Oh, This Love (By Any Other Name) [open]

The pale horizon was partially obscured by the slow sway of overly-grown heather, a soft tremble across the fuzzy edges of Brindlestar's sleep-laden eyelids- the sweet Newleaf grasses that had once offered up a slight carpet beneath one's paw had grown tremendously under the blessing of plentiful warm rains, leaving portions of the camp lost to the unkempt foliage that snaked across the sandy earth in greedy tendrils. Exhaustion, slippery and potent, crept through her veins in a continuous flourish, driven by the sleepless nights so intimately associated with younger kits. To say that Mistykit had been an accident was an.. understatement. After the death of Wildheart, she hadn't ever particularly saw herself rearing anymore fuzzballs- too fragile that would then become too complicated, and her track record with Shrikecall and Breezepuddle had blatantly revealed her sorely lacking parenting skills.

Remaining sprawled out on her side, atop a bed of flattened and overly fragrant grasses, Brindlestar's ears and nose remained pertinent; delicate nerves and sensory receptors entirely focused on keeping track of the little molly in the aftermath of her sleep-heavy gaze, whiskers trembling at the occasional brush of the soft grass.

Yewkit didn't hesitate in padding over to the exhausted leader. He knew her only by name, having seen her during the clan meetings he'd watched from the edges of camp and when she'd been around the nursery. Otherwise, the pale molly was a mystery to the kit. Twin pools of deep amber light fixated on the weary features of her expression. His tail flickered as her studied her, coming up from the side. He noticed her attention was on something else, but he demanded it with a gentle swat of his paw to her nose. This was followed with a prying inquiry, "What are you doing?"

Letting out a yawn, the small ball of fur reached out into the air, trying to find the warmth of her mother. Mistykit couldn't tell where anything was, and she couldn't see much, but she knew that when she felt heat coming from in front of her, that was where she needed to go. She dragged herself over to her mother and started to knead at her belly, relishing the warmth. It wasn't too long after that when the kit realized there was something, or someone else near them, causing her to practically shrink into Brindlestar.

Thornkit was roused from his sleep and a fun dream about furry trees that meow and purred when you touched them by the soind of another kit mewling, he poked his head out of the soft heather lined nest and let out a soft mewl, blinking away sleep, his vision was still blurry but he could make out outlines now make other other sounds then just milk cries, he let out a squeak as he tried to find the intruder, the scent of milk and other kits overwhelming him at first. It was something he wasn’t used to after being brought over here by the shape that felt like home, his father. It was all so new here in camp, but he was eager to learn more about his new world well as much as his senses would let him. He mewled again and tried to crawl towards the shape his front paw extended tiny needle like claws out and grasping at anything. “Go... way..”

Narrow chest rattling sharply under the heaving weight of her exhale, Brindlestar's angular features were made all the more austere by the singular eye slitting open in response to Yewkit's unwelcome prodding. Dragging the soft and youth-limp bundle of soft fur and loose limbs closer, the pale-furred molly was slow to roll onto the hard length of her protruding spine- easily keeping the young Mistykit stranded atop the delicate fur of her vulnerable chest and underbelly. Soft tendrils of grass lazily brushed against the exposed expanse of her sprawled out shape, leaving every nerve ending buzzing with a newfound sensory input that leisurely crept up the twisting expanse of her nervous system.

"Heronfeather was quite correct," Brindlestar eventually rasped out, singular eye remaining trained upon the dark shape of the prickly and sour little Yewkit, "you do have the proclivity to bless others with unwanted gray fur." Ignoring the sharp and thorny presence of Thornkit's unbearably sharp claws, the pale-furred molly simply dragged her grandson closer with a gentle hindleg. Stretching her slender forelimbs out into the air before her, the sleek muscles and sharp bones easily settling back into place with soft cracks rumbling beneath her unkempt coat, Brindlestar's features drifted back into something reminiscent of serenity as she held the two younger kits closer to her.

"I could ask you such a question; shouldn't you be napping right now? Or does the prospect of ruffling other cats' coats give you too much joy?" Working her shoulders further into the soft earth, the Leader's breathing remained slow and heavy.

Thornkit let out a muffled growl but settled down in Brindlestar’s fur and started to purr, seeking out the other kit, he tried to ignore Yewkit and settle back down to finish his nap but he was awake now and it seemed that sleep wasn’t happening . He was however hungry and began to search for milk .

