Remember Me to StarClan

[. s p o r e l e t t ♪]

Remember Me to StarClan

A Tale of Love and Loss

By Sporelett

This story takes place nine moons in the past. Nine moons can seem like a long time.

But for some, it isn’t nearly long enough.

Brindlepelt wandered idly through the shadows that permeated her Clan’s territory, ducking under ferns and padding around puddles of stagnant water. Newleaf had bloomed in earnest, and though the other Clans might not think much of their territory, the tortoiseshell warrior knew that ShadowClan’s land was rich enough in prey if you knew how to find it. She wasn’t out hunting at that moment, not really. It was nearly half a moon since she had discovered that she was carrying kits, and she knew that soon she would be moving into the nursery. Thinking fondly of Greyface, she remembered how shocked and worried she had been when she realized that she was carrying his kits. Their affair had been brief, a thing of thoughtless passion. It had lasted less than a moon, but that had been enough to change her life quite suddenly, in a way she honestly had not expected.

Still, Brindlepelt bore no hard feelings towards the tom. They had shared memorable nights together, even if they could never be more than acquaintances from now on. And as for the kits... Brindlepelt realised that she was looking forward to being a mother. She had told no one yet, but it was easy to guess how the other cats would react. Lightfeather, she knew, would be overjoyed. Her sister loved kits, and would be like a second mother to them, even if Brindlepelt decided not to reveal who the father was. It was the queen’s choice, after all. No one would press it if the young queen didn’t wish to tell anyone. And it would be better that way, she knew, for the kits as well as herself. There were certain cats in the Clan who would not welcome half-Clan kits into the nursery.

Slipping deeper into ShadowClan’s territory, the lone queen made her way through the twisting maze of gnarled trees and undergrowth. She loved her sister, and would give her life willingly for her leader, but sometimes it was nice just to be alone with her own thoughts. It would be the last opportunity that she would get for a while to be by herself; when she returned to camp, she would move into the nursery to await the birth of her kits. And with four other queens already residing underneath the spreading thorn bush, she doubted if she would have even a moment of privacy until her kits became old enough to be left on their own for any period of time. Sighing quietly, the young warrior looked around and sniffed the air, hoping to catch a whiff of prey scent. She could hunt one last time before starting her new life as a ShadowClan queen.

A warm, slightly pungent odour hit the roof of her mouth, signalling the presence of nearby prey. Sliding into a balanced crouch, the dappled she-cat stalked over the marshy ground with the ease of long practice, her mottled pelt blending seamlessly into the shadows. Letting her midnight-blue eyes roam the darkness, she sensed of movement in her peripherals and caught sight of her target; a young vole, roaming away from its waterside home in search of food. The creature was large and sleek. Brindlepelt flexed her claws in anticipation of a good hunt. If this was to be her last kill for the next few moons, then so be it. At least she could make it a good one. Sliding a few more steps forward until she was within pouncing range, the young warrior tensed her muscles to make the final leap. She was downwind; her prey still had no idea that she was there. This would be over quickly.

A sudden twinge of pain in her belly caused the she-cat to gasp out loud. Her prey, alerted by the noise, lifted its head and darted speedily away. Brindlepelt growled with annoyance and gave chase, but her hunt had been ruined. The animal sped into the darkness and was lost, leaving the hunter to shake her head in frustration. She must have eaten something bad earlier that day – perhaps the frog she had eaten before leaving to hunt had gone bad. In any case, it had cost her a piece of prey that she was sure she would otherwise have caught. In that case, she would just have to make up for it. It wasn’t yet sunhigh; she had plenty of time to make up her loss. Making up her mind, the dappled queen started to pad back the way she had come – and staggered as another spasm of pain twisted her belly.

Confusion began to sink through the annoyance as she stood, panting, beside a gnarled oak. This wasn’t like any bellyache that she had ever experienced before. Brindlepelt cried out and hunched over in pain as a third convulsion tore through her. Breathing heavily, she started once more to limp back towards camp, but stopped only a few fox-lengths away, unable to continue. Crawling miserably to the shelter of a nearby tree, the young warrior collapsed onto her side and noticed for the first time that her legs were matted and dark with blood. Understanding ripped through her as another spasm wracked her body, causing her to shudder and twist in agony. She was having contractions! Her kits were coming now. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen! She was barely out of apprenticeship, but the young she-cat knew that it took more than a moon before kits were ready to be born.

As her body convulsed, betraying her with every spasm, only one thought was running through Brindlepelt’s mind. I must get back to camp! Only Feathercloud could stop what was happening to her, stop her body from rejecting the kits that she already loved so desperately. She had to find the medicine cat, or her kits would die, perhaps taking her life along with their own. Ignoring the crippling pain as well as she could, the young queen stumbled through the shadowy marsh, searching desperately for another cat to help her. With every paroxysm that shot through her, she had to stop and grit her teeth against the pain that built and shuddered through her body. Her jaw ached from pressing her teeth so tightly together, but she wouldn’t let herself give up. If she managed to find Feathercloud before her kits were born, they would be alright. She had to believe that.

