Paw Steps Aren't Quick Enough [ ON HOLD ~ SLOW UPDATES ]

Flashback

He never meant it to be this way -- no, he couldn't imagine such before the moment came to be -- and he was now stuck. Stuck inside a situation he didn't want to be. But how would one tom deal with what he had been placed into? Perhaps he would have to speak to the others or maybe he would just have to keep it to himself. No, that wouldn't work. So, yes, he found himself in a situation of which he didn't know the solution to.

The frigid wind blew against their broken down shelter -- an abandoned barn -- and they could hear the creaking of the wood panels that held up the place. Saying this, the walls of the barn didn't do much at all except block the scenery.

Mewling kittens stayed hidden in the corner of the barn, snuggled in a bed of hay. He  knew that they were cold, but he also had the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to do much.

"They aren't going to survive." Cream whispered, "It's too cold. Last leaf-bare was harsh, but this one was too bad." Her voice was strained as if she were tired, raw and filled with emotion. "They won't make it and there's nothing we can do but watch. . ."

He knew that the she-cat would break down and stay vigil for the kits. She wasn't the mother of them, yet it almost seemed as though she was in their close-knit family. He was almost a father of them in sorts. "The winter's harsh this year." He meowed quietly, "It wouldn't be your fault. They prey has been scarce and the weather is bone chilling to even us."

He knew that the kits would grow cold and fall under the hand of death in the night to come, yet he wasn't scared. It wasn't the kits to worry about, but the mother's stability. Red knew the truth and she stayed plastered to them, tail wrapped around them knowingly.

"The best thing we can do for now is leave Red to them. She deserves to be with them." His explanation was brief as he spoke, staring at the walls of the old barn. "She needs them right now."

"And what I need is to say goodbye." Her words hung in the air, stinging as if she had clawed him. He never liked the idea of goodbyes because of their bittersweet nature. Like sweet words before a last departure, goodbyes would hurt you no matter how hard you would try to ignore them. So the idea of saying goodbye to the kits hurt because it mean that their fate was sealed. Sure, he explained the future to his friend, but it hadn't sunken in yet. It hadn't sunken in that the kits would be gone by dawn; that the excited kits they had praised for such few moons wouldn't be there anymore. "You should too."

He glanced up at Cream before his gaze shot over to the queen's loving body wrapped around the kits. For a moment, his eyes flickered in sorrow, but he tore his gaze away. "Perhaps." He agreed slowly.

--

He had spent time before finally forcing himself up to his paws and over to the kits, but he knew as he padded over that there was no turning back. If he sat and refused to say his parting words, he knew that he wouldn't get up again. Why would he? The painful situation stung him despite his constant self reassurance that it would be okay. That's because it wasn't.

"Hey." He whispered to their mother. Red only blinked at him and stayed silent, tail wrapped around the kits. Maybe this wasn't the right time, but it still meant something. The loner lowered his muzzle, nudging the mewling. I'm going to miss you, young one. He thought. His yellow eyes brimmed with the threat of tears and a frail tom latched onto his muzzle. He winced not because of the sharp, needle-like claws, but because it almost seemed as though that he was reaching out for something. A small chuckle rose from his throat as he kit released its grip, squirming back to his mother in its own amusing way.

I'm sorry. . . his apology hung in his thoughts as though it was undecided to who he meant it for. Was it for Red? Was it for the mother who would suffer the loss of her kits or for the young family he had that wouldn't live out their lives to the full? So which one was it truly for? He didn't know.

The pitiful meowing of the kits made him turn away, padding slowly away. Each step was full of pain, almost agonizing as he tore himself away from the such young lives at stake. They needed time that they didn't have; they needed time that he couldn't give. Maybe that was why he was in so much pain. Perhaps that what explained it. Ironic, huh? He would never understand the pain Red would go through - the pain she already was in. Pain was the one thing that couldn't be translated no matter what others tried. Pain was something understandable. One could say that they could relate to such, but no one would truly understand the pain she was going through because they weren't her. Pain couldn't be explained, yet he was trying to figure out a way to explain it.

•×•

It was the middle of the night when he woke. His gaze automatically flicked over to Red in worry of what had woken him.  No. . . He padded over worriedly at the sound of whimpers, but what he found surprised him. A kit. A kit barely squirming and its breaths shallow, but it was alive. Needless to say that the rest were, for a lack of better words -- deceased. His gaze showed pain, but as he grabbed its scruff gently, he didn't turn back.

He padded outside of their makeshift camp, ignoring the sting of harsh snow pattering against his pelt. His body might have begged for mercy, but he knew he should move forward.

It was a while until he reached the destination of where he wished. Now sheltered in the forest leaves, he shook the snow from his pelt and licked the kit's pelt. He didn't know if the kit would survive, but perhaps providing it with this option the outcome would be different.  He sighed, setting the kit down in the hallow of brambles before padding off silently.

This kit was for the clans.