The World's End

|| CHAPTER TWO ||

CHAPTER 2 ||

The brown tabby she-cat sat down, her pregnant belly bulging slightly. She stared at Silverpelt, her breathing calm and slow. She felt a slight kick in her stomach, and she smiled, thoughts focused on her unborn kits.

The grass curled gently around her paws, the small blades tickling her feet. Her eyes drooped slightly, and she lay down, rolling onto her back, thinking of what the kits' father had said.

"The ancestors, they live in Silverpelt. That's where my mate and kits are."

The pregnant she-cat remembered feeling a twinge of jealousy at the cream tom's words. "My mate and kits..."

He spoke about them as if the kits she was carrying weren't his. But they were. But they weren't in love. At least, Willow didn't love her.

She heard a slight rustle of leaves, and her gaze shifted to a large shape emerging from the bushes. Her heart quickened with fear, but as the scent hit her nose, she recognized that of Willow.

"Hey, Willow." Henna mewed, curling her tail around her swollen stomach.

"Good evening." He mewed drowsily. His milky blind eyes shifted upwards towards the stars.

Henna leaned against his side slightly, exhausted as well. He lay down on the ground, and Henna lay with him, embracing the feeling of his cream body wrapped around her brown one. He scooted away slightly, she could tell he was uncomfortable, but she could still feel his warmth, comforting the pregnant she-cat.

And there they lay, comfortably, not worry about what others thought. They didn't think that Thistle and Gemma thought. They weren't mates, but that was fine.

Given the circumstances, this was appropriate. Them having kits was appropriate. They could have kits, and not be mates. It wasn't bad. He would still be the father. He would still love their kits. Right?

"Willow?" She murmured tiredly.

"Yes, Henna?" The old tom asked.

"Will you love our kits?" Her voice was slightly worried.

"Of course. How could I not love kits that have my blood?" He muttered, yawning.

"Good point." Henna murmured tiredly, closing her eyes to sleep. "Good night."

No response came as the two cats slowly drifted into sleep, the night sky disappearing above them.

--

The morning had come, and the cheerful twittering of birds had not yet returned to the towering spruce trees, their branches remaining sullen and silent. As Henna opened her eyes to the light blue sky, she opened her jaws in a gaping yawn, her eyes sore and tired. She was greeted with the cheerful mew of Thistle, spotting his happy yellow eyes.

"Oh! Good morning, Thistle." She mewed, yawning and stretching once again.

Thistle smiled and turned his head toward the camp. "Gemma had her kits!"

"Her kits?!" She responded, snapping awake.

"Yes, her kits!" He purred, bounding back into the clearing surrounded by pine.

There sat the blue she-cat, curled around three perfect kits. One was a mix of blue and white, another was just blue, and the last one was grey and white. All three were she-cats.

"They're beautiful." She purred, her excited green gaze softening. "Do they have names?"

"Not yet." Gemma mewed, amazingly not snapping. Obviously having kits had had an impact on the blue-grey she-cat, as she was acting very sweet.