A Daisy Nest (short story)
“Curlear,” Poppysand’s tired, enthusiastic voice broke through the haze of fading pain. “A single kit,” she announced, setting the kit next to its mother’s belly after giving it a thorough washing. “Keep her warm and close.”
I know how to take care of a kit, Curlear nearly snapped, but she held her tongue. It wasn’t Poppysand that had upset her. The medicine cat had been rather helpful throughout the process. It wasn’t her pain speaking for her, either.
It had been almost a moon since her fight with Flipstep, when his anger at her for missing her exiled son, who had injured his former apprentice, escalated to a shouting match.
“How can you still keep pieces of him? Why is his nest so important for you to hold onto?” he had demanded when she had scrambled to fix her nest–which she had mixed with Smalljump’s–after a young apprentice had tried to pull out the old bedding.
“He is my kit,” Curlear had defended herself, shocked that he would have to ask. “I will always keep whatever that is left of him.”
“You want to know what is left of him?” Flipstep had asked in what had almost been a sneer, before pointing his tail across the camp and at his former apprentice and one of Smalljump’s victims, Rubblefall. Rubblefall had limped to the fresh-kill pile, the scars on his body still long and deep where the rocks had struck. “That is what is left of him.”
Curlear shook her head. She didn’t want to think about this now. They had held each other close when Rubblefall was injured. Then Smalljump’s….actions…were revealed to the Clan, and Flipstep became distant. He would still nuzzle with her, talk with her and share tongues, but there was always something distant in his eyes, like he was somewhere else–or wanted to be. But he had never shown outright anger at her. “Where is this coming from?”
Flipstep snorted. “I’ve been upset from the very start, but of course you’re too selfish to notice!”
“What are you talking about?” Curlear stared at him, trying to ignore the eyes on them as their voices grew.
“We share a nest!” Flipstep snapped! “Because we’re mates and that’s what mates do, and then you add his nest, the cat who injured my apprentice, who tried to kill my apprentice to our nest, and you expect me to just be okay with it? You didn’t even ask me!”
“You could have said something!” Curlear growled half-heartedly, but she couldn’t feel much anger past the utter shock. “He’s still my kit. I just wanted what was left of him–the only thing I have left!”
Flipstep curled his lip, eyes like fire. “If it’s the only thing left of him, then we should let it burn!” He took a threatening step toward the nursery.
Curlear rushed to block his path. “Don’t touch it!” She screamed.
Flipstep backed up slightly, clearly thrown off by her sudden reaction. He frowned, ears flattening. But he didn’t look angry, he looked sad. “Don’t you care how I feel?”
“I do!” Curlear insisted. “But you never told me how you feel, and now you’re being so mean out of nowhere–”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you. Mates are supposed to know those things. They’re supposed to pay attention to their partner. But you can’t be bothered.”
“I didn’t know there was anything to bother about!”
“Exactly!” Flipstep swished his tail. “Maybe if you had been a better mother than you are a mate, nothing would have ever happened!”
“How dare you?” Curlear lunged at him, swinging her claws at his muzzle, but he ducked just in time and she only smacked his whiskers.
“I’m sorry,” he told her quickly. “I didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped out!”
Curlear’s body was locked tense, quivering with rage. “How dare you?” she repeated, the only thing she was capable of saying for a few heartbeats.
“I didn’t mean to say it–”
“But you meant it. If you said it, you meant it.”
“Of course not!” Flipstep gasped. “It’s not your fault, it’s his! He’s a traitor, why can’t you understand that I want nothing to do with him?”
Curlear didn’t say anything. Flipstep took that as permission to pad closer. “Honey,” he began, about to lick her cheek–
“Get away from me!” Curlear pulled back sharply. “You do blame me! You think I’m a terrible mother!” Her voice cracked, the words echoing her own buried feelings. She is a terrible mother. She blames herself. That was hard enough, but her own mate felt the same way? “Do you think I’m going to be a terrible mother to these new kits as well? Is that where this is coming from? You think I’ll mess them up too?"
“No,” Flipstep answered, but he was hesitant.
That lie of a response was the spark to Curlear’s fire. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that,” she decided as if he hadn’t spoken. “And you don’t have to worry about our nest, either!”
“What are you talking about?” It was Flipstep’s turn to stare in shock.
“Get out of my sight,” Curlear told him coldly, as cold as she had ever been. “I want nothing left to do with you, and these kits will have nothing to do with you.”
“Curl, please, just think for a second–”
“You made your nest,” Curlear growled. “Now lie in it.”
“Have you thought of any names?” Poppysand asked, pulling Curlear back to the present.
“A few,” she answered, tired, “but I wanted to meet them–her, before deciding.”
“Wise choice!” Poppyswarm dipped her head.
A noise at the entrance made the medicine cat turn. She padded away, then returned with wet, soaked moss. “Another gift from Flipstep,” she announced, partially muffled.
“Great,” Curlear commented unenthusiastically.
“I’ll add it to the pile.” Poppyswarm padded a few tail-lengths away, then set the moss on top of a few other bundles of drying moss. Curlear had refused to allow her former mate in the den when she had gone into labor, but that didn’t stop the tom from pacing as close to the entrance as he possibly could, and dropping off sticks and moss for Curlear to use–not that she touched any of it. She already had enough sticks and moss anyways, she didn’t need anything from him. “Perhaps I should call it the ‘don’t touch unless you want fleas pile’!”
Curlear couldn’t help but let out a weak chuckle despite her exhaustion.
“At least I won’t have to gather some for a while,” her friend went on. “Leaves more room to collect daisies and fennel, we’re running low…”
She looked to her little daughter suckling at her belly.
Her mind traveled back once again, to moons long ago. Smallpaw had been tormented by three older apprentices constantly, and one of the few places he was able to hide away was a patch of daisies that grew behind the nursery. A round bumble bee had buzzed by, landing on his shoulder. Smallpaw, normally so terrified of bugs, had giggled, and it had warmed Curlear’s heart so much to see him happy.
She wasn’t foolish enough to name her daughter after her brother, suggesting that she was only as important as his memory, which was why she avoided names like ‘Littlekit’ or ‘Leapkit,’ but Daisykit felt distant enough. Far enough to be her own name and allow her to be her own individual, but still close enough to honour what was good in her brother.
“That’s all you need from me now,” Poppysand was rambling on, “but if you want me to stay, I can tell you about the duck that almost landed on me…”
“Daisykit,” Curlear said, more decisively. “She will be called Daisykit.”
Poppyswarm is a young medicine cat, a young adult. She knows about Curlear's anger with Flipstep more than anyone else in the camp since she was the one that spoke with her the most due to all the visits when Curl was pregnant, and she's very much on Curl's side.
I imagine it as a similar friendship as Leafpool and Sorreltail.
