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#note that Fatal reworked the family trees + timeline in this AU. also Mosskit lived. actually just read his rewrite I promise it's so good
blorbologist · 21 days
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Nursery Rhymes as Told by Briarpatches | Greypool
“I’m Greykit now, Mom,” said Greykit, when they were nestled back home. Fallowtail stilled. “Greykit, is it?” she asked, her voice frail. “I - I hadn’t known so much time had passed. You’ve both grown so big, but names -” “Can we get new names?” Palekit piped up, muffled by Mom’s fur before she twisted to face them. “I don’t wanna be Palekit anymore.”  “Why not?” Mom gently prodded.  Her lips curled into a tiny snarl - a perfect likeness of Hailstar’s, earlier. “It’s stupid and windy and I’m not a Windclan cat.”
[Set in @fatal-rewrites-warriors's rewrite of Warriors, found here]
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"Greykit and Palekit," Reedfeather declared. "Welcome home, lovelies."
His daughter could not see his expression from between his paws, but she could see those of the strange cats around him. They were wrong - not a single familiar face in the crowd. They all smelled wrong, too, like the wind had stolen their scents, not like the musty comfort of Mom. All strangers.
One face frowned - the huge tom padded forward and sniffed the sisters with a scarred nose. The kittens shied away. 
"I’d keep those ideas to myself, boy. The kits are too young to be named.” The tom rose up to squint at their father. “Especially adapting to so many changes, the stress could do them in.”
The kitten - was she Pale or Grey? - felt her father stiffen behind her. “Riverclan could not keep them from me, Hawkheart - neither will Starclan,” he said. 
“Besides,” he added quickly, “they’re stars-given, for Heatherstar’s lost litter. Surely they wouldn’t take such blessings from such deserving cats?”
Hawkheart curled his lip. “Deserving... certainly.”
He padded away, vanishing into what looked to the kitten like the round, gaping mouth of a dead fish. She recoiled further into her father’s belly fur for something, anything, familiar.
But he wasn’t. She did not know the texture of his fur, or his not-smell, or his nasally voice, or how he licked her ears. She hated having her ears touched - Mom knew that. 
“I want Mom,” she whimpered. “I don’t like it here, I want Mom - please, can we go home?”
[Keep reading on AO3!]
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