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SORRY for the length, i got too into the vibes <33333 NOOOOO need to match lengths, esp cuz they’re still babs <33 total freedom for this thread - sable might give them a little etiquette lesson on the dos and don'ts of life in nc, they can ditch the parents and go on a little adventure, whatever we all want <33 other characters can come in too if you like! the aunts, whoever <3
Since the birth of his second litter — the litter with the freedom of spares, the freedom to live lives with all the perks of almost-royalty with none of the cruel, cold expectations put on the first failed attempts — Kier had becoming fussing and doting and fretful. The kits had nightly health inspections, and all the while they were looked over he boasted and bragged with sickly sweet pride; after losing his and Eris’ kits, he wanted to make sure they were entirely healthy, and he took it to overbearing extremes. An assurance of perfect health was never good enough — he had to hear it three times. Four. It was always ’run it again’ and ’you don’t know what you’re doing’ and ’they’re alright when I say they’re alright.’ He was never truly worried, not in the sense that he thought they had anything wrong with them — it was less a thing of what there wasn’t as what there was; he wanted to be told over and over that they were perfect. What had started as faint anxiety quickly became about ego, and he lapped up the barbed praise about how fine and flawless his kits were, the prideful little grin on his face a clear reminder of just how young he truly was. The kits lost sleep because of it, but Kier was far more careless with his kindness than he was with his cruelty; the latter was pin-sharp and deliberate, the former was dished out with such cavalier abandon that he could have drowned someone in it, like someone who’d never had money as a child buying towns on a whim. There was a degree of smothering to it, though borne from a place of love. One might have thought he’d sometimes get spooked, that he might get cold feet and pretend they don’t exist, that he might go through one of his moods where he became snappish and recoiling and so casually brutal. But so far, it had yet to happen. It had happened with his first litter — oh, it had happened with them. But so far, this litter had yet to disappoint him. It seemed they couldn’t; they were perfect princesses and a little prince. Not a king; not a maiden; not royal. Just second-class nobility. He had yet to stop smiling, though he wiped it from his face when he was with Eris; then they just became ‘adequate.’ He never lied to her, but this was like an extension of the false world he curated for her about their own dead kits; seeing him happy with kits that weren’t theirs wouldn’t help her, and so he wasn’t. Especially when this happiness was so unexpected. He hadn’t cared a fig for them when they were still in their mother’s stomach; then, he could have had them killed with the merest flick of his paw to a guard and not batted an eye. They had been nothing; now they were his dolled up little trinkets to be paraded about and showed off. Still. There was something begrudgingly selfless about his affection for his first litter — something based in genuine reality. This one reeked of selfish infatuation; they looked sweet on his arm — the second they disappointed him, the enchantment might break. He loved them less for them and more for their sweetness.
As he was padding across the stone camp to the nursery from the direction of the lower tunnels (these spares didn’t have to be raised in a private den like his heirs; they were allowed companionship and a warm, loose leash, as was his nepotism), Brat came skulking up, shoulders bunched up around her ears. Ever since the birth of Kier’s second litter, she’d become needy and moping and sullen, always leaning heavily against him with angry, silent sulkiness while he ate, not talking to or looking at him, faced pointedly away from him with her chin on her paws, but still pushing all her weight into him like she was mad and upset and touch-starved at once; or coming to him to tell him she had a (suspiciously placed) stone in her pad that she didn’t want Twilightdance to get out, she wanted him; or creeping into his and Eris’ den in the middle of the day to say she felt sick and couldn’t sleep. It was very unattractive in a she-cat and prospective heir, but Kier tolerated it because with what little attention he gave to her feelings, he knew what it was to be jealous of a sibling. She was just a little shorter than him now, and when she greeted him by roughly, insistently bumping her forehead against his cheek, he quickly moved back one forepaw to stop himself stumbling off balance. He wasn’t used to how much she’d grown.
