Hello and welcome to Purrgatory! We are an 18+ Warrior Cat Roleplay set in an AU where the clans were unable to leave the forest territories and perished!
It has been 100 or more years since then, the clans of the forest are but distant memories to any cats still alive, stories passed down to kits of strangely named wild warriors and leaders with nine lives but the time of the clans is upon us once more and the stars shine yet again.
tw // this thread contains descriptions of child birth, talk of parental death, and grief. reader discretion is advised.
It hurts. Everything hurts. Owl feels like she's been trampled by a horse, like she hadn't escaped the fire at all, but was still in that barn, buried in the rubble somewhere next to her father. Their father… a contraction rips through her, making her whole body shudder. Her father should be here. Why did he have to be good, to be kind– why couldn't Hoot have been selfish, why couldn't he have just– another contraction, this one more painful than the last.
They grit their teeth. They shouldn't be thinking like this… Hoot had saved poor little Comet… but in the pain and desperation of birth, all she can think is that if Hoot hadn't saved Comet he would be here to meet his grandchildren, and in this moment Owl would sacrifice all of Windclan for that to be true, for her family to be whole again.
Pain again, enough to make her feel delirious, and she lets out a strangled meow that sounds vaguely like the name of her lover, Daz, as if asking for something for which she does not know the words. To bring their father back, perhaps, or to turn back time. Things Daz cannot do, even if he might want to.
Winding and twisting pain, ripping through their body like fire over the moor. It's too much, too much, and then quite suddenly– it's over. She feels hot, still, but the pain subsides gentler than it came, like rain after the fire. Panting, she lifts her head and shakily turns to look at her kits– three perfect little kits, wet and wriggling, unaware of their mother's grief and the pain they had caused simply by demanding to exist and to live. When she speaks, her voice is raw both with grief and exhaustion.
"Hoot," she says weakly, pressing her nose to one– one who's little brown body was speckled, just as it's grandfather had been. "Hootkit, that will be your name…" She doesn't have it in her to name the rest, not now at least– the only thing she can think of is her dad and how he isn't here and never will be again.
They seek out the presence of Daz, warm orange eyes looking to meet her lover's green ones, to be reminded that she is not alone. Her sister should be around too, somewhere– Owl had lost track of time and place in her pain.
It hurts. Everything hurts. Owl feels like she's been trampled by a horse, like she hadn't escaped the fire at all, but was still in that barn, buried in the rubble somewhere next to her father. Their father… a contraction rips through her, making her whole body shudder. Her father should be here. Why did he have to be good, to be kind– why couldn't Hoot have been selfish, why couldn't he have just– another contraction, this one more painful than the last.
They grit their teeth. They shouldn't be thinking like this… Hoot had saved poor little Comet… but in the pain and desperation of birth, all she can think is that if Hoot hadn't saved Comet he would be here to meet his grandchildren, and in this moment Owl would sacrifice all of Windclan for that to be true, for her family to be whole again.
Pain again, enough to make her feel delirious, and she lets out a strangled meow that sounds vaguely like the name of her lover, Daz, as if asking for something for which she does not know the words. To bring their father back, perhaps, or to turn back time. Things Daz cannot do, even if he might want to.
Winding and twisting pain, ripping through their body like fire over the moor. It's too much, too much, and then quite suddenly– it's over. She feels hot, still, but the pain subsides gentler than it came, like rain after the fire. Panting, she lifts her head and shakily turns to look at her kits– three perfect little kits, wet and wriggling, unaware of their mother's grief and the pain they had caused simply by demanding to exist and to live. When she speaks, her voice is raw both with grief and exhaustion.
"Hoot," she says weakly, pressing her nose to one– one who's little brown body was speckled, just as it's grandfather had been. "Hootkit, that will be your name…" She doesn't have it in her to name the rest, not now at least– the only thing she can think of is her dad and how he isn't here and never will be again.
They seek out the presence of Daz, warm orange eyes looking to meet her lover's green ones, to be reminded that she is not alone. Her sister should be around too, somewhere– Owl had lost track of time and place in her pain.
- ooc: looking for @DAZ and @Chickenscratch but no need to wait:3
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