Red Poppies

Prologue

A small, brown spotted tabby she-kit nestled into the curve of her mother's belly. Her tiny body shivered as she tried to find warmth in the mass of fur before her. Thankfully, a gentle tongue rasped over the kitten's head, bringing back heat to some of the she-kit. She mewed quietly, enjoying the feeling of comfort and safety. She drowsily flopped down, letting out another happy mew. Her eyelids, still closed, fluttered a bit as she let out a tiny sigh. The kit wiggled around, then fell asleep, oblivious to the yowls and screeches outside the nursery. Then again, a moon-old kit feels nothing except for hunger, sleepiness, and comfort, right?

Wrong.

They can also feel fear, actually.

Meanwhile, in another camp, far away in another clan, there were caterwauls louder than the ones we just heard. There were hisses, growls-and the sickening sound of tearing flesh. Tucked away in a small crevice, a black and white she-kit mewled loudly. Her mother was gone! She had disappeared! The tiny molly wailed as she clawed at nothing, blind and deaf as a tiny, young kitten like her would be.

A muscular black tom approached. The she-kit shut her trap, shivering. She could only tell movements by scent and vibration-and this was certainly not her mother.

The black tom raised a paw, grinning malevolently, then swiped a claw across the kitten's nose. She screeched with pain and tried to run away clumsily, but the tom had already picked her up roughly by the scruff. He fled the battle, the cargo secured in his jaws. His leader would be proud.

Back at the previous camp, our little she-kit has finally woke up. Her mother had awakened; something had entered the camp. She curled her brown tail around her kit protectively, peering outside the nursery. The spotted brown tabby, however, had just fallen asleep again.

A black tom had entered the camp with a kit dangling from his jaws. Gasps and hisses were heard from around the camp. The tom dropped the kit, his eyes sparkling with malice. A caliby molly had quickly darted out of her high den, her usually soft blue eyes narrowed with annoyance. She looked down into the clearing, her eyes now widening with horror. She leapt down and stared the the black tom, her eyes filling with hate. She spat at the tom, and he spat back. After a few more words, the tom's amber eyes had widened with fear, only to have shock and anger replace them after a heartbeat. His ears curled back, his tail lashing behind him. He stalked out of the camp, growling loudly.

The leader looked at the kit, then turned to speak to a fluffy white tom. His green eyes narrowed when he listened to what the caliby had to say, then he nodded and ran out of camp. He wasn't chasing the tom, though; he had been ordered to go to the camp where the battle was being fought.

The molly picked up the kit, her green eyes softening once she saw the tiny wound, then trotted to the medicine den. After a while, she walked out with the kit in her jaws. Now, the tiny black and white she-kit had a cobweb on her nose, along with some sort of herb paste under it.

This is where our two kits meet.

The leader, tired, gently placed the kit in front of the brown and white queen before her. She simply nodded, telling the leader she would take care of the kitten. Then the caliby left.

The small, brown spotted tabby she-kit rose when she smelled a new scent, a scent that smelled way different than anything she had smelled before. She wrinkled her nose, but then realized this new entity was a small she-kit like her. She nuzzled the strange smelling friend, curious. She received a nuzzle back. The two kits immediately curled around each other, as if this was a ritual they have done for many seasons. They fell asleep soundly, their breathing in sync.

When morning came, the black and white she-kit was gone. The white tom had come back to retrieve her, then send her to her rightful camp. This saddened the tabby molly, for her only friend had left. Of course, she forgot about it after a day or two. After all, they were just moon-old kits.

This event starts our story. A story of joy, a story of misery. A story of love, a story of grief. A tale of two mollies who were bound to find each other since the moment they were born.

This is a story of moving on, and story of accepting help when you need it.

This is the story of Quailfeather and Crowdance, or, in this time, Quailkit and Crowkit.