Sandstorm's POV

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Hi, I'm Sandstorm, a warrior of ThunderClan. This story is in my POV from the beginning. First, I must write out my family. This story is narrated by Sandstorm. P.S. the author of this is Kittycat79.

Family

Mother: Brindleface

Father: Redtail

Grandmothers: Robinwing, Swiftbreeze

Grandfathers: Fuzzypelt, Adderfang

Aunts: Frostfur, Willowpelt, Leopardfoot, Spottedleaf

Uncle: Patchpelt

Cousins: Tigerstar, Nightkit, Mistkit, Graystripe, Sorreltail, Rainwhisker, Sootfur, Brightheart, Cinderpelt, Thornclaw, Brackenfur

Second-Cousins: Brambleclaw, Tawnypelt, Feathertail, Stormfur, Honeyfern, Poppyfrost, Cinderheart, Whitewing

Third-Cousins..?: Flametail, Tigerheart, Dawnpelt, Lark That Sings At Dawn (Lark), Pine That Clings To Rock (Pine), Cherrykit, Molekit, Dovewing, Ivypool

Half-Cousins: Hawkfrost, Mothwing, Tadpole

Mate: Firestar

Daughters: Leafpool, Squirrelflight

Grandsons: Lionblaze, Jayfeather

Granddaughter: Hollyleaf

The Beginning

Of course, there was my birth. I was born three minutes before midnight in early newleaf.

"Get Featherwhisker!" a small white cat ordered. A black-and-white tom raced out of the nursery and yowled to a pale silver tom with a plumed tail, hurrying across the clearing with a bunch of spiky leaves in his jaws: "Featherwhisker, quick! The kits are coming!" The fairly-elderly silver cat swiftened his step until he finally burst into the nursery. The skinny black-and-white tom followed. The young white she-cat's blue eyes were wide. She met the medicine cat quickly. "Brindleface's making a lot of noise. My sister's really agonized! Help her, Featherwhisker!" The pale tomcat laid his tail-tip on the white she-cat's sleek shoulder. "It's okay, Frostfur," he mewed gently. "I'll make sure your sister's---Brindleface's---kits are born safely. All the agony and pressure Brindleface is going through is all natural. She hasn't kitted before, so it will be extra painful, but that will make her stronger. She'll pull through; I'm sure of it." He gave Frostfur a quick lick on the ear before plunging into the nursery. Inside, the light was dim, and the air smelled of blood, pain and fear. The nursery hadn't had any kits filling it for a time---the sweet, warm, comforting scent of milk had drifted away, replaced by the smell of blood at the young queen's birth.

Featherwhisker crouched beside the heaving mass of gray fur that was the kitting she-cat. He dropped the bunch of leaves and laid a paw gently on Brindleface's belly. He could feel the strong, laboured spasms passing through the queen, but, suddenly, Brindleface let out an earsplitting screech, and a huge ripple passed through her stomach. "The first one's coming," he announced to Frostfur, half turning to the white cat. "Your sister's doing well," he meowed. The black-and-white tom padded timidly forward. "Is she doing okay?" he asked, obviously struggling to keep his voice steady. Featherwhisker whispered, "You're doing fine," to Brindleface, then looked at the tom. "Yes, Patchpelt," he mewed. "Your sister is doing great for her first litter." As he said that, Brindleface yowled in agony and flicked her tail. Her body convulsed, and two, little, muck-soaked gray legs poked out from under the queen's tail. "The first one!" Featherwhisker announced. The medicine cat chewed up a few leaves and nudged the pulp toward Brindleface. "Eat," he ordered softly. "It will help." While Brindleface swallowed down the raspberry leaf pulp, Featherwhisker watched the wriggling hind legs. Brindleface finished eating the herbs, and she gulped in air and screeched as another heavy spasm rippled through her body, and a tiny, damp bundle slipped out easily suddenly and landed with a soft clump in the moss. Featherwhisker watched in delight. Remembering his medicine cat birth-training, he bent over the tiny, bloody body and nipped the cord attached to it, a few inches from the mucky creature's body. He then bit open the birth sac, and gently nudged the newborn kitten toward Brindleface's belly. The kit began mewling and wriggling at once, and quickly latched onto one of the gray tabby queen's teats and began to suckle. "It's beautiful," Brindleface meowed fondly. Featherwhisker softly nudged the kit onto a certain position without dislatching it from Brindleface's milk-source and studied it, then looked up. "It's a she!" he announced. He then looked back at the young queen's rump, searching for any signs of more spasms or a mucky head poking out, but there was none. Brindleface's first-ever litter contained a single she-kit. "There's no more," he announced. "It's over, Brindleface. All the pain of the birth---everything---is over. Well done. You've given birth to one healthy she-kit." Frostfur and Patchpelt purred and mewed as they shared tongues with Brindleface, and together the queen and the two of her siblings licked the blood and muck off the kitten, revealing her real fur colour: pale ginger with barely visible stripes of darker fur.

