Chapter Text
Dove is a name for times of peace. It is a name that means "peace" and "hope" and "found in calmness." Whitewing chooses it for her daughter because it is a name for kits born in hopeful times.
Dovekit is barely more than a scrap of fur, and Whitewing wants her daughter — both her daughters — to grow in peace. But Ivykit is her firstborn, fiercer and larger already. She wants peace for her, of course, but there is strength in her. Dovekit is small, fragile, in need of protection.
Ivy is a name with strength. It is a name that means "holding together" and "hard to damage" and "grows where it is planted." Whitewing chooses it for her daughter because she believes she will need it.
It's an intuition, a fragile thought, a quiet worry that things won't be as calm as they seem. Nothing has settled since Hollyleaf died, the Clan in hushed mourning twice-over. As newleaf comes, Whitewing hopes that the Clan will begin to move forward.
Because things are good, at least for the moment. No one is hungry; no sickness threatens the kits; no battles are fought too bloody to be worth winning.
Yet still, Whitewing can't shake the notion that peace will not be enough. That peace is nothing, that Dovekit is nothing, if the world below her is shaking. Ivykit is born restless, and Whitewing hopes she learns to put down roots.
Birchfall doesn't ask after the meaning of their names, and Whitewing doesn't blame him. She's not sure she would, in his position. He's happy for his daughters, happy everyone is safe and whole, and that's enough for him.
Squirrelflight and Leafpool visit, and Whitewing volunteers their names readily. Squirrelflight says Ivykit is already strong, and Leafpool comments on Dovekit's calm demeaner, and Whitewing thinks she's picked fitting names.
But that's not it, it's not just who they are. It's that Whitewing has been alive long enough to know that the cats best suited for peace are often forced into fighting, and that cats born with strength and no direction wander aimless, often directing into destructive force.
They will need each other. They will need to temper each other. They will need to see the Clan in its best moment, even if they were born into the worst. They will need.
She can blame it on the restless dreams queens often have, but Whitewing sees her daughters in their first moments, and knows, the way she knows her name, that it is true, that this calm will not last, that this peace will not linger.
So she prays. She prays, Cinderpelt, protect my daughters, let them grow strong, let them grow healthy. She prays, Goosefeather, let there not be anything you need to tell them, let them grow happy, let them grow slowly. She prays, Moonflower, let my daughters be loved, let them grow in a time of peace, let them never be called into battle too soon. She prays, and she hopes it will be enough.
It will not be enough. Jayfeather knows what Whitewing asks for, he finds himself drawn into her dreams time after time. He knows it won’t be enough, knows it almost from the start.
He presses his nose to each kit, breathes deep, smelling for any sign of ill health. He cannot rely on his vision, and they are too young for him to have any success peering into their minds.
Ivykit smells of milk, of kit, of all soft nursery things.
Some say medicine cats have a vision of each kit born into their clan. Jayfeather knows this is a lie, but it is a comforting one. Jayfeather sees nothing in Ivykit, only a young life, full of potential.
Dovekit smells of milk, but first, she smells of blood, of fear, and Jayfeather forces himself to breath deeper, to push past the hazy omen and find her kit-scent.
Queens are comforted with the knowledge that the future of their kits is real, tangible. Jayfeather knows this is a lie, but it is a comforting one. He doesn’t tell Whitewing what he sees in her daughter. The existence of visions are comforting; the reality of them is not.
Jayfeather knows this, and so he focuses on the reality of the situation. Dovekit and Ivykit are young, and healthy. They grow strong in the nursery, and he checks on them exactly as much as he should.
Whitewing is only as nervous as any first time queen, but Jayfeather isn't good at being comforting. Leafpool was better at it, responsible for nervous queens and.
Well.
Now he's on his own.
So he does his best. Ivykit falls off a rock; she reports to his den dragging her paws, embarrassed. He checks her over and smells only nursery and leaf litter.
Whitewing brings Dovekit in when she can't sleep, and Dovekit whines, protests, and Jayfeather can still smell blood under her fur.
