Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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Rosethorn's contractions came at midnight, and the agony that split her open was so severe that she was ushered from the nursery to the medicine cat's den with worried looks. Orchiddrop accompanied her sister, leaving Crow with their children, and watched anxiously as Rosethorn labored. Her own birthing experience had not been pleasant, but it had gone how it was supposed to. Here, everything seemed to be going wrong.
All Rosethorn could see were flashes of red and black across her vision, her abdomen sliced open by the intense lines of pain. Not even the stick they gave her to bite on helped. She sobbed, curled around herself, while Graythorn fretted over her and the kits, stating how long this was taking and how much pain she seemed to be in. Rosethorn could have smacked him for mentioning the obvious.
The bad news came with blow after blow. One dead kit, another dead kit, a third kit with no heartbeat, a fourth not breathing. Rosethorn wept openly for the first few, but at the end she only watched with a numb, haunted gaze as they moved the bodies away from her, her contractions continuing. She didn't even raise her head to look at the fifth kit, but she did stir when Graythorn announced that he was alive- just barely.
Orchiddrop helped the blank-eyed deputy clean her one living son and nuzzle him towards her stomach to eat. By the time morning came, the clan knew of the tragedy that Rosethorn had faced. Orchiddrop left as soon as Rosethorn fell asleep, breaking the news in a tearful whisper to Crow.
It was a long night for Crow, despite that he was tucked into the nursery, doing his best to distract the kits from their millions of questions regarding where momma was and why auntie Rosethorn had sounded so hurt. Eventually, they were quelled enough by the simple games he devised to fall into sleep, and he slipped into a far more restless slumber curled protectively around his six children, his thoughts plagued by worry for his sister-in-law.
The next morning was bright but even the sun seemed somber. Were circumstances different, he might have rejoiced at how Orchiddrop leaned against his side and drew comfort out of his touch, but there was no joy in today. All he could do was hug her tight against him until she, too, was able to get some sleep, which he was sure would be as harrowing as his own had been. Crow nuzzled her gently behind her ear and then slipped out, doing the same to Rosethorn when he silently entered Graythorn's den, careful not to wake her. It was hours before he returned to SummerClan's camp, the evening sun hot on his heels, and when he limped back into camp, a shadow towered behind him.
The scent of NightClan was thick on the stranger's pelt, but beneath a horribly scarred face were eyes that any SummerClan cat would recognize as having once been one of their own, the ashamed Phantomfox needing no guide to know exactly which den his mate was in. He rushed to her side and cradled the frail, absent Rosethorn against him, tear lines streaking his cheeks. Though grief echoed through him, there was a thread of relief entwined in it, knowing that at least his love was alive. "I'm so sorry, Rose. I'm so sorry," he repeated endlessly, so very angry at himself for not being strong enough to have been with her.
Rosethorn stirred from her reverie, a dulled confusion in her gaze as her mate entered the den and curled himself around her. All day she had wondered why he had not been there with her, but the fact that he had come now spoke volumes. "I haven't named him..." Rosethorn said in a hoarse voice, her gaze locked on the tiny kit squirming at her stomach.
She didn't know what to say. What was there to say? There were no words for the grief that had ripped her heart apart, for the fierce love that stung like salt in the wounds, directed to her one living child. Gone were the dreams of a large family, but there was still their son, whom Graythorn had decreed would live. Phantomfox hadn't been there- but what good would his presence have done? Besides, he was here now, and her rubbing it in would do nothing but torment them both.
Rose leaned back into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder and watching the evening rays tilt into the den and splash across the small family- a much reduced family, but a family still. "I thought you should be here, to help me pick out a name."
Whether she brought up his absence or not, there would be no cease to his endless turmoil, which churned like a raging sea within him. Phantomfox attempted to swallow the bile in his throat-- for Rosethorn's sake mostly-- and let his eyes wander to their surviving son, who was wrapped in vibrant hues he inherited from neither his mother's muted patches nor his father's dark fur. If Phantomfox embodied the night and Rosethorn the day, their son was the sunset between them, all the fiery shades of reds and oranges right before twilight settled in.
"I still think Phantomkit or Rosekit would make fine names." His attempt at humor fell flat, a wan smile on his maw as he recalled the day she announced her pregnancy and they briefly discussed names. Rosethorn had denied his suggestions then and he had no doubt she would deny them now, but the longer he took in the shade of his son's pelt, the more his heart constricted in his chest, a phantom memory of a she-cat whose pelt was just as fire-threaded drifting through his mind. "There is one other one that comes to mind," he hedged, clearly hesitant. The name itself carried so much of his own personal baggage, he was unsure if it would be unfair to dub his firstborn, only surviving child with it, as if it would saddle him with the haunts Phantomfox failed to reconcile within himself. But he couldn't shake the sensation that it was right. "He does look like a Foxkit."
