#molechive

Gorseheart halted mid-groom, his tongue just barely brushing the hairs of his mate’s neck. “Froststorm?” he called, alarmed, at the distant figure running towards them. 

Emberdawn opened her eyes and, within a heartbeat of seeing her daughter’s expression, shot to her paws and ran to meet her. “What’s happening?” she asked while Froststorm gasped for breath. “Where’s Molechive and Lightswan? I thought you were with them.”

Froststorm’s chest heaved. “They…stayed back…I ran….I had to get…you have to…” 

Gorseheart ran his tail along her side. “Breathe, honey.” Dread filled the pit of his stomach like rocks. What was happening? Why did Froststorm have to run to them?

“We didn’t know what to do, but you do,” Froststorm explained unhelpfully.

“Know what?” Emberdawn pressed.

“There’s…there’s a kit…”

—-

Gorseheart and Emberdawn followed quickly after Froststorm after she took a few more moments to rest. As they moved, Gorseheart felt anger guide his storming paws, claws gripping the earth wherever they landed. Another kit. Another kit rejected by StarClan! Didn’t they understand how dangerous it was here? Didn’t they understand they were sending kits to a potential second death? For what? Because they were too young to fully grasp their actions?

“Here,” Froststorm told them, slowing. 

Ahead of them, Lightswan seemed to be standing guard, glaring at the surrounding shadows. 

Molechive lay crouched, eyes wide and uncertain at what Gorseheart had first assumed to be a dark patch of ground. Then he realized that it was a kitten–a small one. 

Both sagged their shoulders in relief when they saw Gorseheart and Emberdawn.

Gorseheart’s heart twisted–this kit was the youngest yet.

The kit had dark grey fur and a white throat. He shivered heavily, though from fear or the cold of this forest, he wasn’t sure. He would think both, but the way the kit was pressing against Molechive’s shoulders had him thinking otherwise.

Emberdawn leaned and whispered into his ear. “He’s too young to even understand that he should be scared.” She echoed his own thoughts.

Sure, the kit appeared wary and looked at the cats with confusion and disquietness. But that was because these were strangers in a strange land. If this little tom really knew where he was, really understood it, he would have run and hid at the first sight of another cat, and he would be trembling so strongly that Gorseheart would be seeing two of him.

Gorseheart lowered onto his belly and crept closer, keeping a comfortable distance for the tom. “Hello, little one. My name is Gorseheart. What’s your name?”

“Ashkit,” the kit answered, staring at him with green eyes as wide as the moon on a Gathering night. 

“Hi Ashkit,” Emberdawn greeted from her place lying beside Gorseheart. “Do you know where you are?”

Ashkit let out what sounded like a whimper. “Somewhere bad. I did bad.”

Emberdawn let out a gentle hum. “We all do bad,” she reassured him. “No one is perfect.”

Ashkit shook his head. “I think I hurt my friends,” he wailed.

That made the family pause for a few moments as they processed that this little kit could have hurt someone, and a little more as they debated how to respond. 

“Do you feel bad about it?” Gorseheart asked.

Ashkit nodded vigorously. 

“Then you’re not a bad cat,” he told the little one simply. “Because bad cats don’t feel bad when they hurt someone, okay?”

Throughout their talking, Gorseheart had slowly crept closer and closer towards the kit. Now he stretched a paw, half-expecting the kit to flinch away as he brushed it testingly against his side. When Ashkit showed no sign of wanting to get away or wanting Gorseheart to leave, Gorseheart moved closer until the kit sat between his front paws. “So you’re a good cat, you just made a mistake.”

“I made mistakes,” Molehchive chimed in quickly, watching the kit. 

Gorseheart purred, proud of how fast Molechive jumped in to reassure the kit as well.

“I made mistakes,” Froststorm added. 

Lightswan and Emberdawn followed suit with their own admissions. 

