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She knew that she was supposed to adore every little thing about them and all, but, honestly, Daisy was cold and she was weary and would they ever stop that crying?
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she made the decision while sitting in a warm nest, with her kits sleeping peacefully and being decidedly un-annoying. And, once she spent more than a few heartbeats in the brisk Leaf-fall wind, she was certain that her original choice to leave (and with kits as well) hadn't been thought out at all.
Of course, she couldn't and wouldn't return. Sure, the high-pitched, constant squeaking got on her already-frayed nerves more that the chill ever could, and sure, she had perhaps made her decision too quickly, but the original problem still stood.
She had to get away.
Not for her sake, of course. Sure, it stung a bit, watching Smoky and Floss flaunt their love so soon after Smoky had been her mate, but she could survive. It was her kits' lives that Daisy feared for.
She watched in half-hearted concern as the tiny figures stumbled once again, unaccustomed to such a long journey.
Sure, she cared for her kits very much, but didn't the little furballs understand that this journey was for their own good? Did they want to be taken away by greedy nofurs, to spend a life slaving away catching mice in some faraway barn? But of course not. They were too young to understand anything like that, even if she explained it as clearly as they could. At just a bit over a moon old, they could only string together the simplest of words, and their understanding went no deeper than milk and sleep.
Right now, they wanted sleep. Even as she nudged them onwards through the spiky brambles, they protested to her cold, forceful nose with desperate, tired mewls. It was only when her smallest kit (for she hadn't given them names yet – best not to get too attached in case the nofurs did find them) curled up into a stubborn little ball of fuzz on the ground, unwilling to take another step, that she relented.
When she stopped short, her dappled gray tom-kit asked as best he could, "We sleep now? Where's barn?"
Realizing that she wouldn't be able to get the kits to continue unless she carried them, Daisy answered reluctantly. "Fine, you can sleep now. But we won't be going back to the barn any time soon. Think of it as an adventure!"
Appeased, the kit muttered, "Adventure…" and curled up next to his sister.
Well, it didn't look like they would be getting any farther until next morning, especially as her third kit, the only one who shared her coloring, parted his jaws in a yawn so massive that it didn't fit his petite frame.
Resigned to stay the night, she efficiently pulled up a bit of the tough, stringy grass that grew on the moorland to make a nest of, but she rejected it in favor of simply curling up around her kits and sleeping on the bare ground.
However, with jagged clumps of soil and grass underneath her, even the reassuring sound of her kits' breathing couldn't lull her to sleep quickly enough. Perhaps that ended up as a good thing, though, for even as she squirmed discreetly, torn between trying to get comfortable and not wanting to wake her kits, she heard voices. And they were very close.
"And this, Weaselpaw, is where ThunderClan marked their border. You can smell it, that moldy stink of the forest, can't you? Remember it well; you will more than likely fight these cats one day. If any of those mangy squirrel-eaters trespasses, well, you know what to do, right, Weaselpaw?"
A second, less mature voice that could only belong to this "Weaselpaw" responded eagerly, "Of course! We'll rip the fur off their flanks and chase them until their paws bleed!"
There were certainly several things Daisy heard that she didn't understand, but there were also several things that she could. Trespassers was one example. Fight, rip, chase, bleed.
In other words, bad news. A sign that she should run as far and as fast as possible.
But she couldn't leave her kits, not after all she had gone through to protect them.
"C'mon, kits! Time to wake up! How about we play a little game?" It was whispered so quietly that it was a wonder they heard.
One by one, agonizingly slowly, each kit blinked awake. Somehow, though they were half asleep and were only, after all, a moon and a few days old, they still each had the capacity to look at her like she was insane. If the situation had been different, Daisy might've laughed, but, in their current predicament, she just used her tail to boost them into standing.
The voices were getting louder, and still discussing terribly violent things, and now Daisy could even smell a scent to connect to the sounds. It was a sort of dull, muted scent that just reminded her of the air on a breezy day. But, whatever they smelled like, she definitely didn't want the owners of that scent to find her.
What could she do…? She could hide, she supposed, but the only available places on the flat, endless ground were inside prickly thorn bushes, and she didn't want her eyes scratched out, thank you very much! Besides, they would probably scent her, and then she would be nothing but trapped prey. She could run, but that would be the most difficult option, with three slow, helpless kits to escort. Or, she could fight. That would certainly be the easiest option to get into, but after that? She was as good as dead, if the cats' discussions were any hint of how they fought. And, again, she would have to defend her kits as well. None of her options stood out as particularly appealing.
