(TW: Blood, Abuse) Momentouschaos twitched in his sleep, having a terrible dream. The evening was cold… It was a cold evening like this, that night. The one that changed everything. That night, father had called him out of the nursery, just a few hours before the warriors awoke. He followed his father out of camp silently, did what he was told, and what was expected. At the time, his fur was short where his bangs are now. Not many cats know this, but he covers his forehead for a reason. They had stopped near ThunderClan in an area with dense trees on one side, cacti on the other. His father told him what he’s been hiding: “Father, why are we out here?” Momo had asked innocently, his tiny, trusting kit eyes staring at his father. “Stupid kit. I’m leaving. But you can’t tell WindClan why, so you’re coming with me,” his father responded, spitting at Momo. “But I don’t want to leave WindClan!” Momo had protested. “Shut your face!” His father responded, scratching Momo on the forehead. Watching the red bubble onto Momo’s head made him laugh, and he spoke again. “Why’d we name you Momentouskit? Your nothing but a murderer who deserves to die. You change nothing.” “M-murderer?” Momo said softly, crying a bit from the pain piercing his forehead. A thought popped in his head. /Your the one who deserves to die./ “Why do you think Hazelblaze is dead? You were the youngest kit. She bled too much. If it hadn’t been for you, she would be here, taking care of another kit.” His father replied, growling, digging his claws in the sand. This time, he was the one with an idea. “If I kill you out here, I won’t have to take you with me!” He thought aloud, a sickening joy in his voice. Momo felt his heart lurch. The sun warming the sand that dipped under the horizon felt like a fire, the sand felt like needles, the breeze felt like a rushing wind. No. No, he can’t die yet. But his paws didn’t move. This was the end. He saw his father pounce toward him… And it faded to black. Momentouschaos awoke with a jolt, gasping for breath. He gazed around the den, seeing nothing but sleeping warriors. The walls made Momo feel claustrophobic, and the stuffy air made it hard to breathe. Closing his eyes, he stumbled blindly to the warriors den exit, stepping on tails and paws on the way. Somehow, he made his way out, gasping in the cold air in the sky. The warriors won’t be awake for another while, so he was alone in the cold desert. His brain was still cooling down from the dream, and his paws instinctively followed a familiar trail. It led him toward the ThunderClan border, in an area of cacti and trees. He hadn’t been here since he was a kit. He never had the guts to. It was the place his father changed him, permanently, but there was something else important. A grave lay on the ground, and etched into the rock nearby was one of the first drawings Momo ever made. It was of a kit and his mother, grinning happily, no father in sight. It was Hazelblaze’s grave. He was there for who knows how long, but when he came to his senses, he saw something. Something squirmed inside some sort of twoleg weaving. It was green, like grass, but seemed to be soft and woven, with tendrils coming from the ends. He opened it cautiously, and a lizard was inside. It took one glance at Momo and bolted. In an attempt to keep it with him, he slammed his paw on it’s tail but pop! It came right off. As he gazed on the items, an idea came to his mind. He used on of the green tendrils to tie the ends of the tail together and put them on his neck. It was hard, and took some time. Once it was on, he took the rest of the soft contraption and spun it on his leg, twisting it so it would stay. He liked it.