He tells Whitewing there's nothing he can do.
There isn't, and he wishes there was.
Birchfall waits anxiously at the foot of the Highledge.
Whitewing isn't watching from the nursery, but he had seen her, and Ferncloud will watch. (His mother, watching his daughters.)
"Are you ready?" Firestar asks. Birchfall nods. "Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Highledge for a Clan meeting."
The Clan was already mostly gathered, well-aware that there were new kits to announce.
"Jayfeather has asked me to remind you not to visit the nursery or the elders' den if you're showing any symptoms of green-cough, so—"
"And if you are showing symptoms, you should be in my den, anyway!" Jayfeather calls. "The faster you see me, the faster you recover."
"Thank you, Jayfeather," Firestar says. Leafpool whispers something to Squirrelflight, who nods, glancing at Jayfeather.
"In other news, Whitewing had her litter last low-moon. Birchfall?"
Birchfall scrambles up to join Firestar, his heart beating hard. Birchfall isn't a public cat. He isn't used to being in front of the Clan like this. But he sees Whitewing poke just her head out of the nursery, blinking up at him, and he takes a deep breath, pushing down his own fear.
"Whitewing has two she-cats, named Dovekit and Ivykit," he says, hoping he sounds confident and assured.
"ThunderClan welcomes Dovekit and Ivykit," Firestar says, as the Clan begins to chant their names.
Birchfall jumps off the ledge, heading straight for the nursery.
"Can I come in?" he asks.
"Of course," Whitewing says, flicking her tail at him.
He purrs at his kits, asleep next to his mate.
"They're going to be good warriors," he says.
"Yes," Whitewing says. "They are."
Cinderheart visits Whitewing's kits. They're growing so fast, with more energy than she can remember having, and she likes playing with them.
They remind her of her littermates.
"I'm going to be the best warrior ThunderClan has ever seen!" Ivykit declares. She's looking up at Cinderheart, and she realizes Ivykit is looking to her for reassurance. "Right?"
Cinderheart purrs. "Of course," she says.
"What about me?" Dovekit asks, her tail wrapped around her small body.
"Do you want to be the best warrior?"
"Yes!" Dovekit cries, her body still.
"Then I guess it'll be a tie between you and Ivykit."
Ivykit pounces at Dovekit, and the incident is forgotten.
"Cinderheart," Firestar says. She jumps, not realizing he was right there and talking to her. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"
"Of course," she says. "Just, let me get someone to watch the kits."
Firestar dips his head, and Cinderheart searches for a spare warrior.
"Lionblaze! Can you watch Whitewing's kits?"
"Yeah," he says, padding towards them. Before he gets close,
He dips his head, and she flags Lionblaze down. Dovekit and Ivykit pounce on him, screeching for rides, claiming he's a badger they need to take down. He mock stumbles under their weight, and Cinderheart can't suppress a purr as she walks away.
"What did you want?" she asks, once they're in Firestar's den.
"I've noticed you're close with Whitewing's kits," he says. "And you're responsible enough for an apprentice, queens willing."
"I'd be honored," she says. "Can I make a request?"
"I can't promise anything," he says, but there's fondness in his voice.
"I'd like to mentor Ivykit," she says. "If I'm able."
He nods. "We've not yet discussed mentorship for them," he says, "but I planned on suggesting you for her."
"Thank you," she says.
She steps back into the bright day sun. Lionblaze is lying down, Dovekit and Ivykit moved on from their game and now sharing a piece of prey.
She can't spoil Ivykit's mentor for her, and it's far from set in stone, but even the hope of mentoring Ivykit has her heart pounding.
Ivykit knows her sister. Dovekit is happy. She is caring. She is determined.
She wakes up excited, her whiskers twitching in the light of a new day, always pouncing on the latest hare-brained scheme, always beaming.
Except —
Except lately, Dovekit has had moments of freezing, of squeezing her eyes shut, her muscles tense, and squeaking if Ivykit so much as touches her.
