Reaperstorm | WARRIOR CAT OC ORIGINS

Chapter 1

The misty morning's dull light illuminated the barn's upper floor where a delicate-looking she-cat was heaving and panting on a nest of hay.

There were final quiet yowls and cries until out popped a small, black and white kitten, squirming and writhing within the hay.

The she-cat let out a soft sigh of relief. After much time, it was finally over. Her green eyes glimmered stiffly at the small kit beginning to mew and wriggle its way towards her, her nose scenting a downpour on the way. She had never kitted before now, nor had she ever really been around a kit, but she knew kitting with the cold air of leaf-bare was not ideal.

Tentatively, she leaned her head down, beginning to cleanse him with her tongue as her ears and eyes flickered towards the windows, watching the first droplets of rain fall from the sky and hit the dusty, stained window panes of the old barn.

Thunder shook the barn's wooden walls and flooring--the beginning of a storm rumbled in.

The little kit cried and dragged itself toward her, eyes clamped shut as its fragile body shook.

Ivy looked down at her newborn son, a slight pity on her face.

"It's just thunder," she mumbled with a soft shake of her head as the kit began kneading her stomach.

Hesitantly, she rolled over and gave him access to her belly, tail flicking against the bedding.

"It's finally here?"

A tom-cat's gruff voice chimed from a bale of hay just a couple of tail-lengths higher. As Ivy glanced up in surprise, her eyes narrowed to him and the other tom beside him, both leering down condescendingly.

"Yes. He is finally here," she replied calmly, lapping at her paw and closing her eyes as if it would make them suddenly disappear.

She didn't want anyone in the barn to see her like this.

"About time you stopped lazing about and complaining again. I liked you way more before you were kit-bound!" The tabby tom laughed at his own statement like it were the funniest joke ever told, the white cat beside him joining in with deep chuckles.

Ivy felt a shame burn deep within her core as her eyes flickered down to the small, dark ball of fur, who was feeding from her. Ignoring the hard rainfall that echoed throughout the walls and the kit's defiant mews, she stood, shaking the straws of hay that clung to her calico-colored pelt.

Her son screamed for her to come back; that he was cold and hungry and this whole big new world was scary--but Ivy let it fall on deaf ears, shooting a snide smile up to the two on the crate as lightning lit up the barn for just a second.

"Shall we get out of here? I'm simply dying to stretch my legs."

"Aren't you going to name him?" Inquired the white, scruffy tom, tail tip twitching as he waited for her answer.

Ivy gave them both a tired glare, letting her sights drift back to the tiny cat.

"Maybe one day, when he's worth something, he'll have a name," she hummed, her eyes dull and without light to them, "for now, he's just a responsibility I hardly wish for."

At least a moon and a half had passed from the day he had been born.

Slowly, the small tom had taught himself to walk and speak after having nothing better to do than watch the other cats as they laughed and shared tongues on the lower floor of the barn, all much older than he was.