"Wake up!"
Smallkit jolted upwards with a start. He lifted a forepaw and rubbed his eyes sleepily, flicking a thick white tail.
The Clan was busy. Apprentices and warriors hustled around busily. The floor of the camp was wet and muddy. Leaf-fall had just began. The river flowing just by the nursery calmed the nerves of Smallkit who was constantly jittery and flinching. Reeds pushed their way from the banks to the edge of the nursery, overgrown.
Smallkit padded out of the den with a yawn. His brother, Beetlekit, followed. The black kit lashed his tail and sat down beside the white-furred Smallkit, overlooking the camp.
"What did you wake me up for?" Smallkit muttered, noticing his brother wasn't going to speak first.
Beetlekit shrugged. "Oh, no reason. It's sunhigh, figured you should wake up."
Smallkit sighed. He did not like his brother. Beetlekit was praised by the Clan and tried to act like a warrior all of the time. His thick fur seemed water-repellent, like a duck's, making him an excellent swimmer. Smallkit, on the other paw, was just the opposite. A short white pelt and small paws would make him sink at best.
But Smallkit tried to be optimistic. He liked living in RiverClan. And he liked his mother. Shaking his head, he tried to focus away from his annoyance sitting beside him and instead stared longingly at the river.
It flowed endlessly, it seemed to the white kit. Never stopped. Rising to his paws, Smallkit padded up to the bank and peered downstream. Yes, just as he had thought. It wound around the entire camp and kept moving. It gushed over the convenient stepping-stones in the middle, creating white water.
Whitewater. There was a cat named that once, Smallkit recalled in awe. He wished he had a cool name like that. Smallkit certainly wasn't a fun name to have. However, he remembered that he was the only Smallkit in the whole world—right now. So that made him feel better, and he had a skip in his step as he trotted back to the nursery.
Quickfoot, sitting up in her nest, pricked her ears. Her green eyes shone as she recognized her kit. "Ah, Smallkit! I see you've found the river."
Smallkit cocked his head and let his ears flop. "I didn't find it. It's always been there."
Quickfoot purred, tabby tail swishing behind her. "I know that," she purred. "Why don't you go and see Softpounce? She'd like a visitor today."
Smallkit remembered something. The Clan was not particularly fond of him. He did not know why. Nobody said anything. But aside from him being smaller than his brother, and a demeaning name, he didn't know what got up everyone's fur about him.
They're jealous, he thought. Even though, in the back of his mind, he knew this was not true, thinking it made him feel better.
Softpounce liked him, though. And her mate, Molecloud. Maybe they did want to see Smallkit after all.
He nodded to his mother. "Okay, Quickfoot. I'll go."
The brown tabby let out another purr and turned to the next queen, a very plump tortoiseshell. Even though her eyes were closed, Quickfoot started to mew. "Olivecloud, you know…"
Smallkit bounded out of the den and almost crashed into Beetlekit. The black tom, fur fluffed up in annoyance, let out a growl. "Smallkit! Watch where you're going. You're gonna mess up my pelt and I'll have to spend another whole moon cleaning it!"
Smallkit rolled his blue eyes. Some days, his brother acted snottier than others. So Smallkit fluffed his own fur—which was barely noticed—and glared at the black kit. Then he sauntered off towards the elder's den, keeping his gaze to the ground.
No one greeted him. Smallkit was used to this, and so he kept walking until he reached the elder's den on the other side of camp. The sun on his back was hot, and he thought this was odd as it was leaf-fall. Nonetheless, he soon arrived at his destination.
Softpounce, lying on her back with her paws in the air, turned her head as Smallkit approached. "Smallkit! Long time no see." Her white fur resembled his own—and for good reason, since Softpounce was Quickfoot's mother.
Smallkit ducked his head. "I guess so. It's only been a couple sunrises. And you see me around camp, don't you?"
Softpounce didn't reply. Instead, she heaved to her paws and shook Molecloud awake. "Come on. We've got company."
The pale brown tom, without opening his eyes, murmured. "Who?"
"Our kin. Smallkit."
"Ah." Molecloud opened one bright amber eye. His muzzle was gray, whiskers frayed. Fur patched and short, it shined in the sunhigh light. "Smallkit. My favorite grandson."
Smallkit uncomfortably shifted his paws. "Beetlekit's bigger," he pointed out.
Molecloud opened his other eye and lifted his head. "Yes. But you're wiser. Knowledge overpowers strength in more ways than one," he mewed. "You'll learn it soon enough."
Smallkit admired his kin. They were always so kind to him. "Thanks," he said with another shy duck of his head. "I-I better be going now. Quickfoot might need me, you know."
