Name: Can You See Me Mother?

Word Count: 300 minimum

Description: A mother ignores one of her kits and into their apprenticehood/warriorhood they confront their mother why they ignored them.

Other: OC only

Oh, all right.

The first words I ever remember were from my mother. Right after my birth, before I fell asleep for the first time in my life.

When I woke up, there she was, and I was awestruck by her beauty. Bright green eyes, golden pelt, white tailtip. Different from my silver pelt and my amber eyes.

I was her only kit.

She didn't respond when I pummeled her belly to get her attention. She sent me to Smalltail for milk, shooed me away. "Go, Lostkit," she would say.

She never played, never told me anything. My father, Breezetail, told me who he was, and through my apprenticeship, she didn't cheer when I got my name, Lostpaw, didn't do anything when Stormstar gave me my father as a mentor, never cheered when I caught the biggest piece of prey.

She stayed distant, often glaring at the medicine cat, Cedarfall, and mouthing something only Cedarfall would understand.

On the day I became a warrior, Lostspirit, and she didn't cheer again, I had enough.

I went over to her, brought her out for a walk, and cornered her in a place I had discovered beforehand, between two ingrown trees and a cliff.

"Why are you neglecting me?" I demanded. Her brow raised.

"Neglecting you?"

"YES," I hissed, frustrated. "You're my mother. You're supposed to love me, care for me, and not only that, you never even cheered at any of my ceremonies!"

Anger was starting to show in her eyes. But I was too foolish, too angry, to realize that it was not directed at me.

"You're acting like I'm not even your kit!" I screeched, finally snapping. My claws were unsheathed, digging into the ground, and I knew that from ages of scratching, filing them on rocks, had made them wickedly sharp.

"Because you're not."

I stumbled back, claws sheathing, shock registering in my head. "W-what?"

I saw her eyes, and the fury I saw was not directed at me. And suddenly, everything made sense, the mouthing at Cedarfall, (I knew then it was "all your fault") the constant irritation she was stuck in the nursery, how she never had milk.

She padded over to my shocked form, each pawstep making an imprint in the dirt. "You are not my kit."

Word count: 381

I may continue this in a different challenge.