It was a late greenleaf afternoon. The breeze blew by with a taste of the leaf-fall chill that would come with the impending darkness. But now, it was light and warm... and perfect for playing. Three kits tussled in the forest clearing: a pale orange tom, a light gray she-cat, and a small ginger she-cat. They pounced at one another, swatted at tails and ears and noses, nipping one another's paws and reveling in the startled squeaks that issued from their littermates.
Lying down on the other side of the clearing were their parents, who were watching the kits play and soaking up the last bits of sunshine. The tom blinked his green eyes fondly as he looked upon his children, and he turned to the ginger she-cat whose tail was entwined with his. "They're growing much more quickly than I thought they would, Moonspirit," he mewed.
"All except for Flare," his mate replied, looking at the tiniest she-kit in amusement. "She's smaller than the others, just like I used to be."
"Yes, though she's much better at sneaking than Rain or Sand," the tom mewed. He kept one eye on Flare as the little ginger cat slipped away from her littermates and sneaked behind her parents, finally pouncing on Moonspirit's tail and causing her mother to jump slightly in alarm.
"I got you!" Flare squeaked as she swatted at Moonspirit's tail one last time before going back to her siblings. Her sister, Rain, greeted her by immediately clamping onto her tail, and their brother Sand bowled both of them over into a heap of writhing kits. The father let out a little purr but stopped when Moonspirit sent him a look that was half cross, half amused.
A little while later, the three kits lay side by side, recuperating from their rambunctious afternoon. They were seven moons old now, but they still acted like they were three moons at times.
"Jumper," asked Rain, looking up at her father hopefully, "when will you teach us to hunt?"
"Yeah!" Sand and Flare piped up, standing alongside their sister. "When?"
Jumper peered at them, pretending to shake his head in disappointment. "I don't know; you don't seem ready for that sort of responsibility yet." He couldn't resist a little chuckle when his kits looked at him with big, crestfallen eyes.
"But Jumper...!" The three kits started to mewl, but they were silenced by a wave of Moonspirit's tail.
"Now, now. The three of you will learn to hunt soon enough. Just be patient; we'll decide when you're ready to learn," she mewed. Her voice was soft but stern.
"Yes, Moonspirit," the kits chorused sadly.
"Why is it they listen to you and not me?" Jumper complained to his mate.
"Because I let them know that they can't win by whining," Moonspirit purred.
While their parents conversed, the three kits huddled closely together and began whispering conspiratorially. "We should try hunting by ourselves," suggested Rain. "If we bring something back, then Jumper has to teach us how to hunt." There was a mischievous glint in her eyes; she was by far the ringleader of the littermates.
"That sounds like fun. But how do we do it without Jumper or Moonspirit finding us?" asked Flare.
"Easy. Two of us will stay and sleep with Moonspirit while Jumper is out hunting, and then the other will nip out before he gets back. We'll all go out one by one and catch something while the other two stay behind and cover for us in case Jumper gets back or Moonspirit wakes up." Rain lifted her head high, proud of her idea.
Sand purred. "I like it. How about you, Flare?"
Flare nodded. "Who goes first?"
“I like the idea, how about you Fire?” Flare asked her brother who nodded yes in response, both of them liked the idea quite a bit and was ready to follow through with it as soon as possible for them to.
~~~~~
Flare’s odd-eyed face peeked through the curtain of lichen before her, forcing her whiskers not to twitch as she spied the mouse a few tail-lengths in front of her. She wanted to try hunting for herself; had her mother not been asleep and her father not been away hunting himself, they would not have allowed her. At seven moons old, Flare felt that she could go out on her own.
She continued to watch the mouse, not yet daring to step forward due to the telltale wind blowing towards the rodent. Flare blinked one eye at a time – first the ice blue, then the crimson red – so her sight wouldn’t leave the little brown creature crouching by the roots of a great oak.
The wind soon changed and blew the mouse’s delicious scent towards Flare, and she seized the chance to leap forward, snaring it beneath her claws and killing it quickly and painlessly with a bite to the back of the neck.
She proudly lifted her head and showed her catch to the sky before turning and heading back the way she came, the mouse dangling from her jaws as limply as a shred of moss.
There was a carefree lightness in her heart that most kits her age carried around: the feeling of being invincible and happy for as long as their lives would carry on. Flare had no way to anticipate what would happen to her in a few short heartbeats.
She would never remember it very clearly. The memories were hazy and jumbled as though reminisced by an old cat. She remembered hearing a growl that seemed to come from the dark depths of her nightmares. She remembered feeling acute fear as sharp as teeth in the back of her neck as she ducked into the nearest bushes, too frightened to tremble.
She could never recall seeing the foxes, but she remembered the regret of not calling out a warning to her mother and her littermates as the creatures crept forward with hunger in their bellies and blood in their thoughts. She wished she could forget the blood. The blood was as bright and red as her eye.
She hated the fear that squirmed like something alive in her belly that prevented her from trying to save her only family as they were slaughtered before her eyes, leaving behind only bloodstains as the foxes dragged away their feast.
What she hated the most was seeing the anguish in her father’s green eyes when he returned from the successful hunt to realize that only one of his kits was alive, and that the rest of his kits and his mate were dead and gone.
