[iliri]

Kestrelkit
medium-furred, gray-and-orange calico molly with heterochromatic green-and-blue eyes
purrks: n/a
she/her | thc kit | 1 moon

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Kestrelkit had been perched just outside the nursery, her gray paws half-buried in a thin blanket of snow as she watched the delicate flakes drift lazily from the pale gray sky. Her wide eyes followed each flurry with rapt attention, mesmerized by the way the frost seemed to dance before it landed on the cold earth. The chill nipped at her tiny marbled nose, and she wrinkled it with a quiet sniffle, too focused on her exploration to mind the cold. She wasn’t looking for trouble. She had simply been curious, as always, letting her paws wander to the edge of the clearing where the world felt just a bit bigger, the air a little crisper, and the snow somehow softer. But the peacefulness shattered like thin ice under heavy paws when a voice boomed across camp, cutting through the cold stillness with the force of a thunderclap. Kestrelkit flinched violently, her heart leaping into her throat. The sheer power in Bumblestar’s voice made her stumble backward, nearly tripping over her own paws as her fur puffed out in startled alarm. She blinked rapidly, pulse racing as she whipped her head toward the source of the commotion. Her mismatched gaze locked on the leader, who stormed out of her den with eyes blazing and claws unsheathed, a snarl twisting her features into something fierce and unrecognizable. For a heartbeat, Kestrelkit was too stunned to move.

She crouched low, her belly brushing the ground as if that alone could shield her from the storm brewing in the clearing. Her breath came in shallow gasps, the cold air burning her small lungs as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Then she saw him—Pinepaw. He looked like he was shrinking beneath Bumblestar’s fury, His fur appearing to have been bristling as he had been flattened against the ground. He looked small—smaller than any apprentice should—and the sight of him trembling under the weight of Bumblestar’s rage sent an uneasy shiver down Kestrelkit’s spine. She watched, her wide eyes unblinking, as Pinepaw gave out his explanation. Kestrelkit’s ears twitched, the soft fur at their tips brushing against the frosty air. She blinked slowly, the weight of his words pressing into her like the harsh cold seeping into her paws. Technically attacked? That’s what he called it? She didn’t know exactly what had happened between Pinepaw and Mudhound, but the tone of his voice—the way he said “technically” as though it were a leaf blown aside by the wind—felt wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong. Her claws unsheathed instinctively, pricking the frozen ground as a strange, new sensation curled within her chest.

It wasn’t fear. Fear had come and gone with Bumblestar’s shout, sharp and fleeting like a thorn. This was something else—hotter, sharper, a prickle of ire in her belly. Her mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—narrowed as she peered at Pinepaw, her small mind working to untangle the knot of feelings that had suddenly twisted within her. The leader’s furious correction made Kestrelkit jump again, but this time, her reaction wasn’t fear. It was a jolt of something that felt almost like… satisfaction. The fierce pride of watching justice served, even if she didn’t yet have the words to name it. She pressed herself deeper into the snow, her fur bristling as Bumblestar loomed over Pinepaw, her voice sharp and serrated with grief and rage. The world seemed to hold its breath. Kestrelkit held hers, too. Her leader’s words tore through Kestrelkit like the wind howling through bare branches. She didn’t understand all of it—didn’t fully grasp the weight of what it meant to lose a son or the depths of a grief that could make a voice break in two. But she felt it. Oh, how she felt it. The grief, the fury, the way Bumblestar’s tail lashed and her claws struck the ground as if she could carve her pain into the earth itself—it all crashed into Kestrelkit like a wave, leaving her breathless and trembling. She looked back at Pinepaw, and this time, her gaze was no longer wide with confusion or fear.

It was sharp, burning with a fire too big for her small frame. He had done this. He had made Bumblestar roar with a grief so fierce it scorched the air. He had tried to hurt someone—someone who mattered—and now he was groveling, making excuses. A low, growly noise built in Kestrelkit’s throat, soft and kittenish, but fierce nonetheless. Her tail lashed behind her as her claws dug deeper into the snow, anchoring her in place. Why would you do that? The question burned in her mind, equally raw and unspoken. She didn’t understand Pinepaw’s reasoning—couldn’t wrap her head around why any cat would act with such carelessness, as though the world weren’t already full of sharp edges and cold winds. She could feel something sharp twisting inside her, a sense of injustice so heavy it made her small chest ache. She didn’t yet have the words to shout at him, didn’t yet have the strength to confront him like Bumblestar did, but her heart pounded with the desire to do something. Her mismatched eyes, blazing with a fierceness far beyond her moons, remained locked on Pinepaw. She saw the way his tail twitched nervously, the way his ears lay flat against his head as he bowed. He looked… pathetic. Weak. A coward hiding behind flimsy words while Bumblestar’s grief tore through the camp like a storm. The wind howled again, carrying the bitter scent of sorrow and rage, and Kestrelkit’s tiny frame trembled from more than the cold.

She felt it now, that spark of understanding blooming in the depths of her chest. Life, she realized, was not always kind. It could be sharp and cruel, full of claws and teeth and heavy, heavy hearts. She didn’t understand everything. But she understood enough. And as she continued to stare at Pinepaw, her small heart hammering with emotions too big for her to name, she made a silent promise. A fierce, quiet vow that burned as bright as the fire in her belly. She would remember this. She would remember the way grief could roar, the way words could wound, and the way some cats—like Pinepaw—could break things they didn’t know how to fix. And in the cold, bitter quiet that followed, she let her anger settle deep into her bones, a seedling of justice growing within her. Her claws flexed one last time. He will not be forgiven.

(closed; mainly a reaction post to pine’s exile... and for foreshadowing for future silly plot shenanigans uwu)