Snowkit's Survival

Prologue

Thunderclan was still grieving with Speckletail at the loss of her son, Snowkit. He was not even six moons when he was taken; if only they knew he was still alive in the hawk's talons.

The little kit had no experience as an apprentice, let alone that of a warrior. He thrashed around in the hawk's talons, using the strength he had left in his tiny body. He managed to scratch the hawk's feet, panic spreading throughout his body as he was released. He did not know where he was going to land or how he was going to survive.

The ground was approaching him quickly.
Snowkit had fallen into a tree and landed on one of the branches. Unsheathing his tiny claws, he held onto the branch tightly.

He closed his eyes to calm himself from this horrifying experience. The memory of his littermates, his clan, and the warm fur of his mother filled him with longing. Fear and confusion made him shiver as he forced his tiny claws deeper into the branch. Letting out a miserable mew, wishing his kin could hear him.

Then he realized he couldn't hear himself. Is this why he could not hear the hawk arriving? This must be why he couldn't hear the calls of his clan clanmates who warned him. That makes him more vulnerable to predators bigger than him.

The safest place for him was in the tree. Numerous things were going through his head. Would he be safer at night, or would an owl take him? Daytime could be safer; He could potentially be used as a source of food for a family of foxes.

He opened his eyes to observe his surroundings, noticing he was a few feet off the ground. For a full-grown tomcat, it would be easy for them to climb down from this height. It would be a challenge for a small deaf white kit. Slowly opening his eyes, he looked at the grassy ground below.

He felt nauseous even though his stomach was empty. Sheathing his claws, he rose slowly, turning his body towards the branch beneath him. Mustering up the courage, using his tiny hind legs, he leaped down.

Every pawstep mattered at this moment; one wrong move could mean death. His nerves calmed as he got closer and closer to the ground. Using the last strength in his hind legs, he landed on the ground. His muscles were burning; he had to keep moving and find shelter.

Luckily, he was near a barn. There was a small crack in the foundation; he slipped in using his tiny body. It was full of squares of dead, long yellow grass stacked on top of each other.

He climbed until he reached the top of the stack. He found two nests on top that seemed to be used. Letting out an inaudible sigh, he flopped himself onto the enormous nest. His hunger no longer bothered him, only wanting to rest. He closed his eyes, imagining he was surrounded by his Speckletail's fur.