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The first time Flarekit died, it was meant to be. She was born into a litter of six kits, Fernspark’s second, and she was the runt, while most of her littermates were strong and healthy and kicked her away for milk. Her only company meekly mewling on the outskirts of the milk beside her was Oceankit, a living warrior’s namesake. The Old Gossips murmured that a cat named after one who still breathed was born to die. Oceankit could never much hold his own in fight, and he obeyed the elders by drifting one like a maple leaf on a stream.
Flarekit missed her brother dearly. She grew accustomed to loneliness as she awaited the turn to feed that always came too late. She faded away without company, without love, dying feverish and sick so her mother could blame that and not her own neglect.
So Flarekit joined the starry ranks, and felt stronger than she had in life. Felt full. She could’ve been happy, chasing Oceankit around the territories, and bothering the ancients with questions. But something called for her, away from Silverpelt.
Some cat loved her. She wasn’t sure who.
The second time Flarekit died, she was a hero. She was born into a litter of nine kits, Fernspark’s third, and she was the firstborn, the healthiest, of the lot. A father was there this time, Mousetail - he ensured each of them took turns to nurse, but it wasn’t enough. She watched as two of her littermates faded in front of her, claimed by disease brought by rats and concrete, and grew strong to keep their spirits alive. The runt of the litter, Shadekit, namesake of their elder brother Jackdawshade, shadowed her, struggling to make his way alone. The Old Gossips murmured that a cat named after one who still breathed was born to die. Flarekit stuck to her brother’s side protectively, and most of the litter did what they could to keep him living. Streamkit didn’t contribute much - she was the secondborn in the litter, and was upset that she didn’t get the final say, so spent much of her time sulking and mewling for her mother’s (who she looked so much like) attention.
Flarekit survived, but another littermate died; this one a sister, Frecklekit, lost to nothing but the cold air and a lack of protection from it. It was one of the final straws in her clan leaving the city behind.
The thunderpath was loud and terrifying, and filled with monsters. The process of crossing was made scarier by the amount of kits that had to be carried out. Mousetail held Shadekit by his scruff, the little kit’s paws too weak to grip onto fur, but Streamkit and Flarekit had to settle on his back, as Fernspark was occupied by carrying Snailkit in her own jaws, Feathersong and Ivoryjaw respectively holding onto Squidkit and Lightkit. The Old Gossips sometimes mused that the city had made RiversideClan less willing to help one another out, but even at her young age, Flarekit felt certain that it was because of the amount of litters they had that nobody could scoop her up.
Cats had to move fast. Flarekit clung on well, feeling that she was meant to live, meant to thrive - and only a few cats were stolen by the charging monsters, only cats that the Clan hardly knew (or pretended to hardly know so their grief would not ache as badly). Just when the end was near, when victory was in sight, Streamkit, foolishly relaxing in the way that only a new spirit could, began to slip.
Flarekit loosened her own grip to save her squealing sister. Live well, littermate, she thought mournfully as she fell.
Once again, she joined the starry ranks - where Oceankit ran up to and nuzzled her; where Dewkit, Raggedkit and Frecklekit bounded up to her playfully. She slept on softer ground than she did in life. Her heart felt more open. But something called for her once again, away from Silverpelt.
Some cat loved her. Flarekit shifted her star-speckled paws, wondering if it was worth asking who.
The third time Flarekit died, it was a mistake on the world’s part. It was foolish to give her to Fernspark a third time. She was born into a litter of five kits, Fernspark’s fourth and last, and she was born directly in the middle of the litter. The first lot of her littermates were warriors, all but her and dear Oceankit having survived that long. The second lot of her littermates were apprentices (other than Shadekit, whose sickliness confined him to the nursery for longer), and what was left of that overwhelming litter had survived. The third lot of her littermates were mewling kits.
Despite being born in the cusp of the longest leaf-bare the clans ever knew, this litter was large for their age, healthy and strong. The Old Gossips eyed Flarekit and murmured that some souls were more persistent than others, but this murmur was not as judgmental as their past ones, more warm. It felt like a reluctant welcome, shame at their words having been heard by some cat special.
Mousetail doted over them, still an ever-loving father, while Fernspark was forced to leave their sides for hours at a time. (Flarekit was certain she was only having litters to prevent her being treated as a true prisoner.)
A battle struck in the middle of camp. City cats, The Ravens - a group of vicious and blood-hungry monsters, swarmed over RiversideClan, stealing their lives and their strength and spilling their blood over frost-bitten rocks or grass. Squidpaw squealed as a fully-grown cat bit out his throat with ease. Fernspark’s oldest grandkitten was thrown to the ground, bones crushed, by the brutal leader, Piper herself. Cats were dragged away and taken to the City to be dealt with, burials were prepared for cats still living, but whose wounds promised otherwise soon.
Only the nursery remained unscathed. Mousetail had died protecting his kits, and his large body had blocked the entrance afterwards. Flarekit backed away so her father’s warm blood wouldn’t stain her paws, forcing her shivering siblings to do the same with her tail.
She felt wiser beyond they would ever be as she made them sit still and lick their fur the wrong way to prevent catching a chill. She hissed at Horsekit to be quiet as he whimpered in fear, drying a sniffling Mistkit’s eyes with her paws. When she heard a cat at last sniff like a hound at the nursery entrance, she pushed Eggkit beneath their mother’s nest to hide him, where he cuddled up beside his shell-shocked sister, Crushkit.
Once Mousetail was buried, Fernspark wasn’t allowed to nurse them anymore. It seemed her mate’s insistence had given her the chance to - now, Thistlefrost, a molly who had lost her own kits (who wasn’t much older than Flarekit’s first life), nursed them instead. The other kits didn’t understand, but Flarekit did. Her mother was a traitor. She’d known that all this life, and most of last.
That was why she sensed danger on the night of the full-moon gathering. Thistlefrost was fast asleep, exhausted from the day’s events, when Fernspark drew into the nursery, green eyes crazed with envy. She made a soft click noise with her claws against the ground. Flarekit’s littermates scampered over immediately, eagerly, fooled by familiarity and poor acting. She hung back, only drawing closer out of morbid curiosity, only following her mother out of camp, drawing past a puzzled-looking Lightpaw, out of some desperate lingering hope that she was the one who loved her. She wished she didn’t.
There was no love in Fernspark’s next actions. Horsekit whimpered a final time as he shrank away from life, suffering from terrible burns. Icy cold water still dripped from Mistkit, whose eyes were still open, wide and round with betrayal. Crushkit was thrown in a badger’s den, and emerged bleeding heavily, alive but playing dead out of fear her mother would chuck her back in. Eggkit’s mouth was agape, a sharp stick impaling the poor kit’s chest. Flarekit felt her life fade away from her poor broken body, head aching with agony, having been slammed like dead prey into the frozen ground.
Once more, she joined the starry ranks, where all but Crushkit - hanging onto life by a tired old thread - greeted her. Never again, the world whispered, would she be given to Fernspark, would she face such cruelty by the grey tabby’s paws. Flarekit felt more loved than she’d ever been.
Perhaps this time, she thought, leaning tiredly on Mousetail, surrounded by affectionate siblings and kin, hearing something call for her outside of Silverpelt, she would make the world wait.