As Fallencloud settled back into the nursery with her newborn kit, a torrent of grief engulfed her. She had exerted herself to the brink, desperately prolonging the birth of her kits, yearning for them to be revered within the clan, born beneath the Sun's tender caress. In the clan's hierarchy, those born during the day held sway, bestowed with the finest mentors and entrusted with esteemed roles. Unbeknownst to her, two of her kits had perished within her womb, emerging into the world already lifeless. Her sole surviving kit, her firstborn, she named Puddlekit. Fallencloud tenderly groomed her daughter's cheek, murmuring apologies into the still air. Alone in her nest, she lay, the other queens having distanced themselves, their accusatory gazes burning with silent condemnation. They whispered with each other, the only words made loud enough to hear had been,
"Punishment, should have kept her tail down."

No solace was offered to the grieving queen; only the faint warmth of her newborn brought any semblance of light to her shadowed heart. Applespring, having checked on Fallencloud, departed the den, returning to the clearing where the lifeless forms of the two fallen kits lay. A tom lingered nearby, his gaze fixed upon the tiny bodies. Though his fur bristled with unease, he suppressed the instinctive urge and met Applespring's gaze head-on. There was a distant sorrow in his eyes, almost tinged with guilt, before he turned away, retreating to the warriors' den. Applespring's ears flattened against her head as she glared after him, before tenderly gathering up the small, motionless forms of the deceased kits.

     Emerging from the camp, the young medicine cat's ears were pinned back, her gaze fixed ahead with unwavering determination. She trotted briskly through the crisp embrace of the morning air until she reached a secluded spot beneath a towering tree. The tree's bark, weathered yet resilient, bore witness to the passage of time, its textured surface a tapestry of stories whispered by the wind. Moss clung to its rough skin like a cloak of verdant velvet, while ferns and wildflowers nestled at its base, finding refuge in the fertile soil nourished by its roots. High above, sunlight filtered through the emerald canopy, casting a kaleidoscope of patterns upon the forest floor below. Each ray of light seemed to carry the promise of new beginnings, a testament to the cycle of life that thrived within the embrace of the tree's branches. And yet, amid this vibrant tapestry of life, lay the silent figures of the fallen kits, their stillness a poignant reminder of the fragility of existence. Nestled in the earth beneath the tree's protective canopy, they were laid to rest in the hopes that their spirits might find solace and renewal amidst the richness of life that surrounded them.
With utmost care, she laid the lifeless bodies upon the earth, tenderly cradling them in her paws as she dug their final resting place. Nestling them within the embrace of the earth, they appeared as though in peaceful slumber, their stillness belying the illusion of life. Even Applespring, in her vigilance, double-checked for any hint of breath, but found none. As the earth closed over the tiny forms, Applespring lifted her gaze skyward, addressing the unseen realm of StarClan,
"May they find solace with you," she murmured softly before turning back toward the camp. Each step homeward was accompanied by the rhythmic swish of her tail, her mind consumed by swirling thoughts. Was it him? In the intricate web of clan relationships, the specter of forbidden liaisons loomed large. To bear kits without a known father invited accusations of treachery, while suspicions within the clan brought their own brand of scandal and shame. With a shake of her head, Applespring silently thanked her stars for the path she had chosen—the solitary life of a medicine cat. "Relationships are messy," she muttered to herself, a bittersweet reminder of the tangled complexities of clan life. Poor Fallencloud.

.·:*¨༺ 🌿 ༻¨*:·.