Those tiny bundles of fur that he hardly spared a glance at grunted and squeaked their displeasure. His ear flicked ever so slightly at Thornkit's words but the amber eyes continued to look at Brindlestar as she leisurely rolled and stretched. Questions and curiosity were evident in his gaze. Kit-like wonder of the clan leader was something that had eluded Yewkit. Instead, his motives were a more simplistic one. He craved something to do, and there was a cat before him. Blinking once, his patience was finally rewarded with the raspy voice of the molly.

The manner in which she spoke made it seem like she chose her words carefully, and yet with such a calm demeanor, the kit hardly picked up on any insinuations of his own nature. Regardless, he found her to be far more pleasant than Shrikecall. There were natural levels of admiration that seemed to flicker from within at her reply. He wasn't entirely sure what gray fur had to do with his question but said nothing on the matter. She was quick to throw back a question of her own and he narrowed his eyes slightly, "I've napped enough today. My paws aren't tired. Besides... it is more fun to rustle fur." A smirk crossed Yewkit's expression, one that looked mildly out of place on such a young cat. But he wasn't going to deny what was so plainly the truth.

Nightkit's light grey fur rustled slightly as movement caused her entire body to shift, and a groan worked its way from her tiny maw. In an attempt to fall back into the deep slumber the kit had found herself so abruptly awaken from, she buried her nose in Brindlestar's soft fur, taking in the warmth and letting it engulf her. "You're too loud." She huffed in frustration, not knowing exactly who it was she was speaking to. "Can't'cha see we're trying to sleep?" She muttered, voice muffled by her mother's fur. Brindlestar seemed to entertain the stranger whom the voice belonged to, and to Nightkit's frustration, pulled the tom even closer. When the little she-cat felt the stranger touch her leg, she drew it back in disgust, lifting her head to gaze at Thornkit through bleary eyes. "Don't touch me." She growled, looking to her mother, hoping she'd shoo him away.

Thornkit picked his head up from his grandmother’s fur and let out a small hiss of annoyance, “I’m not the only one being loud..” he shook himself off, his fur fluffing up in small spikes . “Quit moving and I won’t !” He squeaked and glared at NightKit, before seeking out Brindlestar’s belly for some food . NightKit always seemed grumpy around him. He yawned showing off small still growing tiny teeth , And flexed his needle Like claws in a big stretch.

Hard jut of her angular shoulder-blades roughly pressing into the soft earth, the humid afternoon air was soured by the faintest sound- a gentle hiss and grind, the sound of churned sand shifting and chafed within the limited confines of the den. Sharp features further creasing under the strain of irritation - due both in part to her craving of sleep and the bickering taking place on behalf on the little squalling lumps she was currently babysitting -, Brindlestar only exhaled a hapless sigh as she continued to wriggle about and stretch. "Don't make me fetch Rimefang," She idly threatened, singularly opened eye turning its pale stare on the squabbling kits, "I don't think he'd appreciate having to spend his afternoon sorting through your arguments."

Twisting so that her cheekbone was tightly pressed against the soft earth, Brindlestar tossed an unimpressed stare in the direction of Yewkit, blatantly sizing up the mischievous little tom. Who would've thought that Heronfeather, of all cats, would raise such a little terror? Belly slowing inflating and deflating alongside the steady movements of her diaphragm, and lightly jostling those currently sprawled out along her belly and chest, the unkempt molly sighed softly.

"I doubt you'll find much excitement here," Brindlestar eventually puffed out, low voice strained under the crushing weight of a yawn, "Aside from bickering and kit-fights."

Thornkit squeaked but quieted down as Brindlestar mewled her warning . He squirmed along her belly kneading at it for milk and to hopefully ignore NightKit and not get into any trouble. Yewkit was still pestering his grandmother it seemed. He not that he cared much, the only things he really concerned himself about were his next meals and when his nap time was . As well as his ever growing efforts to try and climb out of the nursery and see what was on the other side. Not that he couldn’t see very well, his world still reduced to fuzzy outlines that only got sharper when he got closer and even then it took a moment for his bright blue green eyes to adjust, but they would, he was growing stronger with everyday and soon he would be strong enough to leave the nest and play outside for the first time .