Mapledawn | Shadowclan Queen
Her kits were finally getting too big for the nursery. Fernkit spent more time pestering the apprentices than in the nursery with her mother and their foster siblings, Dustkit pestered warriors to be taken out on patrol, and Patchkit had taken a particular shine to waiting on the other queens much like apprentices had made a habit of doing. The three of them had even made nests outside- although still slept inside on cold nights. Her heart tugged as she watched her youngest daughter padding across the clearing, holding a bundle of moss in her jaws as Willowshade, one of the newest warriors, stepped aside to let her pad into the warriors den.
As much as she was proud to see how responsible her daughter was, she missed their father dearly. But the persistent warmth at her belly reminded her that she had other kits to care for. Taking on the four motherless kits had been a no-brainer, with her kits almost apprentices, she had love to give to kits who desperately needed it, but even looking at them made her heart constrict in sorrow. With how Thunderclan seemed so determined to take them, or even separate the litter, Mapledawn felt powerless to stop them. If Juncostar let them take some of the kits, or even all of them, she didn't know how she would cope.
The air in the den felt stuffy all of a sudden, her chest feeling heavy and her paws shaking. Standing up, she had to ignore a protest from Acornkit. Picking up the small bundles, she moved them over to Lightfeather and Adderfang- the latter had insisted on joining the queens in the nursery lately as his mate and kits slept. The tom seemed to be a lot more motherly than some of the queens, even. A complete turnaround from the problematic apprentice he had been. Mapledawn quickly asked if he could look after the four half-clan kits, before ducking her way from the nursery.
Her breathing came in small gasps, followed by deep and anxious exhales. What would happen to those poor kits? Would Starclan frown upon her if she let Hawkstar lay his paws on them at all? They should remain in Shadowclan, but it seemed that other cats had different ideas. Paranoia of the Thunderclan cats had been getting to her- with every rustle of the leaves guarding the camp entrance, she felt nausea plaguing her. If they came back, she had no doubt that the kits would be going with them. The thought alone was enough to make her want to cry. Digging her claws into the ground, the bobtail queen tensed her muscles, looking down at the ground.
Mapledawn sighed heavily against Nightstorm. She was glad to have compassionate warriors guarding she and the other queens. The last thing they needed was some brutish, hot-headed young warrior causing more trouble than anything else. Nightstorm was kind, as much as he had a warrior's mindset. That, Mapledawn liked.
"The fact that cats may have to die just because Thunderclan is entitled and sticking their noses into Shadowclan business is terrible." The queen mewed, "I think that if it came to that, Juncostar may turn around and allow some sort of truce. Senseless violence because of one tom's tantrum is far from an ideal situation."
Looking up at him, she smiled, although strained. "I suppose I am being cynical... but I simply can't trust Thunderclan not to start anything. Hawkstar hasn't led for long enough to be predictable... and he might want to prove himself to Juncostar as formidable."
Nightstorm’s yellow eyes blazed the color and intensity of the center of a flame. But he resisted his instinct to snarl and make with displays of anger. That wasn’t appropriate for a nursery, and more importantly he didn't think it was what poor Mapledawn needed. But the thought of a mother who feared her children would be ripped from her aggravated him like a kicked hornet’s nest.
“I have no reason to believe Juncostar intends to do anything of the sort.” It was with great difficulty that he wrangled his voice into an even tone. “He refused to even discuss the matter with ThunderClan. He, myself, and the rest if ShadowClan will fight and die for your children. They are our Clanmates, and we won’t let them be stolen from us.” He growled, chin set.
Mapledawn | Shadowclan Queen
Mapledawn's anxious thoughts were interrupted by Nightstorm's presence. She had noticed the tom being on regular guard duty of the nursery, but had never pay him much mind until now. It had become a painful reality that Shadowclan's nursery was not entirely safe from prying, entitled cats. The calico queen padded closer to him, sitting down beside him, and leaning her head into his shoulder. More than anything, she sought comfort from a clanmate who she could rely on. Despite knowing that of the two brothers, Nightstorm was more the brawn, that was exactly what would make him a better listener. He wouldn't overthink things as much as other cats may.
Glancing up at him, she shook her head slowly.
"I worry so much for those kits..." Mapledawn began, ambiguously. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. "Juncostar knew that letting me take them on would mean that they would become my kits, but now to think that he could even consider taking them from me for the sake of Thunderclan?"
Her claws gripped at the snow at her paws. Her heart hammered in her chest like a caged bird, "And with Fernkit, Dustkit and Patchkit about to be made apprentices, they'll be my only kits in the nursery. To think that any of them could be taken from me..." She wiped at one of her wetted eyes with her paw.
"I don't think I could take it."
Nightstorm lurked everpresent just outside the thickly insulated nursery den. His large size made for ill concealment, but what he lacked in size he made up for in coalition. His darker extremities melted into the shadows. And with the stark snow that covered every available surface, the silvery part of his pelt was also indistinguishable from its surroundings. He gave a raspy cough to announce himself to the young Queen who had just come out. He’d startled more than enough kits, who were already petrified of his scarred and surly face.
“Are you quite alright there, my lady?” He rumbled, voice low and velvety like distant thunder. His good eye peered discerningly at her. The elevated breathing and jerky body language suggested anxiety. Hardly a surprise, given their tense circumstances. He briefly tried to recall which herbs were good for that, but Nightstorm had never had a head for the many plant names and their uses. His brother Murktongue had been the brainy one.