The Life Of An Older Kit

NOTE: From now on, Sandstorm narrates the story.

Morning sunshine warmed my pelt, and I stretched open my eyes, blinking, and pawed the sleep from the corner of each baby-blue eye. The large, striped, pale gray shape of my mother, Brindleface, rose and fell rymthically beside me. I was one moon old, and I'd opened my eyes two days after birth. At the crack of the dawn after the night I was born, Robinwing, who had been sleeping at the dark, warm back of the nursery, had gone into labour, and Featherwhisker and his apprentice, Spottedpaw, had helped Robinwing give birth to two kits, both toms. One was quite large and muscular, with a darkish brown tabby pelt, and his littermate was a much smaller, whinier, less muscular, skinny, sleek black tom with a white dash on his chest and a white tail-tip. The brown tabby kit was named Dustkit, and the black one was Ravenkit. I had been named Sandkit, after my pale ginger fur colour. Me and Dustkit had become great friends in the last moon, and often teased poor little Ravenkit about his lack of mature personality, small size and skinny build, and Dustkit and I often got told off for it, but we didn't care. Kithood is fun.

I rose to my little paws and bounced over to Robinwing's nest, and began prodding Dustkit. "Dustkit! Dustkit! Come out 'n' play!" I mewed. The tabby tom blinked open his eyes and got to his paws, shaking scraps of moss from his thick pelt. "Okay, Sandkit," he agreed, jumping out of the bedding and landing beside me on the main, packed earth floor of the milky-scented bramble den. Ravenkit squirmed around at Robinwing's belly. His eyes hadn't opened yet. "Leave 'im" Dustkit advised quickly. "Ravenkit's no fun. He hasn't even opened his eyes yet!" I nodded, and scampered toward the entrance to the warm den. Dustkit followed. We squeezed out of the nursery at the same time, and tumbled into the clearing. I'd been outside a few times so far, but the sunlight always stung my eyes each morning, so I had to blink away the bright glare before I could play.

A sleek, youngish, tortoiseshell tom with a thick, bright ginger tail padded out of a large den of ferns, balanced by a cluster of rocks. "Don't get into trouble," he warned. "I'm sure Willowpelt would appreciate some peace and quiet. She's gone out on her last hunting patrol for a while with her mate. Patchpelt'll scratch your ears if your mothers have to make noise in the nursery telling you two off and disturbing Willowpelt once she moves in there." I nodded. "Whatever, Redtail. At least once Willowpelt has her kits we'll have someone else to play with." Redtail twitched one tufted ear, but said nothing as he walked over to the fresh-kill pile for his breakfast. Dustkit padded over to me. "If Willowpelt's kits aren't scaredy-mice like Ravenkit," Dustkit sneered. "Then we'll have to wait for another litter." I scuffed the ground with my forepaws. "Dustkit, I...I've always liked the idea of having kits of my own to raise to become warriors and medicine cats---maybe even deputies and leaders." Dustkit glanced at me. "Sandkit, you can do whatever you like," he mewed. "If you ever had kits...I'd play with them and I hope I can mentor one of them." Then a sneaky, teasing look crossed his face. "Maybe you'll have me coming into the nursery to visit our kits!" Sandkit jumped up. "Eww!" she squeaked, and leapt onto Dustkit, batting at his belly with sheathed claws in a play-fight. "Get off me!" Dustkit mewed. Sandkit scrambled off, and Dustkit leapt onto her, pinning her down with his little, heavy paws, claws sheathed. Suddenly, they heard a call: "Bluestar! Bluestar!" Dustkit leapt powerfully off his denmate and landed on the soft, clear sand. I scrambled up, and, shaking dust from my pale coat, I saw a sleek, brown tabby tom and a dark gray tabby standing beside fresh-kill pile, urgently speaking to Redtail, the recently-appointed Clan deputy, who had leapt up from his half-finished meal of a blackbird at the sound of the call. I noticed a dappled tortoiseshell, elderly cat dash into the leader's den, her white paws thumping on the sand. It was Dappletail, one of the Clan's senior warriors beside Patchpelt, Thistleclaw and Robinwing! One-eye, her mate Halftail, and Smallear were already elders. I ran over to the three warriors beside the heap of food. "What is it?" I asked excitedly. Dustkit followed me. Runningwind, the light brown tabby, looked down at me. "WindClan has been hunting rabbits inside our territory again!" he growled.

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