[Mica]

Hawkfur
WindClan
he/him | 49 moons
[Russet tabby with tuxedo markings and sky blue eyes]
Purrks: Flock Together T3
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[Firestorm - @Dark ] [Lightningstorm - @Alchemist Kitsune ] [Spottedpaw - @Fish ] [Bravebird - @taillow ]
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Hawkfur never had an interest in what kitting was like. He was rather squeamish on the best of days, and from all the wailing and howling that usually accompanied birth, he figured that it was best if he just stayed out of it. Besides, usually when the process began, the kits old enough to walk were shunted out of the nursery, which meant playtime for Hawkfur and the babies. Most of the time, Hawkfur didn't know the queen, nor did he really have an interest in getting close enough to play with the kits. But today, when Lightningstorm rushed into the nursery alongside Bravebird and Spottedpaw, Hawkfur knew it was Firestorm. He and the fiery she-cat had only spoken once or twice, but they shared a mutual like for hunting, and had made a deal that once Firestorm had recovered from having her kits, they would go out together. He knew how close the queen and Bravebird were, and as far as the tom was concerned, that made them at least friends. So Hawkfur padded over and ushered the kits into a game of mossball, keeping an ear out for news. As the game began, older kits squealing in delight as he tossed a mossball far over their heads, he eagerly thought of all the places he and Firestorm would visit, and all the mossball games they would play with her kits.

The den walls were thin, and even from several cat-lengths away, Hawkfur could tell something was wrong. The murmurs from the nursery were borderline frantic, hisses and groans barely reaching his tufted ears and doing nothing to assuage the fear that settled in his heart. He tried to push it away, even as the high-pitched squeal of newborn kits rang through the air. They were crying, which was good. It meant they were alive. The worst thing one could hear during kitting, he had learned, was silence.

The second worst was screaming.

Lightningstorm's howl shattered the tense quiet of camp, shrill and full of agony. Hawkfur's ears rang with it, his heart cried out in response, and before he knew it his paws were carrying him towards the nursery, shouts and wails and tiny kitten cries like a siren's call. Firestorm, Firestorm, Firestorm--his heart thundered her name, a desperate attempt to drown out Lightningstorm's sobs. He hesitated for only a heartbeat at the den entrance. Firestorm. Then he shouldered his way in, standing half in, half out of the den.

The scent of blood hit him first, making his head swim and his nose sting. Even before his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, it wasn't hard to tell that there would be no hunting, no mossball, no auntie Firestorm for his future kits. None of that. The worst thing was when his eyes finally blinked the darkness away, and he saw her laying there, deathly still.

Dead.

"Oh, Firestorm..." Hawkfur breathed, body shaking as he stared at her, at Lightningstorm sobbing by her mate's cooling side. As he watched six perfect, healthy kittens squirm for milk that would never come. They looked painfully like their mothers, their tiny bodies covered in slicked back orange and white kitten fluff.

Bravebird and Spottedpaw were crying nearby, the latter whispering into Firestorm's fur as if she could wish the tabby back to life. Had Hawkfur had any faith in StarClan's mercy, he would have begun praying too. But this... this was no act of grace from a clan that watched over them with gentle, starry eyes. Because who took a new mother away from her kits? From her mate? Her mate that worked day and night to keep the rest of the clan alive.

He shouldn't be here. He didn't deserve to grief so closely, not like the three she-cats in the nursery, surrounding their mate, family, mother. He took a step back--he needed to get back to the kits, surely they were wondering what was happening, and he needed to make sure they stayed away--but then a growl rumbled next to him, and for a very brief moment, Hawkfur wondered if thunder had begun rolling across the sky, as if StarClan was weeping for the very cat they took away. But no, it was Bravebird. She was breathing heavily, tears pouring from her face as her gaze shot from the kits, to Spottedpaw, to Lightningstorm. And then she started yelling.

Hawkfur fully pulled himself into the den, then, shouldering his way between Bravebird and Lightningstorm as his friend screamed at the grieving medicine cat, shouting about failure, about letting this happen. A warning snarl pulled on Hawkfur's lips, feathery tail bushed out. It was just grief. It was just grief, making her act like this. She didn't mean it. But she kept going. "Bravebird!" Hawkfur snapped, partially in shock, and her body thudded heavily to the ground before the breath had fully left his lungs. She began whispering, the word "sorry" barely reaching his ears. Forcing himself to calm, he swallowed back a retort. She is grieving, she is grieving--he chanted. He kept himself in between Bravebird and Lightningstorm. "You know it's not her fault. You know that." His voice shook, but he took a breath to steady it. "You know damn well Lightningstorm would never let anyone in this clan die if she could help it. Do not take this out on her."

Hawkfur turned his blue gaze to the medicine cat, realizing that he, out of everyone here, was an unwelcome guest. What right did he have, defending her? He had called for Cowtuft's exile. He had taken her mentor away from her. He had no right to even look at her. But he kept speaking, something in his chest cracking further with every word. "You could have never prepared for this." He meowed, forcing his voice to remain steady. "I'm so, so sorry." Because what else could he say?

Closing his eyes only caused tears to trail down his striped red cheeks, dripping close to his paws as he tenatively approached the lifeless warrior. He crouched down, pressing his nose to her shoulder. "Show StarClan just how good of a hunter you really are." He whispered, only for her.