Softpounce purred and pushed her forepaw at Smallkit's rump. "Run along, then. We'll always be here."
With a jump of excitement, Smallkit dashed out of the comfortable elder's den. The sun was still hot, but clouds blocked it and a shade overcame the camp for a few heartbeats at a time. Smallkit was glad of his short fur now, and pitied those with a thick coat. He peered upwards with narrowed eyes, wishing it would rain. He loved rain. His father did, too.
Smallkit wasn't really sure what happened to him. But Quickfoot said he had the heart of a kit and the bravery of a badger. Even though he didn't know how brave badgers were, Smallkit knew they must have been pretty brave by the way his mother's eyes looked when she talked about him.
Suddenly wanting to know more, Smallkit, with another jittery jump, started to run to the nursery.
He liked running. The way the wind flowed around his pelt and whistled in his ear fur was like his ancestors talking to him. He felt close to them, and wished he could meet his father.
Smallkit passed Troutfur on his way to his den. The blue-gray tom piped up. "Hey, shortstuff."
Smallkit, appalled that he was greeted, turned around instantly and stared at the broad-shouldered warrior. "Do you want me for something?"
Troutfur shook his large head and twitched his whiskers. "Just figured someone had to be nice to you. Because of your, y'know. Defect."
Smallkit shrugged. "Okay. See you around."
As the white kitten resumed his walk, he felt better for the third time that day. He still did not know what was wrong with him. Was it his tail? He turned his head to stare at it. Not that, he concluded. It looked just like Beetlekit's, if smaller. Maybe his paws? He turned each one over and stared at them. White fur and pink pads. Just like his mother's. Hmm. Smallkit frowned. Then what?
With yet another shrug, he skipped into the nursery and came to a skidding halt before crashing into his nest. With a shake of his short fur, he looked around. Olivecloud, heavily sleeping, was on her very white belly in her own nest. Quickfoot was nowhere to be found.
Alarmed, Smallkit raced out. He searched for her brown tabby pelt, but couldn't find it. She had always been in the nursery.
His blue eyes caught the thick black fur of Beetlekit. His brother was strutting around carrying a mouse in his jaws. Smallkit scampered up to him.
"What?" Beetlekit scowled, dropping his mouse.
Smallkit forced himself to be polite. "I wanted to know where Quickfoot was."
Beetlekit flicked his tail. "She went out on a patrol. Told me to feed you some fresh-kill." The black kit scoffed and rolled his green eyes. "You know where the prey pile is, don't you? Get your own food, shortstuff." With that he picked up his mouse dramatically and sauntered away.
Smallkit realized that 'shortstuff' wasn't exactly the best name to be called. But he knew it could be worse, like 'foxdung' or 'mousebrain'. So he accepted the name and instead wondered why Quickfoot told them to eat fresh-kill. Certainly they weren't old enough? Smallkit still wanted his mother for food. It was easy and he got to bond with her while doing it.
For the first time in his five-moon old life, he felt bold. He lifted his head, pricked his ears, and lifted his tiny tail. He would do what no kit did before. Smallkit looked to his left. The river still churned, and herbs grew around its edge. He lifted a white paw and flexed his small claws. He had seen warriors sit by the edge and catch fish. Surely he could do the same?
Scampering up to it, he peered at it once again. His shadow cast over the water, turning a part of it darker than the rest. He didn't see any fish. How could he catch what he couldn't see?
With another shrug, Smallkit lifted a paw. His unsheathed claws glistened in the sun. He would show everyone that he wasn't just another kit. He was a fisher, like his father was. The sounds of the water rolled around his ears and made him think of when he was his nursery, sleeping right up against Quickfoot's paws. Would he have that again, now that he had to eat fresh-kill?
His haunches ached. Smallkit brought his paw back to the ground and lifted the other one. A warrior wouldn't tire so easily, he knew. But soon he had to put both of his paws down. His shoulders burned and his narrowed eyes relaxed. With a huff, he wondered how warriors did this.
Smallkit's blue eyes lazily drifted over to the other side of the banks. ThunderClan was there, with their stocky and drowning selves. He was glad their scent was overpowered by the sweet smell of the river.
With his mouth open to scent the fish, he had been taking in all of the dewy air. Smallkit's throat was dry. His eyes instantly flicked down to the water. Surely a drink wouldn't hurt?
He leaned down as far as he could with his back legs still on the camp floor. His pink nose only dabbed the surface and created tiny ripples which were lost once they reached the stepping-stones. Frustrated, he went farther. Unsheathing his back claws, he dug them into the edge of the bank.
