her, quit pacing and June stared ahead, wide-eyed.
It was dirty, a bit like the smell that monsters made when they tumbled through the mountains on unsteady paws. Or maybe the scent that filled a cat's mouth as they ended a prey's life. Cotton flattened her ears to her head and stepped up beside Ivy. The scent was coming from ahead of them, only brought by the wind.
June hopped to his huge tan paws, padding in front of his siblings. "Come on," he mewed. Cotton quickly followed, a pawstep away from their brother's shoulder. Ivy hopped down off the ledge, following a half-tail behind them.
"Is it a good idea to leave?" asked the white she-cat, waving her tail, "I mean, all of us. Wh-what if that smell is a cougar? Or a monster? What if mom comes home and she sees all of her kits gone?"
June flicked his ear but didn't respond.
The littermates continued to hop down outcrops and skid down ledges. Their den was several eagle-wings away when they came across a small waterfall. None of them had ever been this far from home before, but the scent was getting stronger. They took another few steps down, and the river thinned out to two tail lengths beside them. On the other side was a lump of red. The wind didn't change direction, but all three cats knew that was the source.
"Buzzardfood," Ivy muttered. But then the lump shifted, and all three of the cats were taken aback. Cotton was the first cat to leap across, making it with several pawsteps to spare. She didn't take any time to appreciate making it before stepping right into the blood and leaning over the lump. She soon turned, wide-eyed, toward her siblings and called them over with a wave of her red-stained tail.
June hopped over next on heavy paws. Ivy made it with the least room to spare. She felt her heart drop when she saw what the lump truly was. A plump cat, her fur tan where the blood hadn't touched. Her tailtip was white, and her paws, underbelly and muzzle would've been as well. Her usually so green eyes were dull and dark.
"Mom," Ivy managed to choke out, her voice high-pitched and broken. Their mother reached one very shaky red paw toward June. Her gaze seemed lost, like she saw something beyond her kits.
"Be strong," was all she managed to mew before her paw fell and her eyes clouded. Cotton let out a loud cry, burying her previously white muzzle into their mother's red neck. Ivy felt her heart shatter in her chest but couldn't bring herself to move forward.
June closed his eyes, but Ivy couldn't quite bring herself to do that either. The three stayed like that for a very long time, Cotton crying into their mother's pelt, June and Ivy merely watching. A few pawsteps before sunhigh, a large patrol of cats stood on the ledge under them. In the head was a huge, scarred ginger cat.
"Leave," growled the cat, "You're not welcome here and that's for the buzzards."
"That's our mother!" Cotton barked.
The ginger cat flicked her ear. "So?"
June reached forward and tapped his paw against Cotton's tail. He gave her a look and, very slowly and reluctantly, the white she-cat stood. That wasn't enough for the ginger she-cat, though. She hopped up to the step that Ivy and her family stood on. First, she shoved their mother down off the ledge, where her cats tore her body apart even more. She then stared at Ivy, a malicious fire in her eyes, and tore an unsheathed claw through her ear tip.
"Hey!" June barked, shooting forward and nipping at the she-cat's paw. The she-cat struck back, scoring across his muzzle before bounding back a few steps.
"If I ever see the three of you together in these mountains again," she snarled, lashing her tail and turning her head down in a fighting stance, "Your mother won't be the only one dead."
June took a step back, his hackles risen. Ivy had shot to her sister, the cut on the tip of her ear slipping down the base and dripping onto her face. June sighed and turned around.
"You heard her," he mewed, defeatedly. His green eyes were dull and tired, whiskers and ears droopy. "Go your own ways."
Ivy glanced between each of her siblings, then the rows of stronger, bigger warriors that stood over their mother's corpse. Somehow, she looked even bloodier. Ivy squared her shoulders and tapped her nose to June's own, and then Cotton's.
"I'll miss you," she mewed, "Take care."
She hopped up the ledge, a tail-length high, and dashed off. Never to see her siblings again.