Rosethorn nodded absently, watching her son closely. She was terrified that if she tore her gaze away from him, he would disappear, like the rest of them. At least Phantomfox was here now. She leaned closer, trying to memorize the lines of the orange kit's body. "Foxkit," she agreed, pressing her nose to the kit's forehead.
At the scent of him, the emotions were suddenly breaking loose. "I-" she started, then stopped, her form suddenly wracked with sobs. "It isn't fair," she whispered hoarsely. "I already lost my parents. Now I have to lose my children, too?" Before last night, she hadn't been able to kill even a mouse. Now she had been forced to watch the bodies of her children being taken out to be prepped for burial. Death was no longer a terrifying possibility- it was a harsh reality that grated along her skin.
Once again, there was that bitterness inside her. Orchiddrop had her family, had healthy kits. Must her sister always have everything she couldn't? She lapsed into silence, her face buried in Phantomfox's neck as she cried.
Rosethorn's grief was palpable, far more potent than his own quiet anguish, and all he could do was snuggle her closer into him, curling his tail around his mate and their small son. His heart burned with emotions that were bigger than even himself-- feeling loss and fury entwined together-- and Phantomfox could only direct it towards the stars, cursing their existence and their repeated cruelties against his family, so much so as to take them from him. "It isn't fair," he agreed morosely, speaking softly against her ear. His silver gaze flicked outside at where no light dared to step foot on the earth, the veil of night masking the tragedy that had taken place, and he could hear the giggles of kittens romping with their fathers, mothers shouting to them to be careful. His claws pricked at the moss underpaw.
"Rose... come home with me." The request was sudden, but there was a distinguishable gravity in it, an urgency that was raw. "NightClan's camp is a sanctuary that's bordered by rock walls on all sides. Aspenstar is a good friend and I oversee the guard. You and Foxkit... you would never know danger again." It wasn't a light promise to make but he made it anyway, holding his breath as he awaited her answer, knowing it was an impossible choice to make.
Rosethorn stared at him, conflict warring through her gaze. Before she could respond, Orchiddrop entered the den, two pieces of prey dangling from her jaw. She wasn't surprised to see Phantomfox, and the sad smile she offered the two lovers was heavy with grief. She dropped the mice next to them, pushing them close.
"You need to eat," she told her sister, inclining her head in greeting at her brother-in-law. Her own scar gleamed in the dusky moonlight, though it was nothing compared to the extensive wounds on Phantom's form.
"Momma~!" Cinderkit called, scampering in on her heels. "I wanna see auntie Rose and my cousin, too!"
Orchiddrop turned to her daughter, nosing her back gently. "Maybe in a little bit," she said quietly. With an apologetic glance at the two of them, the white-furred warrior led her plump daughter out of the den, leaving the two to their grief.
Rosethorn looked out after her sister, watching the shadowy figures of her nieces and nephews gather outside of the den. Summerclan had been her home for over a year now, and she had deep roots here. But there was no way she could stay, no way she could serve as Deputy in this emotional turmoil, no way she could watch her sister's large family without feeling that spark of envy.
"Okay," she agreed after a moment, turning back to Phantomfox. "I'll come to Nightclan with you." Better to go somewhere they could start over, than to stay and deal with her failings. Here she would always be the former deputy that had a jealousy issue- there, she could just focus on Phantomfox and their new son, Foxkit. "As soon as I'm allowed to leave the medicine cat den, we can bring him home."
Orchiddrop only received a slight inclination of his chin in response, Phantomfox watching the sisters with a steely gaze like daggers and just as dangerous, prepared to scare the eager kit away when she was intercepted by her mother. Relaxing some, he turned back to his mate, eying the contemplation in her expression but saying nothing until she did. "We can bring him home," he echoed, the feathery wisps of his tail moving to tickle the mewling Foxkit.
It was a few days before Rosethorn was cleared to leave Graythorn's den. Even if the physical scars were steadily healing, he'd wanted to observe her and the effects of her emotional trauma and also keep an eye on the frail kitten, though he was forced to do so under the watchful, unwavering watch of the new father. Phantomfox was eager for the medicine cat to release them but he didn't push the matter, not wanting to risk his mate or his son's health with his own impatience.
