Cinderpelts Note: oooooh dat plot twist, enjoy chapy 11!

Foxcatcher's POV

I groan as light streams into my sight. The light was dull, but still seemed strong. I smelled Sparrowpelt next to me, and I turned to see his brownish body. I could barely make out the faint scars of my claws on his side. I couldn't resist a smile.

I pushed myself to my paws, stretched my front legs and arched my back, then shock and the grains of moss of my pelt. As I walked up towards the entrance, my legs ached bad. I could feel every muscle in my forelegs, pulling up then fading out as it went to my side.

I bounced and leaped by the parkour, till I reached the matted grass at the top. The daylight still burnt the backs of where my eyes lay in my head. A grey figure stood at the corner of my vision- this time not being my black-chested 'mate'- but it was my true, Shrewfoot.

She set her moss down, dismissed Troutpaw and Ferretclaw, and came over to me. "Hello," I mew, "Have you healed?" She asks, I remember my shoulder, and, if I lied, I would get out of hunting and patrols, but I'd bet locked up inside of camp. I had a plan to carry on, so I said, "Yes," so simply. "What happened, in Rowanstar's den, I mean? You hurt him, I know you did." She stated, dignified.

"No, you were no witness!" I hissed back, "Well then what happened? If you were in there then you saw!" She fought back. It was true. I hesitated for a moment, then realized the obvious story- not a badger or another bird, as there would be scents of those, but the fact that Rowanstar is purely mad. "He's gone insane. He attacked me, so I defended. Nothing you and I weren't taught to do." She stared at me, I couldn't tell if she thought I was crazy or not.

"I believe you've mixed your stories." She said plainly, taking a step closer, "Your sick- a sick and crazed cat- and you know it, I don't know what your plans are, but whatever it is, we'll make sure it doesn't happen."

"'We'll'?" I ask, wonder if other cats thought I had evil and villainy plans. If so, they need to not. "I should have never asked you for facts, you disgusting rat-poop." I couldn't bare not a break out in a laugh, "RAT-POOP? Haven't heard that one yet!" She squinted at me, picked her moss, backed up, then padded away with a twitching tail .

Starlingwing was staring at me, "What?" His green eyes seemed blank, and offended. "Your kits are being borne, mouse-brain." Kits? I think, oh yeah, Scorchshade. The warrior turns and walks towards the bush, or the nursery.

I pursue his tail, pushing aside a Snowbird and Tigerheart- two elderly cats interested in new birth. A grey pelt lay on a moss bed, with Mintleaf standing over her, delivering the last of four kits. "Fox..cagur.." Her voice was shaky, but happy. "What should we name them?"

I peer over the five little scraps, seeing a darkish one, two whitish ones and a gingery pelt and another tiny white pelt. I remember the last Gathering, me looking up at stars... The night is mysterious and deceiving, the perfect name for the perfect kit... I remember my thoughts and meow, "Nightkit." Scorchshade smiles,
"The opposite of day, I like it. And how about Elmkit, for this next one?"
"Thats something new," I say, and she acknowledged that I, shall we say, didn't hate that name. "The next one's a she-kit." Mintleaf's voice meowed. Her spiky fur crowed everyone to the edge of the den, so it was hard to see the few middle kits. "May I suggest a name?" I recognized that voice as Mottleclouds.

"Sure," my grey mate mewed. The medicine apprentice cleared his throat, "Maybe Poolkit? From my sister, Poolkit. She died the night of her birth..." I recalled a small scrap of fur, in Mottleclouds litter, and his mother mourning for the tiny runt for a moon or so. I never got to see this 'Poolkit', but I assumed Mottlecloud still held her in his heart, though he never actually got to meet her.
"That's a lovely name for her- and a deserved dedication," Scorchshade said,
"and for the last two?" I thought for a moment, thinking of things I liked about kits. Kits were gross, and 'our' kits seemed like tiny little red ants, crawling and wriggling around, "Antkit," I blurt out.
"Oh, okay."
"And Footkit," I smile, flicking my tail as my tail at the last, pitiful thing-of-a-kit. "Footkit? Oh, for Blackstar," my mate says, and I couldn't help a giggle.