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Dustpelt was feeling incredibly nervous. Worry and anxiety churned deep within his belly as he paced in front of the nursery like a senile cat, needing to burn off some of the energy because otherwise, it felt like he would explode. Inside that nursery, Ferncloud was giving birth to their kits.
He had tried to stay inside the nursery with her during the kitting process, but his near constant fretting drove Cinderpelt to forcing him out of the den. So now here he was, keeping his ears pricked for every slight noise, trying to make sure everything was going okay.
Suddenly, a voice made him freeze and flinch.
“It’s not like you to be so anxious, Dustpelt,” Sandstorm meowed, as she padded close to him. Then, flicking her tail tip teasingly across his stiff shoulders, she smirked and said, “Where is the blustering tom I’m friends with?”
Dustpelt couldn’t help but pause and snort at that. “Blustering? Who are you calling blustering?” The small amount of humor that comment elicited from him was a nice distraction from the massive anxiety still pounding away at him. His humor died down a bit though when he saw the gentle, but prodding, ‘What’s wrong?’ look on her face. Turning his head away, he began licking down the fur on his chest dismissively, simply muttering, “Nothing, nothing. It’s mouse-brained.”
“Try me,” Sandstorm said immediately with a flick of her ear. “I promise you that I’ve heard more mouse-brained things from Graystripe today then whatever it is your going to say.”
Dustpelt smirked at that, despite himself, mewing, “You’ve developed some low standards, Sandstorm.”
“The lowest…” Sandstorm agreed with a woeful nod of her head.
The two of them were silent for a few heartbeats after that, an awkwardness now settling in where the humor once been as Sandstorm stared at him expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer to the unspoken question. For a moment, he considered dragging the silence until she gave up or got the hint. The answer he had made him vulnerable, and he didn’t particularly like the idea of being vulnerable around anyone but Ferncloud. Even with her, he still would feel uncomfortable admitting this out loud.
But eventually, he decided he had to tell. Stress was eating him alive and running away from the reason wasn’t going to fix that problem. So, letting out a defeated sigh, he confessed, “I… I keep thinking about what happened to Silverstream.”
“Silverstream?” Sandstorm repeated, surprise in her mew.
Yes, admittedly, the grey she-cat and what ultimately happened to her hadn’t left his mind ever since Ferncloud announced to him she was pregnant. He hadn’t known the she-cat personally. He’d seen her at Gatherings every now and then, and knew she was Crookedstar’s daughter, but that was about where his knowledge-base ended. Or at least, it’s where it should have ended, but he and every ThunderClan cat knew her name loud and clear after they found out she and Graystripe had been having trysts with one another. They also knew about her death, and the drama that followed afterwards.
While Dustpelt couldn’t approve of his Clanmates secret relationship, he couldn’t help but sympathize with Graystripe a bit. He knew from Ferncloud what it was like to fall in love, and to fall deeply at that. The idea of losing the one you loved in such a horrid way… he didn’t like thinking about it.
But now, it was all he could think of with Ferncloud pregnant and giving birth right now. What if the same thing that happened to Silverstream happened to her? The two she-cats were eerily similar to one another - both pretty, grey she-cats with sweet personalities. Who was to say they wouldn’t share a similar fate?
He was glad he didn’t have to vocalize any of this to Sandstorm. She had always been an astute cat. All it took was one solemn nod from him for her to get what he meant. What he didn’t expect was for Sandstorm to cuff him on the ear, which caused him to flinch once again. Blinking in surprise, he exclaimed, “What was that for?”
“For being more mouse-brained than Graystripe,” Sandstorm sniffed.
Dustpelt couldn’t help the flare of defensiveness that shot through him. “How-”
“What happened to Silverstream was a freak accident. An unfortunate scenario,” Sandstorm said. “It’s not something that occurs with most queens.”
“Yeah, but-” Dustpelt began to protest, but Sandstorm interrupted with a lash of her tail.
“But nothing,” she meowed. “Dustpelt. How long have queens been giving birth here in the Clans?”
Okay, now admittedly, Dustpelt was confused. What was this question for? How was it relevant?
“Since forever…?” Dustpelt said slowly, unsure if there was a trick in the question that he just wasn’t getting.
“Right,” Sandstorm said with a nod, before pointedly asking. “And how many times have you heard of incidents like Silverstream’s?”
“... Once…” Dustpelt admitted, and that one was Silverstream’s incident itself.
“So why expect the small chance of the worst when the positive is far more likely?” Sandstorm asked.
And as much as Dustpelt was loathe to admit it, he was somewhat comforted by her logic there. Did it get rid of all of his worries? No. But the logic of it all did alleviate a good deal of it.
Looking gratefully at the tan she-cat, he said, “Wow. That actually did make me feel better. Thank you, Sandstorm.”
Sandstorm smiled at him now, her green eyes losing the annoyed flare they had as she nodded and said, “You’re welcome. Now believe in your mate, and get ready to see your kits.”
Dustpelt nodded back eagerly.
Soon afterward, Shrewkit and Spiderkit were born, and they were beautiful.