“Where is your governess?” he asked irritatedly in place of a greeting, exasperated and as endlessly annoyed that they were out and about, that they were visible, as he always was. No matter how much time passed, that would never change. Grudgingly, he let her rub her cheek against his own — leaning back slightly and with a sour, glowering expression, but still not moving away.
“None of the other apprentices still have ‘em,” Brat complained; even her voice had changed slightly — she was starting to become a teenager just as Kier had become an adult.
“Yes, well, none of the other apprentices are royalty,” he replied in a hiss, trying to keep his voice down to avoid a scene, but it was just as unthreatening to Brat as it always was; he was just dad. He used to pull her up every time she shortened a word to slang, going over and over ’them, not ‘em’, but it never stuck and now he’d given up; it was her little quirk, he supposed.
“And some kids have a mom,” Brat muttered quietly, casting a resentful look towards the nursery with her shoulders still hiked up.
Kier laughed, for once patient enough with his daughter’s new mood to offer a hint of understanding. “Don’t envy them that,” he told her, efficient and cheery as he drew his tongue over her ear, quick enough that it was clear he wasn’t going to stand about now and listen to her grouch; she was old enough now that he could talk to her like she understood inside family jokes at said family’s expense. She already knew what a monster her aunt was, and her grandmother. As much as he forced his first litter to grow up too fast, too soon, he was still guilty of babying them. He always would be. “Their mother isn’t anything to write home about. A guileful little plain Jane.”
With that, he brushed past his older kit and ducked into the nursery. “Ah,” Kier greeted dreamily. It had been a few weeks and the kits were well and truly on their paws. “My girls.” He ignored Sablemaid entirely, padding past her like she was nothing but a nanny to care for his kits while he was away. There had been a few days early on, when he’d been smitten enough with the afterglow that he’d helped her care for them, where he’d fallen asleep in her nest for her, the kits curled up on and around them and their father too exhausted to go home to his mate. But that had mostly ended now. Kier dropped down onto his belly, bony haunches folding up, and smiled down at his kits. “What trouble have you been getting into?” he asked. His first litter were scarcely allowed to breathe, the girls reared to be married off or become a king and the boy raised to be silent; these ones could have burned the camp down and he’d laugh and enthuse so proudly to the nearest warrior that they were really getting quite boisterous. They might someday grow up to become queens of other Clans; for now, he was too love-struck to spare a second thinking of the future. Even their mother’s insistence on giving them such near-treacherous names hadn’t gotten a rise out of him; he was too blissfully enamoured with them to waste time fighting with the meaningless girl who had birthed them.
Brat skulked after him and lingered, sulky and stand-offish, in the doorway behind her father, looking over the kits and their mother with a reticent gaze and her head at a slight angle, like she couldn’t look at them straight-on. Either because she didn’t want to feel the possibility of love, or because she didn’t want to feel the possibility of hate.
***
Flutterkit padded over shyly; she was too old to still be shaky on her paws, and yet she looked it. “I think we’ve been good,” she whispered, too afraid of the world to raise her voice. She looked over her shoulder at the rest of her siblings, brows drawn together and eyes as frightened and doom-sure as if she was sure the cave would fall down upon their heads. “Haven’t we?” It didn’t sound like she was asking to be backed up; it was like she was genuinely asking, as if she’d forgotten or was too afraid of her own memory to trust it. “We’ve been good, mama, haven’t we?” Head ducked down and ears pinned back shyly, she slowly turned her gaze to her mother. “I think so…” She looked back at her father and gave him a shy, hopeful smile. Kier smiled back, so silent and gently encouraging that slowly, Flutterkit’s smile grew and grew. Suddenly, she rushed forward and touched her nose to his, overcome by emotion. Kier purred and raised his head to look at Sablemaid, a dancing cruelty melting in through the softness like poison losing its deceptive film. “My, you’ve become quite the little mother, haven’t you? Good for you, my dear. Every young she-cat in NightClan will see these kits, manners and all, and dream of finding a nice tom to put them in the nursery. Very finely done.” He laughed, and the purr ran through it. “My little propaganda machine.” He felt safe saying such things to her; who would she tell? Who would listen?
