Note: I said a lot of cats were doing a lot of things in this post. Including Rosekit, Mistlekit, (not Poolkit cuz idk who that is yet lol), Hollowfern, Starlingfur, Birchtail, and Rookshadow. I would have made this shorter but honestly Swan didn't do all that much x) She just interacted with a bunch of cats so I kindof fudged whatever it was these cats were doing so as not to take 10 posts for her to do... 1 thing. Yup. That's all she does. She plays with plants.
Eh. Technically 2 if you count gathering them too. ... Maybe 3 if you add the kits... ANYWAY My Point: She did not do that much so it seemed silly to break it up more and Shad is lazy. The minor characters can now do a quick reply and scoot without sidelining the whole thread and the major ones can post too without hassle.
If I got something wrong, please just tell me and don't thwack me with a stick. Kthxbye.
The huge white monster of a cat that was now known as Swanstrike, formerly Crescent who was formerly Avalanche, was pretending very hard to be asleep.
She was pretending because Mistlekit was creeping up on her gently flicking tail.
And it was very hard because she could see the small shecat from the corner of her mostly-closed eyes and she was fighting down the urge to start up a good, strong purr.
Swanstrike had never forgotten her need to be close to kits. It was a constant pull, a constant warmth in her heart when they were near. In the past moons when she had been oh so alone she had missed her friends and her family, but most of all she had missed the kits she left behind. Echo, Streak, Evergreen, Passion, and Spring had all been under her care when she kitted and the world fell apart. Passion and Spring were both older. She had not worried about them too much. They would be well into their training by now. Streak and Evergreen she had been planning to paw off to two other Wardens, tried and true. Echo, who was large and yet kind as a mouse, she had been about to reassign to the youngest and newest Warden in the tribe.
Despite her scatterbrained nature, when it came to motherly matters Swanstrike was sharp as a tack. She had already set the needed replacements in motion a half moon in advance in preparation for her own kitting. She had been confident she would carry to term, but cautious and overprotective of her current Wards just the same.
It seemed she had been right to be wary.
But that particular ghost was rapidly chased back into the shadows as Swanstrike flicked her tail at the last moment, tickling Mistle's chin. Now the deep rumble in her chest was unmistakable and as loud as thunder. Unfortunately, it was also loud enough to wake Rosekit. Swanstrike had initially come out here to sunbathe, but before she knew it the deep red kit had decided he wanted to sunbathe too and on the comfiest nest around - her! The rumbling shifted the tom slightly where he lay contentedly on Swanstrike's side. She was actually large enough for both kits to nap, but it was the way of kits that whatever one sibling was doing, the other had to do something completely different and their keeper had to entertain them both at once. When saddled with three kits, most Wardens had their paws full. The large mountain shecat however had averaged five at any given time and even taken on eight once.
Swanstrike was
very good at what she did.
A scrabbling sound had the shecat's fluffy ears pivoting toward the Nursery. Situated inside a small hill under a cluster of young saplings, the Nursery took up more space than any den had a right to, but no one had wanted to fight with the tenacious roots and no one was as persistent as Swanstrike. The queen lifted her head to look lazily at the entrance -flicking her tail just in time to smother Mistlekit and ruffle her fur playfully. Kits usually claimed Swanstrike had to have eyes in the back of her head. She had never claimed they were wrong.
It was odd though. Starlingfur had been more anxious today than usual. It was subtle, yes, well hidden, but Swanstrike was a master at reading cats -when she thought it important. Which usually translated to 'when it involved queens and their kits'. She generally did not stay inside this late. Maybe that was her coming now, but the gait sounded so similar to Feather. More timid and fumbled than their stealthy, if currently heavy-footed, chief -ah, leader. She meant leader.- Feather tended to be the more excitable of the two and spent more time inside. It was a notion Swanstrike well understood from newly expecting mothers. Even in the Tribe, there were queens who had become irrationally afraid and isolationist when their first litter was due. That very reason was why Swanstrike had demanded so much space for her nursery. It truly was a den of beauty and she was quite proud of it.
Feather emerged and Swanstrike's body tensed. The wideness of her eyes, the jerky movement of her head and searching look on her face. Either something had gone very wrong or...
or...!"Rosekit, sweetie," the shecat's purr was soft but firm,
"You have to get down now. Come on. The ground is just as nice as it's always been." A less experienced queen likely would have dumped the kit on the ground as she jumped up in her haste, but Swanstrike was calm. Gleefully excited, but calm. Feather had run to the father, not her, meaning nothing was wrong and also meaning something unbelievably magical was about to happen, but not right away. Kitting took time. Swanstrike's paws buzzed with energy and she could not keep the infectious grin from spreading to her face. She had to make sure Mistlekit and Rosekit were taken care of first. Then she could quietly remove herself to get to Starlingfur's side.
Deep blue eyes searched the camp and gleamed devilishly when they caught sight of her brother, Hollowfern, just across the clearing. He was no use when it came to rearing kits, but he was competent enough to keep them amused and
mostly out of trouble for a few hours. Swanstrike leaned down to the kits, whispering and pointing her tail in his direction.
"Look! A big, towering bear has wandered into our camp!" she mewed in mock alarm.
"Hurry! Go get it! Take him down!"She watched the little ones race over leap at the innocent tom, 'attacking' him with all their might. When Hollowfern looked to her in alarm for answers she, in the manner of little sister everywhere, stuck out her tongue at him, winked, and flicked her tail in so-long before trotting over to the edge of the camp.
