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"Three kits," someone says. This hurts so much more than the first time — isn't it supposed to go the other way around?
Blackclaw paced outside the nursery, until she let him in.
"They're beautiful," he breathed. "Did you name any of them?"
When everyone else has fallen asleep, Mistyfoot looks at the kits. She's not sure what she expects to see. They are still there, still quiet. They'll be hungry soon, but for now, they rest, tucked against each other and her. They are groomed and lined up neatly, still too young to even wriggle over each other.
A black son, a brown son, a gold daughter.
None of them look like her.
Her first litter was born in the night. Perchkit was born just as the sun surpassed the horizon.
All of her sons were dark, like their father. Even Pikekit had only faint markings, smoky grey on night. But she hadn't cared in the slightest. They were hers.
Silverstream was in the nursery by then, even if she was restless, and she cooed at the kits. Mistyfoot had purred, arranging the kits carefully. At the time, she had thought she was lucky. Nothing could guarantee any kit's survival, but a litter of four born in leaffall or leafbare would often be a litter of two or three come apprenticing.
"What are you going to name them?" Silverstream asked, watching the kits eagerly. She was young, and had never been inclined to the nursery before now. Neither had Mistyfoot, for that matter, but she had tried to spend time with kits, when she realized she was expecting.
"I'll decide later," Mistyfoot said, yawning. She didn't want to wait terribly long to name them, but she hadn't slept in what felt like moons.
Silverstream licked her shoulder. "Take your time."
Mistyfoot purred, closing her eyes. She had time with them. (Not as much as she thought.)
That's Feathertail, she thinks, pressing her nose into Mistyfoot's shoulder. She doesn't say anything, doesn't ask Mistyfoot if she wants to see the kits, just lays with her forehead against Mistyfoot.
Stonefur found her after sunhigh. She hadn't moved, although the kits were beginning to.
"I heard they have names now," he said. She purred, watching as Pikekit nudged through his siblings.
"They do," she said. "Reedkit, Perchkit, Pikekit, Primrosekit." Mistyfoot licked Reedkit's head, and dragged Pikekit back into the nest.
"They're wonderful names," he said, licking her head. "And wonderful kits."
"I'd hope so." She purred, blinking at her brother. "They're mine, after all."
Stonefur laughed. "You're right. But — still, they're beautiful, Misty." He touched noses with her.
"I brought you a frog," Stormheart says, laying it in front of her. "In case you were hungry."
He blinks at her. Mistyfoot hasn't moved since the kits were born, and hunger has begun to gnaw at her again. Mistyfoot isn't sure if he knows this, or if he's just being thoughtful.
"Stonefur was wondering — if you've named them."
Mistyfoot's ears flatten, instinctively.
("I had two littermates, you know," Tigerstar says. His tail is resting protectively over her stomach. "Nightkit and Mistkit. I think, if one of them is black — I'll name them Nightkit."
He licks the back of her neck, purring.
"But I've always been partial to longer names. Maybe Lavenderkit, if one looks like you. Bitternkit, if one looks like me."
Tigerstar nuzzles her neck, forcing her head onto his paws. "Don't worry, Mistyfoot. If you're good, I'll let you name one of the next litter.")
"Not yet," she says, and Stormheart dips his head.
Mistyfoot licked her only daughter. She didn't look like either of them, but she looked like she was theirs.
"What do you want to name her?" Blackclaw asked, licking Mistyfoot's head, and then the kit.
"Primrosekit," Mistyfoot said, without hesitation. They were such early flowers, it seemed right.
"Do they have names?" Mosspelt asks. They're talking so loud, Mistyfoot thinks they want her to hear.
"Not yet," Feathertail says. "She's taking her time."
"What about this one?" Blackclaw asked.
Mistyfoot tilted her head. Of the two black toms, he was slightly smaller. "What do you think?"
Blackclaw licked the kit's back. "I've always liked Perchkit," he said. "It'd be better for a tabby, but—"
"No, no, it's good." Mistyfoot purred. "Perchkit, Primrosekit. Two down."
"Two to go."
Their ears and eyes are beginning to open. Mistyfoot watches as they crawl over Feathertail and Stonefur. They always come back to her, even if the time is stretching out longer and longer.
The brown tom chirps, and Stonefur purrs, picking him up carefully. The kit nuzzles against Mistyfoot, purring. He has stripes. The she-cat has stripes, too, but—
It's not fair to compare the kits, she reminds herself. She loves them. They have done nothing wrong.
Feathertail hisses in pain, and Mistyfoot's head jerks up.
"I'm fine," she says, the other tom hanging onto her shoulder. She turns back, nudging him gently. The kit lets go, sliding to the ground and resting his head against Feathertail. She purrs, licking his head. "He just hit a sore spot."
Stonefur watches the exchange with barely masked worry. Mistyfoot sighs, lowering her head.
She loves them, she reminds herself. They have done nothing wrong.
The next name was easy. "Pikekit," she said, without giving Blackclaw a chance to suggest anything.
He purred. "If you insist."
But she knew he was happy with the name. Pike were large fish, that could feed a Clan. They required teamwork to catch, and their strength could overwhelm even a skilled warrior. But it wasn't often a kit was born to RiverClan with spots like this, and it was a strong name.