Oh, but there was one more. She could always try begging. It had worked on Floss or Smoky a few times, when she wanted the best piece of prey, or a companion for a stroll. If her past was any indication, she was rather talented at getting others to do what she wanted.
It was a risky bet, especially since these were wild cats that she was dealing with, and were therefore vicious and unpredictable, but it was also the way that seemed the least likely to get her killed.
As the precious heartbeats ticked by, she prepared herself both physically and mentally. First, she carefully flattened out any of her fur that may have risen out of fear. Eyes wide, but not enough to make her look particularly strange. Tail and ears half-lowered. She had to look meek without seeming like a scaredy-cat. Contrary to what Floss seemed to believe, things like this took time, effort, and skill. She didn't get cats to help her by sitting still and acting mouse-brained.
Okay, she just had to pretend to be speaking to some cat she knew. It was only Smoky, and she was trying to persuade him to let her eat the plumpest, freshest mouse in the barn. It was that simple.
All of that took a few heartbeats at most – she still hadn't been caught yet. And it was better that she approach first. If she didn't act at that instant, they would find her before she wanted them to. Releasing a deep breath, she stepped out from the cluster of brambles that had been shielding her, just as the cat who was named "Weaselpaw" cried, "Intruders! I can smell them!"
"Oh, please don't hurt me," she started, before even looking at who she was talking too. There were two tomcats. The smaller, younger one, who she guessed was Weaselpaw, had a startlingly ginger-striped pelt, with just as brilliantly shining white paws. The older cat, the one who seemed to be some sort of instructor to Weaselpaw, was lean and wiry, with a barbed pelt the color of storms.
Hopefully they wouldn't be too difficult to convince.
"I didn't realize other cats already lived here! It's just… my poor kits… we have nowhere to stay, and I'm afraid they'll freeze if I can't find them shelter soon…"
With that, she flattened one ear and looked down, as though in sadness. She was expecting, perhaps, murmurs of sympathy or maybe an offer to stay the night. What she wasn't expecting, however, was a muttered, "Your charm won't work on us, trespasser. What did I teach you to do to intruders, Weaselpaw?"
She gulped…she knew what would come next. The ginger tom's eyes sparked. "Drive. Them. Away." With each word, he stepped closer, and despite his youth and size, he made an intimidating figure.
Daisy was not at all ashamed to admit that she turned tail in that instant and fled. She spared a few valuable heartbeats to grab the she-kit in her jaws, and bid her sons to hang on to her tail with their teeth.
She was being pursued, she could tell, but, even with the weight of three kits to drag along, they hadn't caught her yet. And the wild cats had very lithe builds – all the better for speed. Perhaps her pleading hadn't been pointless after all; if they hadn't caught her and killed her yet, it was most logical to assume that they were reluctant to harm a defenseless queen and her kits.
But she couldn't count on that to last forever. She had to escape to a place that gave some semblance of safety, at the very least.
For the moment, that place was simply forward.
She didn't know how long they stumbled forward – it seemed like days, but it couldn't have been long, as the wild cats were still close behind, but never quite catching up.
Her legs faltered and gave up when something popped up ahead of them. It was a flowing creek – smaller and less menacing than an actual river, but more swollen than a stream or brook.
It stretched past the horizons of her vision, with no ending in sight. She couldn't go around it, and she couldn't stay put. The two cats chasing her had been merciful so far, but eventually their patience would snap. Whether or not it was true that they lined their nest with the bones of other cats and could turn into lions at will, she wouldn't be the one to find out.
That meant that crossing the water would be her only option. It didn't look that deep, and the water was relatively clear instead of the murky swirls she would expect. Still, it wasn't exactly her first choice. It was already rather cold out, and at least some of what she had told the wild cats was true – if she didn't find warm shelter soon, she and her kits would undoubtedly freeze to death.
Taking a deep breath just in case, she gathered her kits close to her – the current didn't look that strong from the banks, but she could never be sure – and plunged into the water. To her surprise and relief, even the deepest sections only reached up to her neck, but she took pains to keep her kits' heads above the water, and the creek's icy currents tugged uncomfortably at her sodden fur.
It took her no time at all to reach the land on the other side, and she had crossed safely, only a bit worse for wear. Still, it was enough that she wondered if she would be able to go on much farther. But she would have to – they were still right behind her –!
She whirled around. Her pursuers were standing side-by-side in the far side of the bank. Weaselpaw poked a tentative paw into the water, but received a cuff and a hiss from the other cat. He twitched his ears crossly and shouted to her, "And don't come back, kittypet!"
Kittypet? And now that she thought about it, hadn't they mentioned the word "ThunderClan" somewhere while hissing at her?