"Who's that?" Flutterkit whispered, looking past her father fearfully to the apprentice lurking in the doorway.
Without looking behind him, Kier answered with a smile, eyes on Brat's little replacement who already outranked her at a few weeks old, "oh, that's just your older sister." Brat ground her teeth together and looked down.
From the moment Primrosekit learned how to properly use her paws, it was clear that she would be a hellion — if she wasn't talking far too loud while her siblings or mother were trying to sleep, she was evading the health checks by running around the nursery or already attempting to make her way out into camp, even though her mother always pulled her back. She was antsy, full of all the uncontained energy a new, unsocialized kit could muster. She bothered the other queens and nursemaids, she barged her way into all the games the older kits were playing even though she was still small and clumsy and unaware of the strange power she held over them. It always ended with them awkwardly moving away, without her, not wanting to trifle with Kier's daughter — not yet, at least, not until everybody was sure where they stood. So far, it seemed, he was as loving and doting to them as a father could be; more so, even. He visited constantly, he had them undergo check-ups daily just to ensure they were in top health (Primrosekit, very soon, found herself hating them), though it wasn't known that he did it for his own ego.
Chasing cave dust and pebbles, Primrosekit could be seen tumbling around by herself when Kier walked in, and at the intrusion she immediately looked towards him from where she lay on her back, paws outstretched past her head, brushing a small stone that lay a little way away. The fur on her belly was a stark white, dusty and messy with her constant play. She flipped over, jumping to her paws to meet him.
"Trouble?" Primrosekit sniffed smugly, "Nope — no trouble here, not ever." She sat down with a thump, eyes closing briefly in a mock-sophisticated look before she opened them again, an impish smile on her face, to focus on Flutterkit. Her sister was like her opposite — where Primrosekit was outgoing and rambunctious, Flutterkit was quiet and fearful, a trembling, meek little thing. Primrosekit didn't quite understand it, her smallness, but she already felt fiercely protective. "We've been the best," she affirmed.
Who's that? At the question, Primrosekit leaned to the side to peer behind Kier, and her eyes found another cat, taller and lankier, like an echo of her father with her sloped face and large ears, but her colour was all different. Actually, if she thought more on it, Kier seemed much more like a shadow than this mystery cat. Oh, that's just your older sister. Primrosekit's eyes lit up, and she shouldered past Kier to circle Brat curiously, trotting around a few times before stopping next to her leg, straightening out her spine and lifting her head higher just so she could attempt to reach her height — but it didn't work. She blinked up at her, wide-eyed and curious, "we've got a big sister? Where did you come from? Why didn't we know you before — are there others? What's your name, big sister? What is it, come on, tell me! I'm Primrosekit, and it's kind of a mouthful but it isn't that hard to say, even though it took me, like, a few tries before I didn't mess it up. You're tall. Do you think I'll be that tall one day? I hope so. I bet you can, like, see everything from up there."
Sablemaid couldn't help but let her eyes shine over Flutterkit. She was the little fragile, soft spoken, and sweet one of the bunch. Always listening to her instructions, rules, and always in line. Though she was shy, Sablemaid wondered if her daughter would eventually grow more confidence. Then Kier's words hit her like a rock, and she felt her smile fade away. Her lips pressed together, and she turned her head away, unable to meet his gaze. Sablemaid tucked her paws under her chest, focusing her green eyes on some random piece of moss from their nest that had seemed to separate from it. She gave him no response, her ears hot, but did answer Flutterkit. "Yes, my sweet girl. You have been good." She tried to soften her voice, but Kier made her nervous, as usual.
Sablemaid finally lifted her head to glance towards Brat. She said nothing to the half-sibling of her litter. Truly, she had a bit of nothing to say. She wanted to avoid Kier's other kits, wanted to avoid Eris. Perhaps her confined state to the nursery was one advantage she held. Though, going stir crazy... Then came Primrosekit. The namesake of her mother, the hardest blow she could throw at Kier. She matched up to her name too, she was exactly as she was told that her mother had been when she was young. It almost made her... proud.
