WARRIOR CATS: Shattered Stars

prologue

On the darkest night of the season, in the earliest phase of the new moon, three new lives were being brought into the forest.

The cold air would've been bitingly painful to the poor queen, even inside the fortified walls of ShadowClan's nursery, had it not been for the waves of agony she felt passing through her abdomen. She curled her long, hooked claws into the soft covering of pine needles beneath her, gritting her teeth as she suppressed a yowl of pain.

Queens have been kittting since the beginning of time, she hissed silently to herself, green eyes flashing with defiance. Quit acting like a baby about it!

"You're doing well, Tawnypelt," a calm, soothing voice murmured, and the queen was dimly aware of fur brushing the tips of her ears as someone leaned their muzzle down to speak directly to her. In some part of her mind, she knew they were trying to comfort her, but their words barely registered with her at all. It felt like she was underwater, the sounds and voices of the cats around her muted and sounding as if they came from somewhere far away.

Still... their words of encouragement were all she had, and she did her best to latch onto them through her haze of pain.

"Won't be long now," a different voice remarked, this one full of wry amusement. "Someone should tell Rowanclaw he can quit stomping around out there like an anxious badger. He's driving me crazy, making all that noise!"

Rowanclaw. Somehow, hearing her mate's name seemed to give the tortoiseshell strength. She dug her claws into the ground so deeply she probably should've been worried about tearing them, but in that moment, she couldn't feel anything besides the pain wracking her abdomen. She could feel something slide out of her, something that felt slimy and excruciating all at once.

Was that a kit? she thought, the sound of high-pitched mewling searing into her daze. The moment of clarity didn't last long, however. The pain seemed to return tenfold as another kitten slipped out, and then another. The spasms faded after the third kit, and though she was still sore and exhausted, Tawnypelt finally felt like she could breathe again.

"There," purred the same soothing voice from earlier, the words now sounding crisp and clear on the cool night air. "You're all done, Tawnypelt. Two toms and a she-kit."

Tawnypelt lifted her head with no small amount of effort, bleariness clouding her eyes as she strained to see the kits in the dim moonlight. She could just barely make them out- the outlines of their ears and tails, the curve of their tiny backs- but she could definitely hear them. All three of them were letting out high-pitched, wordless mewls, squirming blindly over each other as they began to search for milk.

"Over here, little ones." A white paw gently bundled the kits together and pushed them toward their mother's stomach. Their mewling died away almost instantly as they began to suckle, their tiny paws churning lightly against Tawnypelt's skin.

The queen let out an appreciative purr, lifting her gaze to meet that of the tabby who had been watching over her during the long kitting process. "Thank you, Littlecloud," she murmured, her eyes glowing as she turned her attention back to her kits. There were indeed three of them- one a dark ginger tabby that closely resembled his father, one a cream-colored female with silky kit-fur, and the last a dark brown tabby tom. Even as young as he was, he was larger than his littermates, and he felt strong to Tawnypelt as he continued kneading at her side. He reminded her of someone, perhaps a bit more than she would have liked...

No.

She shook away the thought, a fierce, defiant look entering her eyes. She would not let this kit grow up the same way she had, ostracized by her Clanmates and whispered about behind her back. He could carry on her legacy, as well as his grandfather's, and prove to every cat that evil did not run in a cat's blood.

"Tawnypelt?" The voice of a new cat jolted the queen out of her thoughts. She glanced up to see that her mate had entered the den, his amber eyes wide and his tail bushed out as though something had spooked him. When he saw that she wasn't hurt, he hurried over to her side, curling himself around her and pressing his muzzle into her neck fur. "You're all right," he breathed, relief standing out starkly in his tone. "You weren't making any noise or anything, so I was scared..."

Tawnypelt the tom with wry amusement. "Honestly, Rowanclaw," she snorted with a playful roll of her eyes. "You act like no cat has ever kitted before! Of course I'm fine. It wasn't nearly as bad as you're making it out to be."

Rowanclaw pulled his head back and gave her a suspicious look. Clearly, he didn't believe that, but he didn't press the issue further. "I'm just glad you made it through," he murmured, twining his tail with hers affectionately. "Some cats don't survive giving birth..."

"Well, this one did," Tawnypelt replied with a dismissive flick of her ears. "So you can stop acting like a fox in a fit about it!"

Rowanclaw just purred softly in response. "They're beautiful," he murmured, gesturing to the kits with his tail. "Have you given them names yet?"

"I've thought of a few," Tawnypelt replied cagily. She didn't know how Littlecloud would react to her idea for the dark brown kit- to be honest, she wasn't even sure how Rowanclaw would react to it. But whatever they thought didn't matter; she was going to put her paw down on this one.

"Let's hear it, then," Rowanclaw suggested, dragging Tawnypelt back to the present moment.

"I thought Dawnkit, for this one," she murmured, reaching a paw out to touch the cream-colored she-kit. "Her fur is the color of the clouds just before the sun rises."

"Dawnkit," Rowanclaw echoed, the ghost of a smile touching his muzzle. "I like that." He gave his mate's ear a quick lick before adding, "What about Flamekit, for the ginger one?"

Tawnypelt nodded slowly in assent. Flamekit was a good name, and besides, she supposed Rowanclaw had the right to name at least one of his kits.

"And the last one?" This time it was Littlecloud who had spoken, his mew tinged with apprehension as he eyed the tabby kitten. He was remembering Tigerstar- Tawnypelt could see it in his wide eyes, the nervous twitch of his whiskers.

Well, too bad, she sniped inwardly. You're going to like me even less in a second.

"His name is Tigerkit," Tawnypelt replied evenly, a challenge blazing in her green eyes as she met Littlecloud's gaze. "As a testament to his grandfather."

Littlecloud inhaled a sharp breath, flattening his ears as though the very mention of the dead tyrant would summon him back to the world of the living. Rowanclaw's ears pricked a bit in surprise, though to his credit, she could sense no fear coming from him.

"A-Are you sure?" Littlecloud stammered, his fur fluffed out like a tabby-colored bush. "I'm not sure how your Clanmates would feel about-"

"Littlecloud." Rowanclaw cut the medicine cat off with an authoritative wave of his tail. "If she wasn't sure about this, she wouldn't have suggested it. I think Tigerkit is a fine name for such a strong young tom."

Littlecloud opened his mouth as if he were about to protest, but abruptly snapped it shut again when he saw the dangerous look on Rowanclaw's face. He had no right to challenge the Clan's deputy on his mate's decision. So he simply dipped his head, staring down at his paws to avoid the couple's line of sight. "Tigerkit it is," he murmured in defeat. "I shall tell the others that you're all right." Quiet as a mouse, he brushed past Rowanclaw and slipped out of the den, gone in less than a heartbeat.

"You're very brave, you know," Rowanclaw commented with an amused twitch of his whiskers. "Not many cats would choose to give a kit such a bold name."

"I suppose not." Tawnypelt swiveled her head around to stare at the entrance to the den where Littlecloud had disappeared, privately wondering if her Clan would ever get over the terrible memory of her father. He had been one of the worst cats in recent history, and yet... surely before that, there was a time when he was innocent. When he was young, and not tainted by stories of bloodshed and revenge...

Perhaps her son could become the great warrior her father never had the chance to be.

For the ghost of a moment, just a split second, she thought she could make out his amber eyes gleaming in the darkness.