It was good to be queen.
A few rolled over a rocks and shedded trees later, Swanstrike had a nice, sopping mouthful of moss as she popped into the Nursery.
"I'll be with you the whole time."Swanstrike snorted daintily as she listened to the exact same words spoken by every loving mate ever. She left the moss in the shadows of the entrance, where the sun could not get to it and dry it out.
"Yes, yes," she mewed warmly, laughter in her voice,
"but when you get scared, please step out for air and don't 'tough it out'. You'll only make Starlingfur more upset." The words were spoken so sweetly and with such a good-natured tone it was difficult to discern if they had been serious, playful, insulting, or comforting. Knowing Swanstrike, it was probably meant as comforting. ... Probably.
Couples sometimes romanticized kitting. They turned it into this special, loving bonding event in the moons leading up to the queen's deliver. It wasn't. It was gritty and painful and more than a little bit scary. Swanstrike had seen more than one tom try to play it cool and end up scaring himself and his mate. These two were older, maybe Birchtail had seen a kitting before. There was always the chance she could get lucky, right?
Swanstrike quietly hummed a soothing tune to herself as she gathered up some leaves she had woven into her nest by the entrance. She was no Healer, but you did not become Head Warden without learning a few basics. Not to mention all that time she had spent with Raven. That shecat had at least three different herbs for
everything. It seemed to be a matter of personal pride.
In the mountains, Swanstrike would just call her over and help mix things. In the forest though, there was no convenient Healer to call on or store of herbs to quietly raid (or disorganize just to watch Raven's tail catch fire with rage). In place of this, Swanstrike had taken to weaving different useful herbs into the moss of her nest, keeping them hydrated and well pressed. She pulled out a thick, leafy bundle now, unrolling it to reveal a ball of twisted, snarled roots. She had been storing this one for quite some time and she would be glad to be rid of some of it. It always managed to roll right under her ribcage and was not at all comfortable.
She brought the roots over to Feather and settled down. She started up a warm, comforting hum again as she began pulling the roots apart then washing any dirt off that might have remained. She passed a cleaned root to the brown tabby, sliding a curved rock under her.
"Feather? Would you be a dear and chew this for me? Just chew it up good, then spit it out here."Several roots later, the kitting was well and truly underway. Swanstrike went back to her moss and squeezed their cool water into the dip in the rock where the pulverized roots lay. She mashed it a bit with her paw until the water turned a faint creamy color. Hm. It was not the best, but it would do. If only she had more moss, but that was neither here, nor there. The shecat returned to her nest, this time bringing back three fresh berries. It was a wonder she had not crushed them in her sleep. She cracked the skins with her teeth and let the juice drip in. Starlingfur was a tough little fighter, Swanstrike would give her that. This was the point when queens began moaning and cursing their mates. The large white queen was almost disappointed. It was genuinely entertaining to listen to some of the insults queens in labor could come up with.
Using her massive head, the lynx point pushed the mixture over to Starlingfur. Someone had gotten her a stick. That was good but... was she
biting it? In the Tribe, queens would dig their claws into sticks, which were later added to the queen's nest. The depth of the gauges in the wood was a mark of pride for every queen, to show how far they would fight for their young. But, er, biting?
Ew. Who wanted to get splinters on their tongue in addition to the pain of kitting?
Shaking her head to dislodge that particular image, Swanstrike drew the leader's attention to her drought.
"Here, drink. It will ease the pain and your mind, letting your body take over."Kava was what the Tribe called the plant the root had come from. The leaves were much more potent than the roots, with an oil that was dangerous to a cat's sanity. If ingested, a cat would lose touch with their senses. New chiefs ate a whole pawful of the plant before climbing the mountainside. If they managed to keep their head, fight off their inner demons, and come back down in once piece, the stars would acknowledge their strength of mind and body, granting them their position to lead the Tribe. If they did not, then the stars would never shine upon that cat as Chief. -But that was the leaves and Swanstrike was getting distracted.
The roots had a much weaker effect. Their sap even less so, especially when it was diluted even more with a bit of water and berry juice (although Swanstrike was convinced the juice was just to improve the flavor. No one wanted to drink root-water). It would make Starlingfur's pain lessen considerably. Her body would push even harder as her mind calmed and allowed her instincts to guide her. She might even get a vague, comforting sense of otherworldliness or feel warmth from the spirits around them. Swanstrike did not think she had put enough roots in the drink for such a reaction, but some queens were more susceptible than others. With an overwhelming sense of comfort flowing through them, such inaccuracies never caused any harm.
Swanstrike also knew the root only worked as well as the cats around the queen worked to warm her. If a queen was too stressed or lonely the effect was negligible.
She started up her gentle, soothing purr again as she settled down close to Starlingfur, letting their fur brush and looked at the cats gathered around closely. Birchtail had never faltered in his warm support. Although Swanstrike caught fear flickering in his eyes at a particularly strong wince or groan, he hid it well. The queen respected him far more for that bravery and heart than for any kill in the forest or on a battlefield. Rookshadow had come in too as the large lynx had been working with her roots. She was doing her best to calm her leader and friend as well. Yes, Starlingfur was well encased with the warmth of these cats. Even now Swanstrike could see her eyes dilating and her breathing becoming more steady as the herb worked its way through her.
Yes. Not long now.
