Fading Stars – A Desperate Hope
It had been nearly two moons since Sparkpelt had found out about her kits, and after her regular deliveries of what prey she could catch, the Clans agreed to send their last remaining medicine cat to check her out. Willowbreeze had worked efficiently, confirming the presence of tiny lives inside of her.
The truth was that Sparkpelt was worried.
She had heard the numerous stories of kittens being taken away by Twolegs, some turning up in nests near to their parents, some seemingly disappearing. And now, as she lay on the soft rock that now had her scent imbued into it, she formulated a plan. Her rotund belly, with kits squirming inside, seemed heavier, like they knew their fates.
Sparkpelt was not going to let that happen.
She got up from her place, going out of the flap that the Twolegs had had the foresight to place in their entrance, and scaled the fence with some difficulty. Walking briskly, as if she had every right to be there, she trotted to the park.
Spotting the gnarled bush was easy enough once she got there. It lay near the pond, far away from the strange Twoleg nest. Sparkpelt crawled under the bush and started to dig out a large indent. She avoided the bush's twisting roots, eventually managing to make a large dip in the bush.
What else was in the nursery? She asked herself, trying to think back to her hazy memories of kithood, when it had all been just that bit easier. She thought of how unguarded this spot seemed, so she headed outside.
That was how she found herself clawing lengths of bramble from another bush, weaving them into the gnarled one. As a kit, she'd watched, fascinated, when a warrior came to repair the nursery after bad weather had struck.
That task done, with a pricked paw to show for it, Sparkpelt rushed to the nearest tree to collect some moss.
The moss she had collected was wet, but Sparkpelt knew that it would dry in the time that she was gone. She stuffed it into the dip, looking at the cosy scene awaiting her.
Emergency den complete, she trudged back to the Twolegs, confident in her plan.
It was only a quarter moon later that she needed it.
As she watched the sunhigh sky, Sparkpelt felt a small pain. It was probably nothing, she tried to tell herself, all the while moving to the park. She needed to see if there were any damages to her den, after all.
By the second contraction, just when she had reached the park, Sparkpelt knew that the time had come.
Taking some moss from a tree and trying to focus on her task, she dipped it in the pond, carrying it to her den. She found a mouse sniffing at seeds and slammed into it, then retreated with her kill and her moss.
Inside the cosy den, Sparkpelt felt a pang of familiarity as she gazed upon it. As her world narrowed and shrank to the small area of her and her nutrition, she groaned.
It seemed like it had been a moon before the first kit slid out, and as she looked at her son she noticed his dark ginger pelt, smiling sadly at the reminder of her brother. Another tom, this time a dark tabby, soon followed, mewling, as she bent to lick it. A she-cat soon followed, with a white underbelly and a sparrow-brown top. And finally, her youngest, a pure ginger she-cat.
She purred as she looked at them all, before realising that she was both parched and starving.
She drank thirstily, before eating the mouse with all of the poise and elegance of a ravenous fox. When only bones remained, she turned back to her young.
The dark tabby and dark ginger cats had to be Bramblekit and Alderkit. Of that she was certain. However, she didn't want to name the she-cats after anyone – she wanted to choose new names for them.
She remembered some of Purdy's stories, involving a version of Mothermouth – the Clans' old liaison point with StarClan, and orangey stuff called copper that shone dully.
"You will be Copperkit." She rested her muzzle lightly on the dark ginger kit, who squeaked in response.
She turned to the tabby-and-white kit, noting her lithe build and her colouring.
"You will be Sparrowkit." She intoned, before settling down to sleep, kits pressing against her.