It's a cold night. The kind signaling the inevitability of leaf-bare, accompanied only by the sound of cold wind and crunching leaves.
Calm footsteps make their way through the undergrowth, accompanied by a distinct sound of multiple pounces and stumbles. A small black kit tumbles through the bushes, a ball of moss tumbling forward out of its mouth. A squeak is released, and the kit leaps to it's feet in order to chase after the ball.
An adult who watches the kit stills momentarily, watching as the young one plays in the dark forest. A flash of sadness crosses the older cats face, though it's quickly replaced with a careful neutrality. One can never be too safe with this kit.
"Death." The older one speaks in a tone that leaves no room for anything but acknowledgement, and the kit stills at it's name being spoken.
"Yeah, mama?"
Tiny legs stumble back towards the mother, carrying the moss ball before sitting pretty, tail tucked around their little feet, still too big for their tiny body. Still so young.
"Promise me to never forget your name. There is meaning behind it. And some day you will understand it."
Death- the young black kit- tilts his head in confusion. Large red eyes stare up at his mother in confusion, before nodding with the utmost sincerity.
"I don't know how I could, but I won't!"
"Good." She smiles as though in pain, and then reaches out with a paw- hooks her claw into the moss ball sitting by Death's feet.
"Let's play."
The dark kit jumps to his paws in excitement, tail flicking as he squeaks and shouts in agreement, his tiny voice barely carrying.
The moss ball is thrown, sailing over a few bushes, and the kit is more than happy to chase after it, tiny body barely managing to crush the leaves he lands on. He doesn't hear, as his mother rushes off after that. Doesn't notice he's alone until he can't find her.
The only sounds left in the forest that night are the cold leaf-fall winds and a small kit, barely a moon old, wailing for his mother.
Her Clan is falling apart. Bitchstar watches it unfold every day that passes. Another stitch in the fabric holding her Clan together breaks, leading them progressively closer to the inevitability she knows may come.
It's a story that's been passed down for generations. From leader to deputy, and over again.
ClownClan had fallen apart once before. Albeit, back then it went by something different. ThingerClan? She had never been sure. They had fallen apart once, and come back together in a new camp- one left behind by the two-legs. Safely tucked inside of the large folds of fabric that keep the snow out in Leaf-bare. But it had taken long. So very, very long.
Not that she really gave two shits if ClownClan did fall apart- these motherfuckers really were a bunch of StarClan Damned Clowns. She just didn't want it to happen in her lifetime- to be stuck as the one responsible. She would literally prefer to take the rest of her own nine lives and watch Carroteye take the fall up in Cat Heaven, or Caven.
But she didn't want to die yet. So she finds herself, paws clasped together, praying to the holy cats above, to send her something to keep her Clan together. Just for long enough for her to almost get old. She's going to go before she gets old anyways.
Her sign comes to her in the form of a literal bitchslap, as it always does, and she finds herself with some mild respect for the cat who delivered it- that actually kind of hurt. A fair tails-up to whoever that was.
The bitchslap leaves her ears ringing, and a thousand voices echo within her mind, giving her what she's asked for.
'A cat of Death Unknown, Six Paws, and No Legs Together hold a Power unknown to even the Stars'
"What the fuck does that mean?"