rivergarden

River was born to Peak and Shiver on a cold day. He’s tiny in Shiver’s paws, and is just barely hanging on for survival. The other kits in the litter were either stillborn or died not long after birth, to the absolute heartbreak of Peak and Shiver. Brushing his newest kit’s fur, Peak insisted the little kit be named after his mother, and the pair called him River. Despite his tiny size, as soon as he could walk, River was unstoppable– always bouncing around, full of life and energy, not allowing a single cat to tell him what to do, or change his mind once it was made up.

“He’s got your confidence. I don’t think anyone will be able to stop him.”

Peak says, grumbling like he was annoyed. (he wasn’t, of course, but shiver already knew that.)

“Oh, he’ll be tearing up the streets soon enough, following whatever moronic job you’ve gotten yourself roped into.”

Shiver says back, but this time, her eyes are narrowed, a quiet beg for Peak to reside himself to a safer, more mundane life.

He doesn’t, of course, but it was a nice attempt.

Peak’s ‘jobs’ continue, leading him down darker and more dangerous paths— and, though he would never tell either of them, he spilled more blood than he cared to admit, he did more harm than good. The jobs kept others off of his tail, though, and kept his family safe.

That was, until it stopped keeping his family safe.

Maybe he tread into the wrong territory, made a deal with the wrong cat, but Peak vanished one morning, leaving Shiver concerned. She left River with a friend of hers— a travelling molly who vowed to take care of the then three month old kitten until Peak could be located. She investigated the areas he hung around until the dead of night when, underneath the light of the moon, she discovered his desecrated corpse, covered with deep scars he never had in life, and organs spilled onto the concrete.

Shiver had no time to grieve for her fallen love.

“Fuck, she shouldn’t— don’t let her get away!”

A voice called behind her and, without a second thought, she turned tail and ran— though, not without grabbing the small tooth necklace that he hung around his neck, the only piece of her mate she would ever see again.

Shiver ran as fast as she could, avoiding her pursuers by diving through the city’s alleyways. She didn’t stop running until she had reached her son and, with the aid of the molly she had left River in the care of, she escaped from the City, leaving behind everything she had ever known.

Shiver didn’t stop running, with the now four month old River, until they reached a caravan site. Neither River nor Shiver liked it here, but it was good enough— for now.

River, diligent as always and grieving the death of their father, held onto the tooth necklace and didn’t let it leave his sight, hanging it around his neck whenever he had to do something that required the use of his paws or his full attention. Shiver didn’t speak of what she saw, but the haunted expression that now commonly donned his mother’s face told him everything he needed to know.

Still, though, something angry simmered underneath his pelt, something that demanded justice for the slaying, something that demanded revenge. He doesn’t bring it up to his mother, and she doesn’t egg on the anger, not when that kind of recklessness is what got Peak killed in the first place.

River and Shiver leave the caravan site not long after River turned six months old, growing tired of the human population that lived there and longing for something new. It takes just a few more days of travel to reach a lake— a beautiful, new sight for the pair, where they encountered an older tom.

“Most rogues aren’t usually bold enough to trample into the Clans’ territories like this, especially not the non-violent ones like yourself. In time like these, the cats of my Clan would most certainly have regarded you with hostility. Perhaps it is lucky that you happened to run into me.”

The gray tom— who calls himself Quillstar says, without a smidge of hostility. He sits down beside the pair and, though their guards are high, they relax when the tom shows himself to not be a threat to their safety.

“So, what is your story?”

The conversation ends with Quillstar— the leader of the Clan that owned the territory they had invaded— extending an invitation to join the Clan— StreamClan. River would be a liar if he said he wasn’t concerned with the whole idea, especially not with how smoothly the conversation went. However, Shiver encouraged him to join the Clan, seeing it as a way for her son to make new friends and finally have a normal life– and for her to hide from whatever desperately wanted her dead.

River doesn’t care to remember his first day in the camp— and especially not the eyes that seemed to stare daggers into his back— but he didn’t turn tail and run, not when his mother had done so much to get him here. He took his new name— Riverpaw, and took residence in the apprentices’ den alongside his new denmates. Though awkward, he tries his best to befriend his new denmates– with minimal success.

(and, if they see him at the new makeshift grave he made for his father by the beachshore, with his tooth necklate tucked between eroded ocean rocks, a spot for him to grieve in peace, they don’t say a word.)

to be continued.