It was a past that Flare loathed and could only wish to forget. For no matter how much denial she dipped herself into, no matter how often she told herself that it was just a dream, the nightmare would always be alive.
Lying down on the other side of the clearing were their parents, who were watching the kits play and soaking up the last bits of sunshine. The tom blinked his green eyes fondly as he looked upon his children, and he turned to the ginger she-cat whose tail was entwined with his. "They're growing much more quickly than I thought they would, Moonspirit," he mewed.
"All except for Flare," his mate replied, looking at the tiniest she-kit in amusement. "She's smaller than the others, just like I used to be."
"Yes, though she's much better at sneaking than Rain or Sand," the tom mewed. He kept one eye on Flare as the little ginger cat slipped away from her littermates and sneaked behind her parents, finally pouncing on Moonspirit's tail and causing her mother to jump slightly in alarm.
"I got you!" Flare squeaked as she swatted at Moonspirit's tail one last time before going back to her siblings. Her sister, Rain, greeted her by immediately clamping onto her tail, and their brother Sand bowled both of them over into a heap of writhing kits. The father let out a little purr but stopped when Moonspirit sent him a look that was half cross, half amused.
A little while later, the three kits lay side by side, recuperating from their rambunctious afternoon. They were seven moons old now, but they still acted like they were three moons at times.
"Jumper," asked Rain, looking up at her father hopefully, "when will you teach us to hunt?"
"Yeah!" Sand and Flare piped up, standing alongside their sister. "When?"
Jumper peered at them, pretending to shake his head in disappointment. "I don't know; you don't seem ready for that sort of responsibility yet." He couldn't resist a little chuckle when his kits looked at him with big, crestfallen eyes.
"But Jumper...!" The three kits started to mewl, but they were silenced by a wave of Moonspirit's tail.
"Now, now. The three of you will learn to hunt soon enough. Just be patient; we'll decide when you're ready to learn," she mewed. Her voice was soft but stern.
"Yes, Moonspirit," the kits chorused sadly.
"Why is it they listen to you and not me?" Jumper complained to his mate.
"Because I let them know that they can't win by whining," Moonspirit purred.
While their parents conversed, the three kits huddled closely together and began whispering conspiratorially. "We should try hunting by ourselves," suggested Rain. "If we bring something back, then Jumper has to teach us how to hunt." There was a mischievous glint in her eyes; she was by far the ringleader of the littermates.
"That sounds like fun. But how do we do it without Jumper or Moonspirit finding us?" asked Flare.
"Easy. Two of us will stay and sleep with Moonspirit while Jumper is out hunting, and then the other will nip out before he gets back. We'll all go out one by one and catch something while the other two stay behind and cover for us in case Jumper gets back or Moonspirit wakes up." Rain lifted her head high, proud of her idea.
Sand purred. "I like it. How about you, Flare?"
Flare nodded. "Who goes first?"
“I like the idea, how about you Fire?” Flare asked her brother who nodded yes in response, both of them liked the idea quite a bit and was ready to follow through with it as soon as possible for them to.
~~~~~
Flare’s odd-eyed face peeked through the curtain of lichen before her, forcing her whiskers not to twitch as she spied the mouse a few tail-lengths in front of her. She wanted to try hunting for herself; had her mother not been asleep and her father not been away hunting himself, they would not have allowed her. At seven moons old, Flare felt that she could go out on her own.
She continued to watch the mouse, not yet daring to step forward due to the telltale wind blowing towards the rodent. Flare blinked one eye at a time – first the ice blue, then the crimson red – so her sight wouldn’t leave the little brown creature crouching by the roots of a great oak.
The wind soon changed and blew the mouse’s delicious scent towards Flare, and she seized the chance to leap forward, snaring it beneath her claws and killing it quickly and painlessly with a bite to the back of the neck.
She proudly lifted her head and showed her catch to the sky before turning and heading back the way she came, the mouse dangling from her jaws as limply as a shred of moss.
There was a carefree lightness in her heart that most kits her age carried around: the feeling of being invincible and happy for as long as their lives would carry on. Flare had no way to anticipate what would happen to her in a few short heartbeats.
She would never remember it very clearly. The memories were hazy and jumbled as though reminisced by an old cat. She remembered hearing a growl that seemed to come from the dark depths of her nightmares. She remembered feeling acute fear as sharp as teeth in the back of her neck as she ducked into the nearest bushes, too frightened to tremble.
She could never recall seeing the foxes, but she remembered the regret of not calling out a warning to her mother and her littermates as the creatures crept forward with hunger in their bellies and blood in their thoughts. She wished she could forget the blood. The blood was as bright and red as her eye.
She hated the fear that squirmed like something alive in her belly that prevented her from trying to save her only family as they were slaughtered before her eyes, leaving behind only bloodstains as the foxes dragged away their feast.
What she hated the most was seeing the anguish in her father’s green eyes when he returned from the successful hunt to realize that only one of his kits was alive, and that the rest of his kits and his mate were dead and gone.
It was a past that Flare loathed and could only wish to forget. For no matter how much denial she dipped herself into, no matter how often she told herself that it was just a dream, the nightmare would always be alive.