What was it with these cats and their strange terminology? From what she could tell, they had called her a kittypet. She didn't know what that implied, but it certainly sounded like an insult. She couldn't even begin to guess at what the other word mean, but she was more concerned with why she wasn't being chased still.
It seemed like, by crossing the creek, she had unknowingly exited the territory of the wild cats, and so she was no longer, in their eyes, a trespasser. And, now that she thought about it, the scent there was different, too. It was low and sweet and full of life, so different from the moor cats' scents. It was only proof that they wouldn't – or couldn't – get to her there.
With that thought came crushing relief, as well as exhaustion. Her kits, too, woken so quickly from their slumber to take part in an unorthodox chase, were beyond tiredness.
In the back of her mind, she noted the sunset paint streaks of color across the sky, and the last few crimson leaves swaying as they clung to the branches that formed an arc above her. She let sleep's embrace take her for the night.
It seemed like only heartbeats later that she opened her eyes, but the morning sun wavered in clear dawn light. She felt impossibly rested, as though she had only been asleep for a few short moments, and had, in that time, been completely recharged and stripped of all her former exhaustion.
Well, she'd better make use of her newfound energy while it lasted. She poked the tip of her tail into each of her kits' flanks, and they squirmed and growled in protest, but it did the job. Three pairs of eyes opened blearily and focused on her.
"Okay, now that we've all had a long night's sleep, let's get going! There's new territory to scout!"
Daisy forced the words to come out cheerful, and the kits bought into it like any fully-grown cat wouldn't have. All three of them chirped as eagerly as the morning songbirds.
She wasn't at all looking forward to another long day of hiking that would likely be pointless anyway, but at least now she was pretty sure they weren't accidentally invading on another cat's land.
She fought to get her mind in order; where should she begin to get things done?
Hunting – that was always a good starting point. It was never enjoyable to work on an empty stomach.
As her kits stretched luxuriously, fur in unruly clumps, in the way kits' fur so often it, she examined their surroundings.
She would need a place to conceal her kits while she hunted – she didn't think there were other cats around, but she could never be sure, and her kits would cause a ruckus and scare off the prey if she allowed them to come.
Not that she had much hope of a bountiful catch anyway. It was nearing the end of leaf-fall, and, besides, mice were much easier to hunt if they were trapped in a barn with no escape route. She wasn't used to hunting outside; she had only tried it twice, and both times had ended in disaster involving nofur pelts and crow-food. It wasn't an experience she wanted to encounter for the third time, although there didn't seem to be any nofurs (or their pelts) nearby.
And she had to try. Better to get herself into potentially embarrassing situations (mostly because there weren't any other cats around to witness) and be able to feed her kits, than play it safe but have them all starve.
In the midst of her rather self-deprecating thoughts, her cream tom-kit had marched up to match her nose-to-nose.
"Where're we goin'?" he asked, with an air of self-importance, as though he was on a mission assigned to him by his littermates. "We need to fight?"
Daisy stifled a sigh. "I hope not, but, if we do, you get your littermates out of the way to safety, all right?"
The kit nodded solemnly, charged with his very important mission. He scampered back to the others, head held high with pride. Daisy laughed, grateful to have something, for the moment, to be amused about. It was a pleasant reminder that her situation was never as bleak as she made it out to be.
Still, there was work that needed to be done, and prey that needed to be caught if they ever wanted to continue. She herded the kits under a nearby bramble bush, and bid them to stay there and rest until she returned. She wasn't exactly confident in their obedience, but they were still worn out from the continuous journey, and didn't seem likely to wander off in the short time that she would be gone.
The phrase "short time," as she soon found out, would be entirely false when describing her hunting. Her unwillingness and lack of skill made it seem like, to her, all the prey disappeared into thin air. She tried, first, to look for scrabbling mice among the tree roots in an oak glade, but the only one she managed to find darted into its burrow when she brushed over some rustling leaves. She didn't find many birds, and, frankly, she wasn't very accustomed to tree climbing. She found herself in an undignified heap on the ground multiple times after slipping off an unstable branch or two.
The sun had moved a few mouselengths when she found herself staggering back to her kits, empty-pawed and a bit bedraggled. She approached the bush where she had left them, and was relieved when she could scent all three of them still there, despite the unexpected length of time she had been gone for.
She began to call them out of their resting place when nearby voices chilled her heart with dread.
More cats?
A/N: Just so you know, the original draft of this chapter was nearly twice as long, so I split it in two. Meaning a second Daisy POV chapter is coming soon! Review!