The first time it happens, Ivykit panics. She doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to help. She stands next to Dovekit, guides her towards the nursery until Dovekit curls in their nest, refusing to speak.
The second time it happens, Ivykit guides Dovekit toward Whitewing. Their mother knows — she's their mother — but Ivykit doesn't want Blossomkit and Bumblekit and Briarkit to know.
Ivykit knows her sister.
She doesn't show it, not to the others, but she is proud. She wouldn't like it if her weakest moments were on display.
So Ivykit does what she can to hide the episodes from the public. She tries to shield Dovekit from watching eyes, tries to move her as fast as she can before someone notices.
Dovekit doesn't say thank you.
Ivykit doesn't need her to.
They're sisters, and that's what sisters do for each other.
Dovekit is strange.
She's not like any other kit in the nursery. Briarkit has studied her, and she's impossible to pin down.
Millie says there's strength in being different, and Millie is the smartest cat Briarkit knows, so she's probably right. But Dovekit doesn't seem strong.
Ivykit and Blossomkit are strong. Bumblekit is brave. Dovekit is soft. Her pelt is still as fluffy as the day she was born, and she moves carefully, like she is studying the ground beneath her feet. When she yawns, it is wide and fragile, and she speaks softly.
But Millie says there's strength in being different.
And Briarkit does like Dovekit. She doesn't talk much, but that's okay — Millie says Briarkit can talk enough for her whole litter. Briarkit can talk, and Dovekit is a good listener. She laughs at her jokes, and she asks questions, and she doesn't speak that soft, not when it's just the two of them.
At the least, Dovekit is better than Ivykit. There's nothing wrong with Ivykit, but Briarkit just doesn't get on with her. She's calculating and careful, precise. She gets along with Blossomkit, and Briarkit is closer to her brother. Bumblekit doesn't really get Dovekit, but he doesn't have to.
It's not really the point.
Or it is the point, that Dovekit is strange. Her ears are always moving and her pupils are always just a whisker's width too round, and she's got a funny way of speaking, like she is picking out each word carefully.
Briarkit likes this about her; she likes how Dovekit is.
(She hopes Dovekit likes her.)
If it were up to Poppyfrost, she wouldn't have moved into the nursery already.
She's barely showing, and she's still at least a moon away from kitting. But Berrynose insisted, and Jayfeather either agreed or simply acquiesed.
But there are worse things. The kits keep her busy, at any rate.
"You're a fox!" Ivykit says. "And we're the patrol driving you out."
Dovekit scrunches her nose. "I don't want to play that game," she says.
"You never want to play," Ivykit says, leaping at Poppyfrost's tail.
"I just don't like that game," Dovekit says. "I like playing the other games better."
"But there's just the two of us!" Ivykit says. "That's not even enough for one Clan."
Poppyfrost purrs, raising her tail so Ivykit has to jump for it. When she was a kit, she had three siblings to play with. That's enough for two Clans to have a leader an deputy. She was always Poppystar, fighting against her life-long rival Cinderstar, fearless deputies Moleclaw and Honeyflower by their sides.
Now, it's just Poppyfrost and Cinderheart.
"Why don't you find Millie's kits?" She asks. "They can play with you."
Ivykit's tail swings back and forth. "That's not the point. They're always playing apprentice games." Poppyfrost swings her tail, in an attempt to distract her, but Ivykit ignores it. "When are your kits going to be born?
"Not for a moon," Poppyfrost says. "But you'll all be apprentices soon."
Dovekit lies on her side. Her ears twitch. "Blossomkit's staring at the edge of camp, Ivykit. You should go play with her."
"And what are you going to do?" Ivykit asks.
"I dunno," she says. "Maybe I'll bring prey to the elders."
Ivykit sighs. "Why are you so boring?" She turns to Poppyfrost. "Were your siblings this boring?"
She sighs, her ears folding back, slightly. "Dovekit isn't boring, Ivykit. She just has different interests than you."
