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she'd never really wanted to be a mother.
perhaps figuratively, it sounded appealing. six moons thrown out, and then you got to be proud of a pawful of apprentices, and whatever they'd become after that. it sounded ideal, easy.
but she'd become a bloody den mother.
all day, she worked. she hunted, she patrolled. and when she returned to camp, she worked more. watched the kits, carted fresh kill back and forth, took trips to the dirt place with them. she chastised bad behavior and poor choices, she told stories and soothed bad dreams.
she really hated it.
perhaps it would have been better if she weren't the only queen. or if she didn't have to manage seven kits, having adopted bramblekit and pansykit. perhaps it would have been easier if her father wasn't teetering on the brink of insanity, and she constantly swatted away inquiries on her own children's father.
after all, how could she tell her children, or anyone really, about him? it was pathetic; all she knew was his status as an elite guard in bloodclan. not his kin, his hobbies, or even him name.
she felt... judged. eight moons and a queen, without a father for her children. but she'd never cared about being judged, she'd always been too stubborn for that. and she was too stubborn to sit around watching children sleep all night.
perhaps the only perk of being young was how effortlessly she fell back into her old pace. how easily she'd lost the weight, the scent of the nursery. she looked older than before, yet somehow the same. always tireless, always thinking. the gears behind those sharp, intelligent eyes never stopped turning for even a second. she'd sort it out, all of it. she always had, after all. she was good at that, at cleaning up the messes.
she sat at the river, like she did so often. it was night, early morning, really. the sky was a sliver in the sky, and while most of the camp slept, the feline found herself wide awake near the border, and terribly bored.