Flickerwhisp was weeks heavy with kits, but that didn't stop her from wandering from camp and spending time roving the forest on her own. She refused to say who's kits they were, but she knew the mistake would stare her in the face for moons to come once she kitted. But that didn't matter. That was behind her.
Perhaps it was the kits, or maybe she really was starting to feel the weight of responsibility tug at her paws, but all Flickerwhisp wanted was someone to stand by her. Maybe that would absolve the past, her foolish, independent youth. Maybe then she'd settle down, and the restlessness wouldn't persistently tug at her paws.
The Riverclan she-cat, her black coat glistening with water, sat at the riverside, staring aimlessly into the water. Would any of this ever end?
OOC: I also need the tom to appear here, where Flickerwhisp has found an abandoned kit and adopted it as her own :)