Then Brindlepelt felt her body succeed in its twisted goal, and she knew she had to stop. Crawling under a nearby thorn bush and collapsing under its protective boughs, she let out a weak cry as her first kit was born. She leaned carefully over and freed the tiny bundle from its casing, licking it vigorously as if it had any chance at all of surviving. As if it would breathe if she tried hard enough, if she cared enough. The kit was pitifully small, furless and thin. It did not move when she licked it, did not breathe no matter how much she wished that it would. Then another contraction forced its way through her body, and another kit was born. This one, too, the young queen pulled close and licked fiercely. Surely they had a chance, at least a small chance of making it? Her heart told her that they did not, but it didn’t stop her from trying with everything that she possessed to make them live. A third and a fourth kit were born, as tiny and frail as the first two, and just like them, they died before they were truly alive.

How much more can my heart take? Brindlepelt wondered brokenly. How much more will StarClan make me suffer? My heart will break if I have to lose another. The dappled she-cat panted weakly, the bodies of her four kits nestled close to her as if asleep. She felt exhausted, like she couldn’t even summon the strength to blink. But her task was not yet complete. Pain still twisted through her, so that she thought it would tear her weakened body apart. Her fur was matted with dried blood, and every muscle in her body ached with weariness. But hope would not leave her completely. If there was one kit left, then she might yet save it. She would die if she didn’t. There was simply no other possibility. Summoning the last of her strength, the young she-cat put every ounce of her will into giving birth to her last kit.

Finally the kit was born, and, like the others, she drew it towards her and began to lick it. Was this one bigger than the others? Was that that fur plastered to its tiny body? Brindlepelt rasped her tongue savagely over her last kit’s body and face. It had to live! It had to breathe! Her vision blurred with tiredness as she groomed her lastborn kit. She couldn’t help but notice that it was a tom. My son... please be alive. Her heart was bleeding, as surely as if it had been cut from her chest. Please, StarClan, let my son live. Desperately she drew her tongue over the tiny kit’s face, and then cried out with shock and hope when it uttered a weak cry. He was alive! If this kit could live... if only this one could survive, she could go on. If only her son could live. Curling tightly around her kits, Brindlepelt pressed her lastborn kit to her belly and licked it methodically to warm it. But even as its tiny chest rose and fell, she felt her heart slowly breaking. Slowly, her last kit’s breathing decreased, until she could barely see him moving.

“No... no, breathe! Breathe!”

The small kit did not move.

Brindlepelt curled tightly around her kits, covering them with licks and shuddering with dry sobs. They were all gone. All dead, even her little son. How could she live when she had lost the kits that she had loved more than her life, more than her Clan? Closing her midnight-blue eyes, she tried to imagine how she would go on with that knowledge. But now, with the bodies of her kits pressing against her, being warmed by nothing more than their mother’s heat, she felt that nothing was possible any more. Slowly getting to her paws, the young cat took one long look at her kits. Leaving them would be the hardest thing she ever did, but her Clan and her sister needed her. She couldn’t give up while she still had living kin who cared for her. Forgive me, my little ones. But I cannot join you yet.

Closing her eyes briefly, the dappled warrior took a steadying breath before opening them again and starting the task that she had to complete before returning to camp. Turning to the blood-soaked patch of earth where she had lain to have her kits, Brindlepelt began to dig, disregarding her claws when they became torn and broken. She didn’t stop until all of her kits were hidden under the soil, nestled among the roots of the bush that had sheltered them. StarClan be damned if she was going to leave her kits for some fox to make a meal of. Sitting down once she had completed her work, the warrior began to groom the dirt and blood from her fur and claws. If she had to continue living, then so be it. But she could not go on in a world where every cat knew what had happened to her, a world in which she was reminded of her kits every day. If she was going to survive, she had to leave them behind completely.

Until the day that she joined StarClan, Brindlepelt had no kits.

Getting once more to her paws, the young she-cat took a slow, steadying breath, keeping her eyes fixed ahead, in the direction of camp. If she wanted to return with some prey to show for herself, then she would have to get started. Padding out from under the thorn bush, Brindlepelt picked a direction at random and began loping silently into the swamp, her mouth open to catch the scent of prey. She did not look back at the spreading bush that smelled faintly of blood and newly-turned soil. Instead she followed the scent of lizard that was drifting from somewhere ahead of her. Brindlepelt continued walking until the lone bush was no-longer visible behind her.

From then on, she lived for her Clan only.

[Mousy]

That's really sad, Spore... I'm crying now...