“I hurt my friends, too,” Gorseheart went on. His heart twisted, and tore a little more when Ashkit looked up at him with those eyes that were so curious and sad and innocent all at once. “And I feel really bad about it.”

Emberdawn pressed against his side.

“Do you think I’m a bad cat?” he asked the kit.

Ashkit blinked, then shook his head.

“Well, I don’t think you’re a bad cat either.” He let the words hang for several long, long heartbeats before deciding to humour the kit. “But you are stinky!”

Ashkit giggled, caught off guard. “I’m not stinky!” he protested. 

Gorseheart sniffed his fur. “I think you are,” he replied, “very, very stinky!”

Ashkit batted at his snout.

“I think it’s you!” Emberdawn decided. She made a show of pressing her nose against Gorseheart’s shoulder and taking a long, hard sniff. Then she pulled her head back dramatically, wrinkling her muzzle. “It is you! You’re the stinky cat!”

Ashkit giggled harder, little teeth glinting in the red light. 

Froststorm joined in. “You need a bath!”

“A big one!” Lightswan added, holding a paw up to stifle her laughter.

“Hey! Why am I being ganged up on?”

“Because you smell,” Emberdawn answered.

“Well, can’t argue with that,” Gorseheart sighed. “Hey, Ashkit, do you want to come with us to our warm den and help me get all this stink off?” He added, whispering in the kit’s ear, “or help me hide from everyone who wants to give me a bath–ew!”

Ashkit nodded, grinning so wide that his mouth practically touched both ears. 

“I can carry you, if you like,” Lightswan offered. 

Ashkit paused, thinking with very readable expressions, then ran over to her.

“Do you want to share my nest?” Molechive offered, following beside them. “It’s got the comfiest moss.”

“Well, my den is the warmest,” Froststorm contested.

“I’ll teach you all the cool moves!”

Emberdawn and Gorseheart followed behind their kits, purring so hard that their bodies shook. Anger still swelled deep within Gorseheart’s chest. It had been there since they found Lightswan–then Brokenkit–and he was sure it would be there forever. But as he watched and listened as their kits welcomed and supported who would hopefully be the new addition of their family, he was overcome by immense pride.

================

--Since Lightswan, Molechive, and Froststorm were all adults by the time Ashmint joined as a two-moon old kit, they were all very welcoming towards him. It's a mix of "I know what it was like to show up here as a kit" and "I want to be the coolest big bro/sis."

--The siblings were hanging out when by chance they found this kit and pretty much all went "UH UH UH WHAT DO WE DO UH....GET MOM AND DAD THIS IS THEIR EXPERTISE."

--Gorseheart would want it to be known that he does not actually stink.....no more than any other resident.

--

Ashmint belongs to @ambitiousauthor

Molechive and Froststorm belong to @wills-woodland-warriors

Lightswan belongs to @liberhoe

finally found Ambitious’s red eye chart, which I used for Molekit/chive here!

I wonder how his branches affected him as he grew?

--

Felt like making a hypokit for Molechive.

Well a...half-hypokit, since the mom is currently unknown and the colours were randomly chosen.

I don't have a lot figured out about them, but part of me likes the idea of things not working out with the mom and either she dies (maybe in childbirth?) or they separate and he gets custody after the kit is weaned.

I also like the idea of Molechive raising his kit with two other males in a poly.

Don't know what the kit is named yet (or the gender) but I really like the prefix "Wild"

From Molechive:

--main pelt colour + lighter fur colour

--dark paws

--paw pad colour

--tongue colour

--tooth colour

--spot markings

from yet to be named babymama:

--eye colour

--nose colour

--inner ear colour

--smooth stripes (Molechive's are spikey)

--darker fur colour?

--area of lighter fur?

——

Base: F2U cat base by Happypotofpepper on DeviantArt

----

Lightswan-- the first. Four moons at death(?) (not entirely sure)

Molechive and Froststorm--the second and third, dying five moons later at age five moons