#mottlekit

The worst and best thing that could possibly happen to Ferndoe has happened to her, and her mind was completely empty. 

She had reunited with one of her kits, Greykit, her darling eldest daughter. She had looked exactly how Ferndoe had remembered her, precious little ears and orange spots all. Seeing her was the last thing she expected to happen today. She had cuddled her, held her close, apologized profusely and told her how much she loved her. Yet it felt like it was ending all too soon. 

Then again, even if she knew better than Starclan how safe kits could be here, she knew how cruel Starclan could be to kits who left, and she was not going to put her kit at risk for her sake. Not again.

What made things worse was that Poppyhill’s own daughter, Mottlekit, was here as well, which meant Poppyhill had padded alongside her as they took their kits to the border tunnel. When the two kits reluctantly, but happily crossed through the tunnel, shouting cheery good-byes as they went, Ferndoe’s swelling love dissolved into disgust. Disgust at herself, and for the cat standing next to her.

Ferndoe waited until she could no longer hear Greykit, and then some, then began to turn away. Unfortunately, Poppyhill had other plans.

“Our daughters are best friends,” she said simply.

Ferndoe fixed a glare on her. “And? We’re not.”

Poppyhill only kept staring blankly at the tunnel. “I forgot what she looked like. Is that weird?”

Ferndoe curled her lip. “Are you referring to your kit or the one you manipulated me into killing?”

Poppyhill didn’t seem to hear her, infuriating Ferndoe further. “I was obsessed with her and Oatkit for so long. I dedicated everything to avenging them. I hurt innocents for them, and I can’t even properly remember what they look like.”

Ferndoe’s fur burned in anger. She turned on Poppyhill fully. How dare she speak to her about killing her kits and act like her biggest sorrow was forgetting how her own looked? Ferndoe would never forget! She can never forget any of it, because of Poppyhill! “Put those tears away! You won’t fool me again!” She felt suddenly very aware of the kits in her belly, and her rage increased tenfold.

In spite of the threat, Poppyhill only seemed to flatten against herself. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, surprising Ferndoe. “Really, this time,” she added. “I…I couldn’t see my victims–your kits, your brother, you, for anything other than pawns to hurt Goldennose. I just couldn’t bear losing my kits, I had to make that she-cat suffer, even if it meant causing pain to those that never did anything to me, even if it meant hurting you.”

“I trusted you,” Ferndoe spat. “You used my grief against me. You made me kill my kits for your little revenge plan.” It took everything in Ferndoe–mainly the reminder of her unborn kits and their need for safety–not to leap and claw at Poppyhill right there and then. “You think excuses will make that all go away now?”

Poppyhill vigorously shook her head. “No, no I don’t. I know no reason that I give will make any part of it better. I did trick you. I swooped in when you were at your lowest and manipulated you, forced you to do the worst thing imaginable because I made you believe that it was the best thing for them. I knew,” she went on quickly when Ferndoe snapped open her jaws for a sharp retort, “I knew what I was doing, grief or no grief. That makes it my burden alone. You were only a victim. You did nothing wrong.”

Ferndoe shook, but as harsh as she wanted to be, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. As little as that may mean coming from Poppyhill, the words still resonated deep within her, gripping her heart in sharp talons, tugging it from her ribcage. 

She showed her fangs, feeling them drip saliva, flattening her ears until they pressed against her skull, and snarled. “Stay away from my family!” With that, she turned tail and fled, racing through the trees, ignoring the spiraling of thoughts and the painful pounding in her chest.

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

Colored version!

“I don’t know about this,” Mottlekit said quietly, stopping a few steps behind Graykit.

The kit who was somehow both older and younger than her had gotten an idea, one of her many. The idea was to collect a bunch of feathers and attach them to a sleeping warrior with tree sap. The little kit shook with excitement, her laughter already bubbling up as if she could see the confusion on the warrior’s face now.

Mottlekit, on the other hand, saw the inevitable anger. Seeing Graykit’s exasperation with her, she wished not for the first time to have her friend’s confidence, to do fun things without worrying about getting in trouble.

“I’ll target Firebird,” Graykit promised. “You know how nice she is!”

“That just makes me feel worse!” Mottlekit whined. “But we can’t target someone mean ‘cause then they’ll be really mean!”

For a moment, a dark shadow hovered beneath Graykit’s eyelids. Then, more casually, as if she were trying to convince herself that it was no big deal, she said, “no one gets mad at two dead kits.”