"Smallkit!"
A shrill yowl made the kitten flinch. He lost his grip and toppled head-first into the freezing water.
Oh StarClan. Smallkit churned his paws in front of him as the current swept him. He could see Quickfoot's worried face as he disappeared behind a bend.
"Help!" he squeaked when he got the chance. His head bobbed over and under the water as his back legs, weighed down, hung beneath him. Smallkit's chest started heaving. He was scared. He just wanted to show everyone that he could do something. Now, he might die.
"No," he mewed to convince himself. He did one forepaw, then a back one, repeating this process. He spun around, now facing the other direction—the direction he was being swept into. But his paddling seemed to work. Soon, he was going faster and faster… in the opposite direction.
"No, Smallkit. No," he breathed. Fighting to turn himself around, but deciding the current was too strong, he let it sweep him farther and farther away from RiverClan.
Just as his strength ebbed, something grabbed his scruff. With a squeak, he craned his neck to see the pelt of his savior. But it was unfamiliar.
As water droplets dripped off of his whiskers and tail, Smallkit squealed with realization. "You're ThunderClan," he breathed out, gasping for breath.
The strange cat purred. "I know. Would you rather I leave you to drown?"
Smallkit shook his head fiercely.
The ThunderClan she-cat padded along the banks towards RiverClan's camp. All the while, Smallkit kept thinking how foolish it was to try and catch fish. He should just have listened to his mother, and this wouldn't have happened.
They came up to the camp shortly after. The RiverClan cats turned their heads to look at the new arrivals.
"Smallkit!" Quickfoot rushed up to him just as the ThunderClan cat dropped him unceremoniously on the ground. His mother started covering with him licks. Smallkit in turn started to shiver from the cold.
Shellstar strode forward to meet the cat, as did Minnowleap. "Thank you, Lightpaw. You've saved one of our… kits." The leader cleared his throat. "But thanks again."
Lightpaw dipped her golden tabby head. "Happy to help, Shellstar. The warrior code, remember?"
Minnowleap nodded. "Of course."
With a dip of her head, Lightpaw turned tail and took one long bound over the river. Her paws landed squarely, and she didn't hesitate to scamper back to her territory. In a couple of heartbeats she was out of Smallkit's sight.
Smallkit was still trembling. His fur was stuck up from his mother's rather rough licking, exposing his skin to the cold wind. He looked up into Quickfoot's green eyes.
"Smallkit," she started.
The white-furred kit closed his eyes and crouched, ready for his punishment.
"You know you can't go near the river."
"I know," Smallkit mumbled.
"So why did you?" Quickfoot asked.
Smallkit lifted his head and looked past her shoulder at Beetlekit, who was sitting with a proud gaze. "I-I just wanted to prove that I could do stuff." He gazed into her eyes sorrowfully. "I'm sorry."
Quickfoot gave a quick lick to the top of his head and started to pad away. Smallkit, scrabbling to his paws, followed her.
Beetlekit scoffed at him as he passed. "You can't do anything," he sneered.
Ignoring his brother, Smallkit kept his nose pressed against Quickfoot's hind legs as they padded to the nursery. The brown tabby she-cat settled into her nest; Smallkit followed suit, curling up next to her belly.
"Your father," Quickfoot began, "was like you as a kit, too."
Smallkit pricked his ears.
"I remember. He and Cloudheart—Cloudkit at the time—were playing around the river, and he fell in. Hazelfoot saved him before he could go anywhere."
Smallkit closed his eyes, though he was still listening. "Yeah?"
Quickfoot purred. "Yeah. Do you want me to tell you stories about him?
The white-furred kit nodded eagerly, starting to groom his pelt.
The brown tabby shuffled to get more comfortable. "One day he went out by himself to Snakerocks. He spent the whole day there, too. Dawn to dusk. And when he came back, in his mouth were too many snakes to count." Her voice drifted off.
Smallkit stood up. "Aren't snakes dangerous?" he squeaked with widened eyes.
"Yeah, but he did it anyway." Quickfoot shook her head and curled her tail around Smallkit. "Don't ever go there, okay?"
Smallkit sniffled. "I wish he was here."
Quickfoot nodded. "Me too."
The white-furred kitten settled down, putting his muzzle on top of Quickfoot's fluffy white-tipped tail. Soon, Beetlekit joined them. His pelt rubbed against Smallkit's, awakening him. It was dark.
Smallkit shuffled away from his brother, but welcomed his warmth as he closed his eyes once more. Tomorrow was another day.
