It was cold, freezing. The wind howled, tree branches rattled, and stones on the ground were tossed aside, lightning flaring every now and then.
The kit cuddled to its mother's side, scared, tired, and hungry, shifting slightly to get milk, and finding that the she-cat was producing none. The she-cat bent and licked the top of the wailing kit's head, the storm raging outside and causing frightening sounds and images to play before the young kit's eyes.
The she-cat had taken shelter in an a small dug out cave, the faint, stale smell of foxes still clung to it, but the she-cat had all ready gotten rid of them by that point.
Underground, but still somewhat cold, the she-cat wrapped her tail around the wailing kit, trying to bring comfort, but hunger gnawed at the she-cat, her sides thin, her ribs protruding visibly. Not knowing what else to feed the hungry kit, the she-cat made a one last ditch effort to heave herself to her paws, and nuzzled the kit into a small bed of moss, poorly made, but still warm from the mother's fur, before the she-cat braved the storm, in the hopes of finding food, if not for herself, then for her hungry kit.
With the wind howling, pulling her side to side, making sight all but impossible, the she-cat could only think of her kit, and how she regretted that she had only brought the kit into life to die, all because the she-cat could not stand the thought of her clan finding out.
...
The kit mewled pitifully, hunger gnawing so greatly at its belly, it could barely walk as it left the den, the morning's light warming its fur, a startling contrast compared to the coldness the kit faces alone that night in the storm.
The kit mewled for its mother pitifully, with each step and mewl, its voice and body grew weaker and weaker, until finally it collapsed in silence, not far from the den its mother had made, every few seconds, a light mewl, barely audible, came from it. The kit tried desperately to raise its head, to get up, but found it couldn't, so it stayed down, resting. Sleep started to cloud its mind as a rustling near by came, and a she-cat emerged
Carrying a mouse, the she-cat walked over to the kit, dropping the mouse, and sniffing at it lightly, before turning back to a tom that was followed by a kit, at least four moons old.
The she-cat laid on its side, and nudged the kit to her stomach, encouraging her to drink.
The she-cat gave airy mewls of happiness as it drank, trying to take as much as it could to stop the ache. The she-cat nudged the kit to slow its drinking, before turning to the tom and saying something. The tom nodded, and left the kit with the she-cat, before walking some ways away. It was nearly an hour before the tom returned, carrying the limp body of a she-cat, its' paws bloody, and muddy, from digging in the ground.
He set the body near the she-cat nursing the kit, and nodded, before heading near the den, starting to dig in the soft ground for a grave.
The she-cat licked the kit a few times, calming the kit's mewls, and nodded to her own kit.
…
The kit was only three moons old, when adopted by this new couple, but the kit refused to leave the den its real mother had found. Having no other choice, the couple set up a den near by.
The she-cat eventually became pregnant with another kit, and the tom taught the tom kit, and the orphaned she-cat kit some fighting moves, and tried to teach them how to fight, but on the night of the newest additions' birth, the five cats were attacked by a rogue group of cats. The tom fought desperately to defend them, scaring the flank of the leading tom, but the wounds were to great, and the tom died.
The she-cat was distraught and grew ill. Unable to care for her, the kits could only watch as the she-cat died of illness, and left them with the task of caring for the kit.
The tom kit took the bodies of his parents, and buried them near as the she-cat kit tried to hunt by herself for the first time. She tried hard, but was only able to catch a single mouse, before returning with her measly catch.
They gave as much as they could to the kit, before finishing off the rest, and sleeping in a hungry silence.
..
It has been seven moons, since the she-cat kit's original mother died. She still lives in that den, on the outskirts of the territories of the two clans, Logclan, and Thornclan. The she-cat remembered her mother talking of clan life, of the ways of a warrior, but found she could not bring herself to try and join on the the clans.
The tom kit lived near by with his younger sister, the two living peacefully, and not longer after the death of his parents, they found and nursed back to health another cat, a loner and ex-kittypet.
Not knowing the proper way to hunt made life hard for the four of them, though the loner knew some tricks. They spent almost the entire day hunting for food, and at the end, they'd all take it to the outside of the she-cat's den, sharing their catch equally, and grooming each other, to keep away ticks and flees.
The four cats lived mostly in their own separate dens in their small territory, in constant threat of a rogue and his two underlings attacking. They each had little combat skill, and now, felt that if nothing was done, they would truly be eradicated.
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The prologue is kinda short, but only becouse I wanted to leave out the clan cats. Next chapter will be longer, and all the cats in this will have names and descriptions.
I want to point out, that this is not nearly the most depressing thing that is going to happen, and by the end of the fanfic, this may be rated M due to that fact.
This chapter really was depressing.