Post by Fireflake on Dec 26, 2019 7:55:09 GMT
Scorpio flicked his tail, beckoning for the two behind him to follow as he placed a stolen clan kit directly in front of the stone he stood on for announcements. "Keep them warm," he ordered sharply. The tom turned to the wall, hiding his face from the rest of the rogues. The mission had been more difficult than expected, to say the least. Kits had been born and nursed with less effort or emotion, he was sure. He wondered briefly if Honeyheart and Hornet had given birth only because it was a better option, but quickly dispelled the idea. He'd heard stories of his mother doing the same as he just had, likely for similar reasons.
The tabby stepped up onto the stone, his injured hind leg now not touching the ground. He had insisted on a detour across a stream and through a garden on the way home, hoping to obscure their scent, though he knew it would do no good if one of the former rogues lead MothClan straight to them. His ankle was hot to the touch despite the cool air, and the pain had turned to a throbbing, which he worried wasn't a good sign. He took a deep breath and resolved to ignore it.
Scorpio raised his chin. "Cats of the Alliance!" he called. "The mission to take the kits was a success. We have three new little ones. Though it's not over, this is a time to celebrate."
The tom paused for a few seconds to allow the rogues to congratulate themselves and each other on a mission well done, then moved on, "That being said, we need some ground rules regarding the kits. If anyone is in a position to take them in and parent them, you will get stones upon the completion of their rituals, just as you would for your own. If not, treat them as if they belong to the council. We make decisions about them. I will protect them. Do not hurt them, tease them, or threaten them."
The tom’s light green gaze skimmed the cats in front of him until his eyes settled on the kits themselves. Scorpio couldn't stop himself from imagining the whirlwind of emotions they must be feeling. Torn away from their homes in the night, and raised by different cats. It would never have worked with him. He'd been raised in a warm environment, alongside others of his kind, and had still grown hardened. He was Honeyheart's son through and through, from the moment he came into the world, and expected that he still would be when he left it. Their family shared far more similarities than their ginger pelts.
Scorpio cleared his throat, as much to bring himself out of his thoughts as to regain everyone else’s attention. "It should go without saying that kits should not be harmed regardless, but don't treat these as clan kits. They're ours now. I'll keep you updated on what we're going to do about their names."
The rogue allowed himself to think for a moment about lying down, but remembered that he would have to be wandering around again the next day. His tail-tip flicked sharply, this time with no purpose but letting out his frustration. "We also need to be searching for a new home, very soon, to raise them in for a while. Until then, if the clanners come for them, grab them and scatter. I will find you."
The question flitted in his mind if it was what his mother would have chosen to do, or Hornet, or even Artemis, then he gently shook his head. It didn’t matter. They were in his blood, and he would carry on what they had helped to start, but they were no more than memories now. The Alliance's future lay in front of him in the form of three young cats with no known relation to any of the rogues.
The tabby stepped up onto the stone, his injured hind leg now not touching the ground. He had insisted on a detour across a stream and through a garden on the way home, hoping to obscure their scent, though he knew it would do no good if one of the former rogues lead MothClan straight to them. His ankle was hot to the touch despite the cool air, and the pain had turned to a throbbing, which he worried wasn't a good sign. He took a deep breath and resolved to ignore it.
Scorpio raised his chin. "Cats of the Alliance!" he called. "The mission to take the kits was a success. We have three new little ones. Though it's not over, this is a time to celebrate."
The tom paused for a few seconds to allow the rogues to congratulate themselves and each other on a mission well done, then moved on, "That being said, we need some ground rules regarding the kits. If anyone is in a position to take them in and parent them, you will get stones upon the completion of their rituals, just as you would for your own. If not, treat them as if they belong to the council. We make decisions about them. I will protect them. Do not hurt them, tease them, or threaten them."
The tom’s light green gaze skimmed the cats in front of him until his eyes settled on the kits themselves. Scorpio couldn't stop himself from imagining the whirlwind of emotions they must be feeling. Torn away from their homes in the night, and raised by different cats. It would never have worked with him. He'd been raised in a warm environment, alongside others of his kind, and had still grown hardened. He was Honeyheart's son through and through, from the moment he came into the world, and expected that he still would be when he left it. Their family shared far more similarities than their ginger pelts.
Scorpio cleared his throat, as much to bring himself out of his thoughts as to regain everyone else’s attention. "It should go without saying that kits should not be harmed regardless, but don't treat these as clan kits. They're ours now. I'll keep you updated on what we're going to do about their names."
The rogue allowed himself to think for a moment about lying down, but remembered that he would have to be wandering around again the next day. His tail-tip flicked sharply, this time with no purpose but letting out his frustration. "We also need to be searching for a new home, very soon, to raise them in for a while. Until then, if the clanners come for them, grab them and scatter. I will find you."
The question flitted in his mind if it was what his mother would have chosen to do, or Hornet, or even Artemis, then he gently shook his head. It didn’t matter. They were in his blood, and he would carry on what they had helped to start, but they were no more than memories now. The Alliance's future lay in front of him in the form of three young cats with no known relation to any of the rogues.
