prologue
a mother's woe
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"Great job, Aldermist, great job! The kit's out!" A mottled tabby medicine cat ran her tongue over a white-furred bundle at the new mother's side. The gray tabby queen panted heavily, the heat of her exhaustion and her breath warming the den. She picked her head up, warm sunset-colored eyes full of worry.
"Why isn't he meowing?" She whispered.
"He's just taking his time...," the tortoiseshell-furred medicine cat murmured between licks.
"I got the fennel like you asked, Fallowbark! It took me a while to find it— oh, you already had the first one!" A young, wide eyed tom bounded in, bringing with him the cool of the night air. He dropped the bundle of green in his jaws as he arrived at the kitting queen's side.
"There's only one kit, Sequoiapaw," Aldermist informed, letting her head rest. "...But he's not crying yet! Pecanwhisker's kits all meowed when they were born...!" She looked to the reddish brown tabby laying in a nest near the left with her two kits were nestled at her side, still too young to do anymore than whine and eat. After a few moments the ginger and brown mottled medicine cat looked up, her eyes wide and yet seemingly lost. "Fallowbark...? What's wrong with my kit?"
"He... he's dead."
Silence filled the den, only interrupted by the hungry mewling of Pecanwhisker's kits, and the chirping of crickets outside. Wind whistled at the tall grasses that wove together to form the den, but could not break through to chill the mothers inside. Aldermist let out a shaky breath, her eyes shutting tight before a low wail escaped her mouth. Fallowbark backed up, raising her tail for Sequoiapaw to leave.
"I'll... go get Blizzardstream," the mottled calico medicine cat fled from the den. Aldermist shakily pulled the limp white kitten close to her belly with shaky sobs. She sniffled, gingerly grooming his fur clean and dry.
"Momma, why is Aldermist crying...? She woke me up--." The last queen in the den, Agaveshade, pressed her muzzle into the fur of her gray tabby son.
"Hush, Poplarkit. Go back to sleep," she wrapped her tail tightly around her three kits, silently pleading StarClan would not take them from her like the misfortune that had befallen her denmate.
Aldermist continued to groom her son, urging him to come back to life. StarClan, please. Please, just breathe into him and give him life. Please, he's my only child, please! A much louder cry escaped her, and she pushed her nose into her snowy white son's fur.
"Please...!" Her voice quivered. Pawsteps sounded as a heavy pawed cat hurried over the flattened grass and into the den. The tom took up much of entrance, blocking out the moonlight that had flooded in. The soft night light outlined the white furred, well muscled frame.
"Aldermist, Aldermist, it's okay. It's okay," he came to the woeful queen's side, curling up around her and giving her comforting licks.
"It's not fair. StarClan just... took him. Before he could even take a breath, they took him from me. Our son, our little warrior," she turned her head to rest on her mate. His eyes hardened with pain as they fell upon his child, a vivid reflection of himself.
"I know. I bet... they need him. They need our son for something important." She was quiet, but every once and a while, her body would shiver with a sob.
"I loved him before he was born, and it hurts so much to not be able to get to know him. Him...," her eyes looked upon the soft white tom with love and pain, "... my little... Cottonkit."