Prologue
Dark Clowder Cats
She laboured on her own, away from the clowder, as mother cats usually do. There was nothing unexpected about the pregnancy, and she had anticipated an easy birth, but as it was her first, she did not entirely know what “easy” meant in relation to birthing: it certainly did not feel “easy”. As the hours passed, doubts nagged her. She was giving birth to very important kits. These were the kits of the clan leader, Brokenear. She had admired his confidence when he came to camp: the strong, unknown stranger. She was honoured that when he became clowder leader, he had chosen her as his mate, but as she got to know him better, she had begun to wonder about him. Over time, her doubts had grown and now she felt herself regretting that she was birthing his kits. This was not right! A mother must love her kits no matter what! Hard as she might try, however, she could not dispel the feelings that haunted her. All through the night she lay in pain. Perhaps there was something wrong. Perhaps she would die here. Perhaps she should wish to die here. She could not shake the ominous feeling of premonition. Toward dawn her body gave an agonising shudder and finally a kit slithered into the world, but, as she had feared, it was not alive. She thought her ordeal was over, but within minutes the searing pain started again. When the second kit was also stillborn, her will was completely sapped. All of this and no kit to show for it. She wished it would stop, but it didn’t. A third still body lay in front of her and yet the pain continued. Uncaring, she had no choice but to let her body take over and endure. When the last tiny scrap of a kit landed amidst the pile of stillborn kits she hardly looked at it. She lay exhausted, glad for respite from the pain, but not trusting yet that her ordeal was over. To her surprise, a loud mewing sound cut through her reflections, driving her to action. She willed herself to lick the tiny body, as she knew she should: he was alive. They lay close to one another until she had recovered somewhat and she lay down next to him as he instinctively suckled. As she lay there looking at her son, Still, she felt little warmth toward him. She was still grieving the loss of the other kits, and did not feel the instant attachment to her son that she thought she should. From the outset, Brokenear’s son did not have an easy path in life.