Mottlekit didn’t stiffen, well used to the fact by now, and finally, finally past the trauma of having her fragile body held beneath the water. Her mind went to her mother, how devastated she had been, and then becoming a murderer, a kit-murderer.

Mottlekit and Oatkit hadn’t been sure how to react to Goldenkit. His mother killed them and their mother killed him. Some of the Starclan cats, kind and devastated at the whole situation, had gently explained everything to them as much as they could, but even in their young and confused states, they could tell that the warriors weren’t too sure how to explain it at all, that they hardly believed what had happened. Mottlekit was even sure they wanted to keep them separate to avoid conflict. 

It had been Mottlekit who decided to confront Goldenkit. His mother was a murderer for no reason. At least Poppyhill did it for revenge! She needed to defend her mother’s honour, to take out her anger and grief over her own life at the only one around that she could connect to the deaths. When she had approached, his back was to her, and his golden pelt reminded her so much of the leg that had held her beneath the shallow water, claws digging into her little skin as she wriggled, panicking, fighting for air.

But when he turned around, tears welled in his eyes. Snot fell from his nostrils. Mottlekit recognized the look. He was scared.

 How horrible her death had been, how much she and her brother needed each other’s comfort. Poor Goldenkit had no one, his sister lived on. Mottlekit wondered how it had felt, to be flung over the gorge by a Clanmate you were told by everyone to trust, plummeting to the ground in a camp you played in, a camp you thought you were safe in with a warrior you thought you were safe with.

Mottlekit had offered to show him around, pretending to know everything. Oatkit became fast friends with him, too. Finding out that they both loved the same games was enough to stall Oatkit’s resentment.

It was harder with Ferndoe’s trio, and that was no surprise. They may have been killed by their own mother, which was horrifying all on its own, but she was manipulated into doing it by Poppyhill. Mottlekit couldn’t defend that, and didn’t plan on trying to, but with the three’s insults, Oatkit and Mottlekit fought back.

It was never really bad, in retrospect, kit squabbles and kit-hitting, nothing dangerous and nothing the bigger cats couldn’t put a stop to when it got bad. Goldenkit had been caught between them, his friends or his same-aged nieces and nephew.

It hadn’t been a dramatic final fight or confession that ended the fights. It had simply slipped away over time, and maybe boredom. But eventually the caring over who did what stopped. And after a few more moons, they went from indifference to friends when Specklekit had stopped to listen to an elder’s stories, and as the climax grew, more and more kits were attracted to the tale. When it had finished, they were buzzing with energy and wanted to play it out. It was as though they had never been enemies at all. 

In a way, they never had been. They were simply playing out the parts of their kin’s quarrel. It seemed that in that moment, hopping over each other, playfully smacking each other with sheathed claws instead of unsheathed, they all realized that, too.

Mottlekit also realized, too, that she and Graykit had the same sense of humour. They became fast friends, and Graykit would bring Mottlekit more out of her shell, bringing her further away to do fun tasks that while Mottlekit feared at first, was always glad to have done them when it was over. Mottlekit, in turn, taught Graykit how to settle down and have fun without necessarily doing anything at all.

“I don’t want to do it,” Mottle told her now. As outgoing as Graykit was, she had no doubt she would respect Mottlekit’s boundaries. “And you shouldn’t either, not without your partner in crime to shoulder the blame.”

That was their nickname for each other, as well as Mottleheart and Graystar, names they had hoped to one day have. ‘Everyone knows you would have been a great leader!’ Mottlekit had said. Graystar had grinned before replying, ‘and you my deputy.’

Graykit scuffed the earth in frustration. “Eeeh. But we’ve already done every other exciting thing there is to do!”

“We can put a spider–”

“Did that.”

“Uh, we can trick Thornkit into–”

“He won’t fall for it a fourth time.”

Mottlekit looked around, racking her brain and the landscape for an idea. Graykit took her on so many fun adventures. It was Mottlekit’s turn to figure out a fun task to do. But what would be exciting enough? Thrilling enough to be worthy of all of Graykit’s adventures?

STOP

Poppyhill’s babies!

Oatkit looks more like his mother, while Mottlekit is lighter and gets white patches from her papa

Clan:  Briarclan Rank:  Kit Gender/Pronouns:  still figuring out Orientation:  Undecided Previous Names:  n/a Previous Clans/Groups:  n/a Immediate Family: Vixenstar (mother) Tidestorm (father) Owlkit (sibling) Volekit (sibling)