Sorry this is so late! I had it written, but every time I went to put it up, the computer started acting up again. :/

Anyways, for the second chapter, you had to write a one-shot in a POV you don't normally use. So I went with first-person, present tense because I don't think I've EVER used it. Enjoy!

~000~

I pad through the entrance to camp, my single catch dangling from my jaws. Snow was drifting slowly down from the clouded sky, settling gently into my golden pelt. Leaf-bare had come to the Clans at last—meaning that we, the warriors, were going to have to work extra-hard to keep our Clan fed.

The mouse in my jaws was still warm. It was one of the few left in ThunderClan's forest...yet I march right past the fresh-kill pile without adding it. Oh, no. This mouse was for someone special.

ThunderClan's nursery was safely protected inside the roots of a tree that fell into the camp many seasons ago—during the rule of the great Firestar himself. And it is here that I bring my prey. Stepping past a few other warriors, I push my head inside.

There's only one nest in the nursery at this point. Curled inside it is a small, pale ginger she-cat, belly rounded with kits.

My beautiful Ripplebreeze.

As I enter, Ripplebreeze blinks open her bright blue eyes. She looks tired, but she smiles up at me. "Hello, Bumblepelt," she purrs, reaching up to touch noses with me.

I purr back and brush my muzzle against hers, laying my mouse at her paws. "I caught this for you," I tell her.

She blinks at it, and smiles up at me. "Thank you, Bumblepelt," she says softly. As she dips her head to take a bite, she suddenly lets put a yelp of pain.

"Ripplebreeze?" I take a step forward, pale green gaze filling with concern. "What's wrong?" I scan the moss lining of her nest. "Is there a thorn in your bedding?"

But as she looks up at me, and our gazes meet, we both know exactly what is wrong.

"It's the kits," she murmurs. "They're coming early.

It takes a few moments for what she said to sink in.

Ripplebreeze's kits are coming. They're coming now.

With the speed born of my warrior training, I leap to my paws and race out of the nursery. "Briarstream!" I yowl.

Across camp, a messy-furred, gray-and-white she-cat poked her head out of the medicine den. "Bumblepelt?" she asks, blinking sleepily. "What's wrong?"

I shoot her a desperate look. "It's the kits," I pant. "They're coming. Now."

In an instant, the medicine cat snaps into action. She ducks back into her den, re-emerging a few moments later with a bundle of herbs in her mouth. Pounding across the camp, she shoves past the warriors who have begun to gather around the nursery. As she pushes inside, I try to follow her—only to be blocked by Briarstream's spiky tail. "No, Bumblepelt," she tells me curtly. "I need you to stay out here."

"But—"

"Please," she interrupts, green eyes strained. "I can't help Ripplebreeze if you're in my way."

After a few moments, I sigh and step back, resigning myself to the den's entrance. Briarstream gives me a small, comforting smile. Then she disappeared into the nursery, leaving me alone outside.

~000~

I pace back and forth on the snowy ground. It seems as if the kitting has gone on for moons; I'm almost sure they're not supposed to take this long. Every time I hear my mate's cries split the air, I feel as if claws are tearing into my own heart. My anxious mind keeps coming up with terrifying scenarios: Ripplebreeze lying in her nest, her life bleeding out before my eyes; her tiny kits lying beside her, unmoving and limp. I try to push the images away, but they continue to linger in the back of my mind.

Out of the blue, Ripplebreeze lets out her loudest yowl yet...and she isn't alone. Joining her cry is a high, loud wail—the wail of a kit.

I wait, my heart fluttering wildly. Then Briarstream steps out, and a glimmer of hope rises in my chest at the smile on her face. "Come meet your kit, Bumblepelt," she meows.

I hesitate. Just one kit? But my paws are already moving, guiding me through the brambles and into the nursery itself.

Ripplebreeze looks exhausted. But her bright blue eyes are sparkling with joy as she gazes up at me. And there, curled by her side, is a tiny, squirming kit.

Her fur is the same ginger color as her mother's. But zig-zagging across her kit-soft pelt are thin, darker stripes—like mine.

At first, I can do nothing but stare as a feeling of awe creeps slowly over me.

This is my kit. My kit.

I start to laugh. "This is our kit," I manage to meow.

Ripplebreeze, tired as she is, laughs with me.

"She looks like you," I say, still staring down at our daughter, who is now kneading at Ripplebreeze's belly and purring contentedly.

"Except for the stripes," my mate chuckles. "Those are all yours."

I smile as she gives a particularly violent kick. "She's strong," I meow, gently leaning down to nuzzle her. Under my touch, her purr grows even louder.

"Her name is Tigerkit," Ripplebreeze says.

I glance up in surprise. Tigerkit isn't usually a name given to she-cats. But as I look back down at the ginger kit, I can already see the strength, the energy in her tiny form.

"Tigerkit," I repeat, staring down at the two of them. My beautiful mate...and my beautiful kit.

"It's perfect."