"Aspenstar will be expecting our arrival tonight," he murmured once they were alone again. "I sent your brother to tell her. We can leave once you're ready." He could sense her family hovering near the entrance of the den, unsure of whether they should enter or steer away but the concern was thick in the air and the evening was turning somber as they all understood what was to come.
Rosethorn nodded, shifting so she could stand and walk the recommend laps around the medicine cat den. She was healing quickly, despite the blood she'd lost, but there was still something... missing. The spark that she'd once had was gone, and it was unclear when it would return. Orchiddrop had worried over her incessantly, though she knew her sister enough to only come into the den once or twice a day to talk.
Foxkit was still small- a squirming orange bundle that sought out her warmth instinctively- but they should be able to make it to Nightclan without a problem. The sooner the better. Rosethorn didn't know how much longer she could stay here, surrounded by well-meaning but oblivious outsiders to her pain. She was no longer the Deputy, no longer the bright and merry cat she used to be. It wasn't clear who she was, anymore.
The goodbye was hard enough. Rosethorn put on a brave smile for her nieces and nephews, nosing each of them in goodbye, and rested her forehead on Orchiddrop's shoulder for a long moment. Even Crow got a goodbye nuzzle, now that he was back from his errand. Cinderkit wept openly over losing her cute cousin so soon, but the adults were all able to say their goodbyes without breaking down.
Phantomfox carried the mewling Foxkit in his mouth as they started out, slowly at first as to not push Rosethorn. The new mother walked along in silence, hot tears carving tracks on her cheeks as she left behind her familiar forest.
Phantomfox hung away from the family as they exchanged their emotional goodbyes, watching as Rosethorn bade her sister a tearful farewell and how the ebony Crow rubbed his cheek to hers, and even from this far away the NightClan guard could tell his amber eyes promised he would take care of Orchiddrop in her sister's absence. The most vocal of the gang was a little silver Bengal that seemed particularly distraught about what was happening, not fully understanding why she was leaving but understanding the implications enough to know she didn't intend on coming back, and soon, chagrined by the adults' dismissal of his cries, Firekit stormed off bitterly.
When it was clear the rest were just stalling now, he finally stepped in, guiding his mate away from her family and through the territory. He did what he could to keep the horrors at bay from where they threatened to creep out from the recesses of his mind, but no matter which way he turned, Phantomfox was cornered on all sides. There was the fresh grief of his loss, the silent tears falling at Rosethorn's paws, Foxkit's steady but nasally breaths, and all around him were the memories ghosting through the trees. Flashes of orange flitted beyond the trees and if he looked too long, he swore he could see a mangled face in the shade.
He was grateful to step across the border. Being off of SummerClan's land released him from his shackles, though he glanced worriedly at Rosethorn, wondering of leaving her home behind would be her own chains. "Would you like to rest here? We've been walking a while," he suggested as he set Foxkit down between his paws, licking behind his young son's ear to quell his cries.
Rosethorn nodded in agreement, moving to the nearby brook to lap up a few sips of water. Instinctively, her own gaze turned back to the Summerclan border, watching for any sign of movement. She had often wandered out of the territory on her little adventures- it was how she'd met Phantomfox, after all- but it was different this time, not knowing when she'd return.
As she returned to Phantomfox's side, leaning into him, she couldn't help but feel a deep sense of guilt. Why she felt that way, she wasn't quite sure yet. "Are you feeling alright?" She asked her mate, pulling the squirming Foxkit close to her warm fur with her paw to soothe him. "I know it can't have been easy... being back in Summerclan like that."
He settled away from the water's edge, allowing her this moment of introspection and privacy, and when Rosethorn returned, he was cleaning their son's coat, which seemed to be a magnet for all the debris found in the forest, though the tiny tom didn't seem too pleased with his bath. "I'm okay," he assured her as she settled beside him, though it was clear it was forced. She shot him a more demanding glance that forced a sigh from his lungs. "It's difficult. Being in SummerClan has never been easy since...the accident, but I would do it again, a million times, for you. Besides," his lips twitched upward, "if I can handle you, my love, I can handle anything." It was affectionately delivered with a nuzzle, hoping to incite a smile at least even if he hoped for a laugh or some indication of the Rosethorn he knew was buried somewhere beneath her grief.
He wondered then if something was fundamentally wrong with him; vying for humor only days after losing their children, while his mate struggled to escape the pit of despair. Perhaps he was just good at compartmentalizing, or perhaps Phantomfox was as heartless as he was often called.
