Post by Bunny on Aug 6, 2017 21:00:46 GMT
(Squirrelly )
Sunny Moor layed nestled in the curved trunk of an old tree long knocked to the ground by a storm. Ferns served as a pillow as the pregnant sharpclaw almost doze off, her blue eyes flicking lazily. She was glad she'd ended things with that lousy tom. After their meetings, the spark went off and she found him for who he was, a coward that ran away as soon as she told him of the coming smallpaws. A quick glance at her swollen belly made her heart ache with regret. Those kits weren't supposed to be. Couldn't the Star Cats excuse her for this mistake? She waited, murmuring a prayer to the soul of their ancestors, before she slumped again, her stomach twisted from the recent thoughts. She had barely escaped camp. Other concerned cats always seemed to flock around her when Sunny Moor least wanted them too. She hadn't even ever been so liked amongst the Tribe, but apparently they all couldn't wait to get involved. After all, smallpaws meant a secured future. But she hated that thought with the entirety of herself.
Her train of thought was stopped as a pang of pain shook her to the bone. It took her whole self-confidence not to grunt out in pain. She couldn't move, her body heavy as stone as the pain continued to rack her body. She closed her eyes, pressing them tightly shut, teeth gritting, and began pushing. She knew the drill, too many cats had already explained it to her. It just felt a bit stunning to do it for real.
At last, it was over. It felt like the Star Cats were punishing her as she looked down at the pair. They both looked like her, orange tabby pelts mingling together as the smallpaws suckled hungrily, pushing their small paws against her belly. "What a pain." she hissed lowly. Sunny Moor prodded the smallest, a tom who wouldn't stop failing his paws and trembling. "What's wrong with you?" she growled, shaking him until the smallpaw too dazed to drink anymore and nestled next to the milk-scented belly. Even in his sleep, the smallpaw was shivering and shaking against his sister. Thank the ancients she looked and acted a lot more normal than her sibling. "He'll be Morning Chill." she seemed to be adressing the suckling kit, pronouncing the cruel name clearly, without restrains. "You'll be Squirell's Nose." she continued.
I hope you die.
Sunny Moor layed nestled in the curved trunk of an old tree long knocked to the ground by a storm. Ferns served as a pillow as the pregnant sharpclaw almost doze off, her blue eyes flicking lazily. She was glad she'd ended things with that lousy tom. After their meetings, the spark went off and she found him for who he was, a coward that ran away as soon as she told him of the coming smallpaws. A quick glance at her swollen belly made her heart ache with regret. Those kits weren't supposed to be. Couldn't the Star Cats excuse her for this mistake? She waited, murmuring a prayer to the soul of their ancestors, before she slumped again, her stomach twisted from the recent thoughts. She had barely escaped camp. Other concerned cats always seemed to flock around her when Sunny Moor least wanted them too. She hadn't even ever been so liked amongst the Tribe, but apparently they all couldn't wait to get involved. After all, smallpaws meant a secured future. But she hated that thought with the entirety of herself.
Her train of thought was stopped as a pang of pain shook her to the bone. It took her whole self-confidence not to grunt out in pain. She couldn't move, her body heavy as stone as the pain continued to rack her body. She closed her eyes, pressing them tightly shut, teeth gritting, and began pushing. She knew the drill, too many cats had already explained it to her. It just felt a bit stunning to do it for real.
At last, it was over. It felt like the Star Cats were punishing her as she looked down at the pair. They both looked like her, orange tabby pelts mingling together as the smallpaws suckled hungrily, pushing their small paws against her belly. "What a pain." she hissed lowly. Sunny Moor prodded the smallest, a tom who wouldn't stop failing his paws and trembling. "What's wrong with you?" she growled, shaking him until the smallpaw too dazed to drink anymore and nestled next to the milk-scented belly. Even in his sleep, the smallpaw was shivering and shaking against his sister. Thank the ancients she looked and acted a lot more normal than her sibling. "He'll be Morning Chill." she seemed to be adressing the suckling kit, pronouncing the cruel name clearly, without restrains. "You'll be Squirell's Nose." she continued.
I hope you die.