"So yours weren't," Ivykit says. "It's just you."
She stalks out of the nursery. Dovekit scrambles to a sitting position, and she furrows her brow. "I don't understand," she says. "She's always mad at me."
Poppyfrost tilts her head. "Well, life requires compromise," she says. "You should try to play with Ivykit, more."
"I don't like her games," Dovekit says. She stands. "Thanks anyway, Poppyfrost."
She presses her nose to Poppyfrost briefly, then sprints out of the nursery. Poppyfrost rests her head on her paws.
If her kits are this dramatic, she might prefer being bored.
Squirrelflight doesn't go in the nursery anymore.
It's not like she has reason to — her kits (her sister's kits) are grown, and it's not like she's having a litter with Brambleclaw. She tries to convince herself she was never one for the nursery. She tries to pretend that Whitewing wasn't one of her closest friends.
"I want to play!" Ivykit cries. "C'mon, Bumblekit!"
Bumblekit looks sheepish, flicking his ears. "But we're playing LionClan and LeopardClan and TigerClan and we can't play that with four." He scrunches his nose. "That's not how it's played!"
"But you never let me play."
"Play with Dovekit!"
"But there's only two of us." Ivykit sits, her tail puffed out and claws extended. Squirrelflight sighs, old longing twisting in her chest. Her kits had played the part of Bumblekit to Foxkit and Icekit many times. Now, there are two of them, but that's — past the point.
"It's fine," Briarkit says, wriggling her haunches and tackling Blossomkit. "I'll sit out. Ivykit can play."
"You don't have to," Bumblekit says."
"It's fine." She flicks her tail, walking towards where Dovekit is stalking beetles across camp. "Have fun!"
Bumblekit sighs.
"I'm playing?" Ivykit asks.
"Fine, you're playing."
Squirrelflight had been Ivykit, once. Leafkit had never wanted to play nursery games, or at least, not nearly as much as she had. She had begged the apprentices to play with her until Sandstorm confined her to the nursery for bothering them. She sighed. Those days were past her. Even if Firestar had said he understood, he still avoided her eyes most of the time. She wouldn't get another apprentice for many seasons, if ever.
"Cinderheart!" Lionblaze calls, sliding into camp with a squirrel the size of a kit. "Look what I caught!"
Part of her wants to chide him for speaking with his mouth full, but Cinderheart laughs, touching noses. "You're not an apprentice, Lionblaze. It's not exciting when you catch something."
"It's the biggest squirrel I've seen in moons," Lionblaze says. "It's very exciting."
Squirrelflight turns away. If he notices her, his face will fall and his celebration will end, and that's the last thing she wants.
"LeopardClan will rule!" Blossomkit shouts, charging at her brother. Squirrelflight closes her eyes.
She tells herself she's happy.
Blossomkit is going to be the best warrior she can be. And then she's going to be leader, and Ivykit — Ivyclaw, maybe, or Ivystorm — will be her deputy.
Not Bumblekit. He's a good brother, but he has no ambition. Not Briarkit. She's a good sister, but Blossomkit isn't sure she'd make a good deputy.
"Every kit wants to be leader," Whitewing says. "I remember when Squirrelkit and Leafkit used to talk..."
Blossomkit wrinkles her nose. She knows her mother isn't Clanborne, knows it by her name and the hint of an other scent that clings to her, and she doesn't quite understand what Blossomkit wants. But Whitewing does.
"I mean it," she says. "Ivykit will be my deputy."
Whitewing purrs. "Will she, now?"
"Yes."
Blossomkit turns, her tail held high.
"Blossomkit!" Bumblekit calls. "You should see the bird Lionblaze caught. He said we can all share it."
She bursts out of the nursery. The air is still cold, but it's getting warmer every day. By the time they're apprentices, it will be fully newleaf. Blossomkit has never seen newleaf, but Millie says it's a beautiful season.
"You're named for all the flowers," she says, a sigh in her voice. "I can't wait for you to see them."
Blossomkit doesn't know what Millie is talking about.
