What if Mapleshade's kits lived

Chapter 10

The icy bitter jaws of Leaf-bare had grasped the forest around her, covering every mouse-length in a layer of crisp rock-like frost, from the highest branches of the canopy to deepest darkest burrows of badgers. Trees now hung bare of leaves that once glowed with a healthy green. Now all they'd been reduced to was an another swivelled muddy layer on the forest floor, only existing to be trampled by starving creatures. The tall trunks reminded idle in frozen silence. No chirps of fluttering birds rang. No clicks of hopping insects called. All things of the past. Now the animals of the forest, either cowered in the forgotten cracks or had withered away along with the leaves. All but two.

A lone mother and a single kit. They wondered under the bare claw-branches of the nameless woodland, with no direct destination insight. Fate had not been kind to them. Outcasted from both the Clans and their own family. They're pelt hung loosely against their wiry skeletons.

Once a respected warrior, then the traitorous queen and now murderous rogue, Mapleshade thundered on in her stride, hatred being the only thing allowing her shrivelled heart to pulp the thick red liquid around her husk of a body. Like a useless bird without wings, Larchkit waddled on behind, barely keeping within a fox-length of her. His deep amber eyes constantly flashing in and out of focus. Mid-walking, the kit quickly risked a pause, putting his paws and to his mouth, and lashing a small pink tongue over his paw-pad. That was it. Grumbling to herself, Mapleshade abruptly halted, forcing Larchkit to snap back into focus, having to suddenly halt himself to avoid a painful collision with the pile of bone and fur. A fear scent trickling into her flaring nostrils as the son and mother made direct eye contact.

The massive ragged she-cat stared down the tiny kit with a hardened stony burning glare as he pathetically shrieved. "Larchkit. Stop shaking like a newborn.", she ordered, not holding back on the harsh tone. Recuntantuily, he forced his body and muscle to tense up, straightening himself up. With that out the way, she held out a front paw, "Show me your paw-pad.", she mewed with more intensely.

However, he didn't lift a muscle. Still staring at her with that stupid expression. "Show me your paw-pad.", she repeated. Resultantly, he placed his tiny paw on hers. She looked down at the redraw paw-pad.

The cracks that ran through his flesh were like long thin gorges that ripped through the rocky ground at Highstones. Split fizzled at the edges of her mouth, like a dog foaming with blood-thirst. The little maggot was fussing over nothing. She'd walk until the ground wore her paws down to the bone itself. She'd walk to the ends of the earth if she needed to, to hunt down any threat to her family. And if she was willing to do that, then Larchkit should've been expected to do the same. The scrawny cat flicked away the tiny paw away from her grasp while she snorted in disgust.

The fur that ran along Larchkit's spine rippled with shame, hesitant to start talking, "Mother.", he breathed, "We've been travelling non-stop all day now. I'm hungry and tired. Can we please stop off for the night?", almost sounding like he begging. Mapleshade's long head leaned in, threateningly, like a snake about to strike. "We don't have that kind attitude around here, kit. Only weaklings think like that.", she scolded, "And what are you?".

Sighing, Larchkit hanging his head low, "The greatest warrior in the Clan's history.", he muttered, his eyes dulling over as if it was being filled with murky water. She nodded, "Exactly. Bloomheart doesn't rest and neither do we.". With that out the way, Mapleshade span on her heel, speeding off again. With Larchkit miserably following.

As she forced herself on through the dead woodland, her mind wandered to how things could've changed so quickly, with no warning. Thinking back even further back to when she was a nursery queen back in that traitorous Clan, it almost didn't feel like her. It felt that tortoiseshell she-cat in her memories; who was neatly groomed, had a full belly and laying in a soft nest of feathers and moss, should have been another cat. Like they were nothing but false memories.