dig up her bones [blue]

Vixensong's week had been long and exhausting, and that was just in the nursery with her two kits. As much as she loved them, she would choose a battle with thunderclan's strongest warriors over a week confined to the nursery in a heartbeat. Between proud, boastful Whitekit and smart, uneventful Fawnkit, Vixensong was all but tearing her messy fur out. "That warrior said this." "Those friends taught me this new move." "She said he caught a squirrel all by himself." "Did you know that I can do this?" Her poor ears rang with constant chatter from the two energetic furballs. Was this how other people felt when she was a kit? Did she really talk that much? She almost winced at the thought. Vixensong just wasn't cut out to be a mother, though it had instilled a new respect in her. She cherished her precious children, but she wasn't the right sort of cat to listen to ceaseless noise and be expected to remember the details. She was made for collapsing tunnels and discovering new lands and running free anywhere but a cramped, noisy nursery.


After yet another restless night, over the course of which she had been woken no less than five times, Vixensong had gratefully accepted her friend Appleblossom's offer to watch the kits. Needless to say, she made a hasty getaway from the suffocating den she called her home. Stepping through the gorse into the pleasant morning sunlight, a promise of a hot greenleaf to come, she took a deep breath of fresh air. The clean wind off the moors and warm fresh-kill played a symphony on her rejuvenated senses. She felt younger just being outside without a pair of kits trailing her. The camp was busy for the time of day, alive with warriors and apprentices going about their business. The murmur of scattered conversation was enough to lull an unwary cat to sleep; the queen barely caught herself nodding off.


Vixensong stretched slowly, loosening one limb at a time as she yawned tiredly. With a final arch of her spine, she meandered her way peacefully through camp. A few cats looked up from their breakfasts and duties to greet a young queen. "Good morning Vixensong!" "Hello, good morning!" She would reply with forced gusto, adding a cheerful nod. Eventually she reached the fresh-kill pile and selected a small vole to appease her appetite. Sinking her teeth into it, she toted it to the camp entrance for an opportunity to look out.


One time, when she was young, Vixensong had trapped herself in a collapsed tunnel for a couple of days. When she was discovered, she was more fearful of punishment than grateful for her rescue; sure enough, both her parents and her leader had been furious at her and her friends for the senseless danger they had placed themselves in. However, her parents had kindly not dealt any more punishment than the chores assigned by the leader. She remembered it as one of the best days she had ever experienced when she was young. They had sat in that tunnel talking, laughing, and telling spooky stories in the dim light. They were hardly even aware that they were stuck down there, rather than traveling down by choice. She had led many similar adventures over the moons, it was what made her unique. She was the adventurous one of the group. If she looked hard enough, she could almost imagine she still saw it all happening again, moons later. The dust flying up in the air as best friends charged across the moor. Content in the calm of morning, Vixensong settled to eat her meal by the entrance. Sitting down, she took a bite of her bird and chewed slowly. Maybe she could meet some of the apprentices today; in the mess of her life recently, she hadn't gotten the chance.