Briarkit and Bumblekit carry a crow with them. It's practically the size of Briarkit, and Blossomkit laughs.
"We're never going to finish this!"
"We will," Briarkit says. "And I'm saving the feathers."
"No fair!" Bumblekit says. "You always save the feathers."
Blossomkit's siblings tumble over each other, while she starts to eat.
Ivykit is going to be her deputy, that much is certain.
Whitewing's kits are beautiful.
Ivykit and Dovekit are running circles around camp. With Millie's kits out of the nursery, and Poppyfrost's litter not born, they only have each other to play with during the day.
Dovekit pounces on Brightheart.
"I've got you!" she says.
Brightheart purrs. "I've been taken down by a mighty warrior," she says. "And—"
Dovekit freezes. She backs away, shaking her head. "No," she says, "no, no, no, Ivykit!"
Ivykit runs. "Dovekit?"
"It's alright," Brightheart says. "Everything is okay, Dovekit."
Dovekit shakes her head. "No," she says. "No. I've—you've—we've—"
She takes a deep breath. Her pelt is standing on end, and her eyes are wide. "Everything is okay," Brightheart says. "It's alright."
She touches noses with Dovekit. Her tail, still stiff and disproportionate, starts to lower down.
"Are you okay?" Ivykit asks. "We can go back to the nursery."
Dovekit sits down, licking her side. "I'm fine," she says. She has a quiet way of speaking, and Brightheart has to strain to hear her. "I just thought I saw something."
Brightheart twists her ear in confusion. "Why don't you go visit Jayfeather?" she asks.
She ushers Dovekit with her tail. The kit is still shaking, just slightly. Brightheart licks her head, and Dovekit steadies. Jayfeather tail waves when they reach the edge of his den.
"What's wrong?" he says.
"Dovekit has a scare," Brightheart says. "I thought you might have something to calm her down."
Jayfeather sighs. "I can't just give out herbs every time a kit is frightened by its shadow," he grumbles, turning and sniffing Dovekit. She stiffens, her whiskers drawn back. "But fine." He paws at some berries — juniper, Brightheart recognizes — and rolls them to her. "Have this."
She eats it, coughing at the taste. "That's bitter."
"It'll help calm you down," Jayfeather says. "Now go on. I'm sure Ivykit is getting up to trouble without you."
Dovekit glances between the two of them, then sprints for the nursery.
"Is she okay?" Brightheart asks.
Jayfeather wags his tail. "Probably. She might have had a nightmare, or something. Kits get scared easy."
Brightheart's whiskers twitch. "Well, thank you for treating her."
"If she keeps getting startled, it might be a problem. I'll talk to Whitewing."
Brightheart slips out of the medicine den. Dovekit and Ivykit have vanished — probably to the nursery — and Cloudtail has just returned from a patrol.
"Are you okay?" he asks, reaching out to touch noses.
"I just wanted Jayfeather to look at Dovekit. She was acting strange."
Cloudtail purrs. "She's a real sweetheart. Firestar will have to be careful picking her mentor."
Brightheart nods. "Maybe I'll ask," she says. "I'd like to take her as an apprentice."
Leafpool's days are quiet. She goes on patrols, mostly border patrols, and she talks to Squirrelflight. The warriors — the other warriors — mostly leave her alone.
She thinks she prefers that.
"It'll get better," Squirrelflight promises, licking her head. "Cats will forget."
Leafpool sighs. She's useless as a warrior, but she doesn't have many choices. It's this, or exile.
"What's wrong with her?" a kit whispers.
Leafpool swivels her ears, but keeps her head still. Maybe they won't realize she can hear them.
"Be nice, Ivykit," another chastises. Dovekit, then.
"I've never seen her hunt," Ivykit says. "It's weird."
"She's a warrior," Dovekit says. "She has to hunt."
"Daisy doesn't hunt."
"Daisy isn't a warrior."
"Yes, she is!"
