Gustclan Post 59

After half a day of labour, Troutstripe had given birth to 6 kits. Much to the disapproval of all the queens -including Troutstripe at a few moments, as proven by the bloody scratches on Lobsterclaw’s nose – their father had been there the whole time, running to fetch anything that seemed necessary, including toys for the other kits so they’d leave his mate be, and food for the queens and moss for… other purposes. He was acting like an apprentice.

And now he was acting like a nest. Six kits!

Troutstripe had expected maybe two. She hadn’t made a nest big enough for six. But that was fine. She’d chosen a nest big enough for six, judging by the tiny little fluffy lumps that had worked their way up onto his shoulder as he curled around her. And chosen well.

She hadn’t said anything after the last – a tiny black bundle that looked much like her father, bar the tiny white spot on her neck. She’d just pulled the six away from whomever was licking them clean, pulled them towards her chest, and immediately fallen asleep.

Lobsterclaw couldn’t blame her. He’d need the sleep too after passing six kits out, and they’d both need the sleep in the moons to come. He’d chosen to stay awake though, so he could carefully lick his youngest daughter clean.

It was becoming a family tradition, wasn’t it? Three sons, three daughters. He’d been in a litter of four; two sons, two daughters. Bugleclaw had too, and Argusheart had had one brother. Pheasantcloud had been talking about getting pregnant too, with Garganeywhisker. Maybe it’d pass to mates too?

There were four tabbies, one grey, and one black. All had white spots – just like their mother – and two had got his long fur. There was no doubt they were his. There was no doubt they were his favourite things in the world, either. Troutstripe hadn’t named them yet, or made any hints at choosing names. And he knew she’d said she wanted to copy his mother’s example of not naming kits until it was clear they had survived the most dangerous stages, so it was easier emotionally. But that hadn’t stopped him having an idea.

He was Lobsterclaw, and their mother was Troutstripe.