"One left," she said. "Any ideas?"
Feathertail lowers herself to the ground, touching noses with the she-cat. Mistyfoot watches, as her kit raises her tiny paw to Feathertail's nose.
"I think that means she likes me," Feathertail says, licking the kit's back. "I like you too," she whispers quietly.
Their eyes open, all four of Mistyfoot's kits stumbled out of the nursery together. She stood behind them, but they didn't turn back towards her.
"Look at the water!" Primrosekit trilled, racing toward it. Mistyfoot tensed, trotting after her daughter, glancing back at the others. Silverstream lingered with the others, and Mistyfoot would have to remember to thank her.
But Primrosekit stopped short, her paws far too close to the edge and leaning over. Mistyfoot grabbed her by the scruff, bringing her back. "A tail's length — a warrior's tail's length — from the water," she said. Greypool had told her the first part, when she was a kit, and she had fallen in. She was confined to the nursery for what felt like a season, and Greypool amended the rule.
Primrosekit's ears flicked in irritation. "It's pretty," she said, still peering at it. "I want to swim."
Mistyfoot laughed. "Not yet." The kits were still perfecting walking. Swimming would come with time. "But it is pretty, isn't it?"
Primrosekit purred, weaving under Mistyfoot's legs. "Greypool said it's running higher than usual."
"It is. There's been a lot of rain this newleaf." She looked back. The other kits were exploring camp with their tails held high. "Let's go back with your brothers, dear. The river will be here tomorrow."
The kits asleep, Mistyfoot slips out of their den. Feathertail is with them, but Stormheart is on patrol and Stonefur and Shadepelt left for a walk. The warriors in camp all watch her with carefully neutral expressions. Still, she can feel all of their eyes like she is walking through a thorn bush.
"How are they?" Petaldust asks. Mistyfoot ignores her.
She studies the freshkill pile. If nothing else, Stonefur can no longer tell her she isn't eating enough.
"There's a bass somewhere," Loudbelly says. "If you want it."
She dips her head, pulling it out carefully.
"It's good to see you," Petaldust says, and Mistyfoot can't tell if she means it.
Greypool visited them first.
"Such beautiful kits," she said, when Mistyfoot was still exhausted. "They'll grow so strong."
(She was wrong, and now Greypool is gone, and her kits are gone.)
"And...go!" Feathertail cheers, rolling the mossball across the den. They crawl after it, in what Mistyfoot is sure they feel is fierce competition. The brown tom reaches it first, but stares, unsure of what to do. He decides to lie on top of it, and Feathertail laughs as his siblings pile on top of him. She blinks at Mistyfoot. "I'm not going to get that back for a while."
Mistyfoot is grateful that Feathertail doesn't ask any questions. She sits next to her, licking Feathertail's back. "How're you feeling?"
"Fine."
Mistyfoot narrows her eyes. Feathertail has been shifting, and Mistyfoot thinks it's in pain, not restlessness. "Are you sure?"
Feathertail flicks her tail, watching as the she-cat wriggles under her brothers, hissing softly and claiming the ball as her own. "I'm sure." She tilts her head back, her whiskers twitching. "I'm just watching them, anyway. Might go swimming later."
"Go soon. You should dry off during sunhigh."
Feathertail huffs, but she twitches her tail in agreement. "I'll be back soon, then."
"Darkkit?" Blackclaw offered.
Mistyfoot wrinkled her nose.
"Okay, fine." He laid beside them, his tail crossing Mistyfoot's. "I guess they can't all be easy."
"Sedgekit?"
Blackclaw's ears twitch. "What about Whitekit?"
Mistyfoot laughed.
"Oh, come on. He'll get named Whitejaw. It's what Shimmerpelt did." He licks her shoulder. "Okay — Reedkit?"
"Reedkit," she said, mulling it over. "It works."
"Primrosekit, Pikekit, Perchkit, and Reedkit," Blackclaw siaid. "I'll tell the Clan." He touched his nose to hers, his tail running over the kits as he left.
Mistyfoot sighed, content. The kits were nursing, or she would leave them with Silverstream to join him. But for now, hearing the excited chatter from a distance was enough.
"So we're each naming one of them?" Stormheart asks.
Mistyfoot nods, not meeting their eyes. She agreed to this with Feathertail and Stonefur, when every name she tried turned to ash before she could speak it.
"I'm naming her," Feathertail says, proudly. "Mothkit."
Mistyfoot isn't looking, she's not looking, she's not looking at her daughter curled at Feathertail's paws.
"You go next," Stormheart says. Mistyfoot feels one of the kits nose at her stomach, and she lays her head on her paws, looking away.
"Frogkit," Stonefur says. Mistyfoot doesn't know which one that is. The kit kneads at her stomach, and she lets it.
Feathertail steps closer to her, purring. Mistyfoot opens her eyes, blinking softly. Feathertail lays with her head on Mistyfoot's shoulder, and Mistyfoot purrs.
"It's okay," Feathertail says.
"So this one is mine to name?" Stormheart takes a deep breath. "Um. Hawkkit?"
That's three names. That's all they need, that's the right number.
One of the kits whines, and someone places it next to the one that is already nursing.
"Mothkit, Frogkit, and Hawkkit," Feathertail says, like Mistyfoot would forget.