There's a scuffle. Leafpool finally turns her head. Dovekit has pounced, and Ivykit is scrambling away. They roll as the fight, until they bump straight into her.
Leafpool purrs.
"Sorry!" Dovekit squeals. "We, uh, didn't see you?"
"It's alright," Leafpool says. "Kits play."
"Whitewing says we're not supposed to bother the warriors," Dovekit says. "Sorry."
"You're not bothering me," Leafpool says. "I don't mind."
"Will you take us out of camp?"
"Ivykit!" Dovekit shouts. "She can't!"
"I can't," she says, shaking her head slightly. All kits are the same. She remembers when Squirrelflight's kits (her kits) were begging her to go herb collecting, just to get out of camp. "Jayfeather might take you herb collecting."
"No, I won't!" Jayfeather says, shouting across camp. "Stop telling kits that!"
Ivykit scrunches her nose. "No one will take us out of camp," she says. "I'm the same size as Briarpaw, and she gets to leave camp all the time!"
"She's an apprentice," Leafpool chides. "You're only a few moons away."
Ivykit opens her mouth, like she's about to say something, but Whitewing swoops in.
"Dovekit! Ivykit! I've told you over and over again, we don't bother the warriors!" She scoops her kits with her tail, pushing them towards the nursery.
"We're not bothering her!" Ivykit says. "We're just talking."
"It's alright, Whitewing," Leafpool says, but the queen isn't looking back.
Things will get better, she thinks. Just not any time soon.
"I want to mentor one of Whitewing's kits," Cinderheart says.
Lionblaze's whiskers twitch. "Really?"
"You don't?"
Lionblaze flicks his tail. "I never thought about it. I don't exactly spend a lot of time with them."
"They're sweet," Cinderheart says. "Causing chaos. Have you really never talked to them?"
After that conversation, Lionblaze figures he should make an effort. If he wants an apprentice, he should at least get to know them.
Dovekit and Ivykit play outside, most days. Today, they've enlisted the apprentices to fight across camp.
"Lionblaze!" Bumblepaw calls. "Be careful! That's ShadowClan territory."
He's pounced upon by three sets of paws.
"He's our prisoner now!" Ivykit cries.
"Yeah!" Ivykit and Dovekit call. "That means he has to fight for us!"
"Does it?" Lionblaze says, purring.
"Yes!" Dovekit cheers. "That's the rule."
He laughs, shaking them off. "Alright. Who do I report to?"
"Me!" Blossompaw pokes him with a paw. "I'm your leader. And I say we lead a charge on ThunderClan's camp!"
The others start to charge, a mock battle. With no battle training, Dovekit and Ivykit don't stand a fair chance. That must be why they're on the same side.
Lionblaze stays out of the fighting, until Blossompaw charges.
"How could you betray me?" she says.
Lionblaze groans, falling to the ground. "I'm so sorry, Blossomstar. I was outnumbered."
She hisses. "Well, I exile you! From this day on, you are not a ShadowClan cat."
"It's too late for that," he whispers. "I'm...I'm dying, Blossomstar."
She growls. "Then you will die a rogue."
He rests his head on the ground, letting his eyes flutter shut. The kits move on, waging war over a different part of camp. He can hear Cinderheart snickering.
"I thought you didn't like spending time with kits," she says.
He bats at her, weakly. "I said I hadn't spent time with them, not that I didn't like to."
She lies down over him, and he grunts.
"You're the same size as me, Cinderheart," he says.
"I'm all fluff." She licks his ear.
"Which one do you want to mentor?"
"Ivykit. Why, are you thinking about mentoring one?"
He flicks his tail. "If Firestar chooses me, he chooses me."
Cinderheart's ears flick, hitting the back of his neck, but she says nothing.
Dovekit doesn't dream very often.
She doesn't have to; there is so much she already can see.
(Whitewing, touching noses with her on an island. Birchfall, lunging at ragged pelts in a dark and marshy place. Ivykit, lying in a pool of her own blood, her throat torn out.)
Dovekit would rather dream.