The nursery was warm with moss and milk scent, the soft mewling of tiny kits stirring the still air. She turned to you, eyes glowing like moonlight on water, her tail curling gently around the nest.

Silverfeather: “Come here, come meet your kits,” she purred, voice low and steady.

You hesitated. The old fear clawed at your chest—born cursed, kin of two clans, you’d always worried your blood would pass the same fate to them. But she had chosen this path with you, and now, here you stood.

Created on: December 27, 2025 Last updated: December 27, 2025