The Kits

[TygerShore]

The Narrator

Huddled inside a tiny den and burrowed underneath the cliffs lay five tiny kits.  Their mother gives each one a mournful rasp on the head with her tongue then leaves.  They cry and squeal for her warmth but she does not return.  She will never return.

[/size]

[Splash]

There was, once again warmth, at the opening of the den. Warmth, but, even the mewling kits knew that this this cat was not their mother. There was the slightest trace of their mother, and CliffClan scent gathered from the trek through CliffClan territory and the final moments of their mother's life. But, there was no milk scent to be found on her fur. Instead, there was the smell of mud and swamps, and decomposing things. The new cat moves closer, realizing exactly the task she had accepted from their mother.

The new cat leans forward, taking great care with exactly she was about to do One by one, she lifted three of the kits on to her back, nearly collapsing with relief as she felt each one cling to her pelt, sinking their small claws as far as they would go into her pelt. All of the small kits clung to the lifeline of warmth. It couldn't replace the mother, but, any warmth would be taken. The new cat then turned to the two remaining kits, and lifted them by their scruffs. The new cat sunk her teeth in deep, more afraid of dropping the kits, then hurting them. Anyway, small wounds their, wouldn't do harm.

The new cat left the den, her black pelt obscured by the kits. She knew exactly where she was gong to go. Three of the kits would be left at her own camp, and she would, as their mother had asked, take the other two to a much different, woody camp. The five kits and the other cat left a camp, they were unlikely to be returning to for a very long time, witch might be never.