Yet she was harder to control, and it made Sablemaid terrified. More for herself, not for Primrosekit. Perhaps that was because she felt Kier was not likely to hurt the kits, but might take it out on her for failing to do as he expected. Before she could speak, she was all over the place.
"Primrosekit!" She scolded, her ears laying flat against her skull as she snapped her eyes to the kitten who was pestering Brat. Sablemaid pushed herself to her paws and made her way over there. She quickly bent and snagged her daughter by the scruff. Huffing through the fluffy fur, she dropped her back in the nest and had her back to Kier and Brat. "Where are your manners?" She asked, though her voice was calm and expectant. __
Blisskit however, had been fast asleep, curled against her mother's belly. Until she suddenly got up. "Wha-?" She rolled over and blinked sleepily. The black kitten peeled her light green eyes open, her fur fluffed in confusion. Blisskit turned her head looking around at the scene, trying to piece together what exactly was going on. Her tiny jaws split open as she gave a yawn, then shook out her little coat. She seemed to be the kitten that slept the most, took the most naps, just a little sleepy thing she was. After a few moments she seemed to take in the scene, watching her mother scold one of her sisters. Without even seeing them right away, she could have guessed which one it was. Primrosekit was always the one that Sablemaid was correcting. If she would just listen and do as mother says... She thought to herself, almost wanting to roll her eyes. Finally she slipped around her mother and came to stand before Kier and Flutterkit. "Good morning." She greeted softly, her eyes glancing to Flutterkit and then back to her father.
"Oh, my dear," Kier scolded Sablemaid as she scooped their daughter up and retreated to the nest with her back turned to him, leering at her with a little crooked grin. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. He had been enjoying Primrosekit’s rambunctiousness, grinning and nodding along indulgently with her wilful affirmations. She had a strong spark; he’d likely clash with her as she grew, and even here he preferred the softer daughters, but right now he played along with her antics with a patience only ever so slightly strained. Outside the family, he liked force in a girl; in the family, he liked meekness. “No need to be so stern! Are you worried I'll be annoyed?" He laughed, like it was all just her feminine, post-pregnancy hormones, like he was perfectly harmless. He was always like a shark with a pinprick of blood, like a dog with a bone — any little hint of weakness, of emotional vulnerability, and he was insatiable, going after it till it lost its interest, poking and prodding and mocking and pursuing. You had to wear a constant brave mask around him, so confident and put-together and unflappable — but not too confident, just that perfect, fine line of submission and self-assurance. You could be the longest-serving of his guards, the perfect soldier — but the second something slipped and you showed the tiniest hint of soul, Kier snapped around, and then it was like your service had never meant a thing, like the slate was clean; the gleeful little grin was the same for everyone’s weaknesses. And right now, Sablemaid’s nerves were pulling him in like a bloodhound.
He padded towards her, stepping over Flutterkit and Blisskit without returning her greeting, too focused on his prey. His voice was endlessly cheerful and all rounded with laughter. “What, you’re worried my girls will do something I don’t like and I’ll slit your sisters’ throats?” Kier sat down behind her, reaching his paw across her chest to brush it over Primrosekit’s ears. “I could have already gotten mad about you giving this one such a name.” Even as he spoke slightly threateningly of his daughter, his paw was perfectly casual and gentle. “But I didn’t, did I?” He smiled at the back of her head; he knew she was listening. “Relax, my dear. You’re more likely to irritate me by being so stiff and demure,” he drew his paw back from Primrosekit to give Sablemaid a few pointed taps with the back of it against her spine, “than by letting our kits run amok — they’re kits! Let them have a little fun.” Still smiling, he finally stood and turned away from her, padding back to Blisskit and Flutterkit like he was happy with how the conversation had gone. Of course, he was being hypocritical, and he was lying — he wanted to walk in and have his kits be lovely for him, without him putting in any of the hard work; he wanted them to be well-mannered and versed in etiquette, so he could be the one who encouraged them to drop those manners and that etiquette. He wanted her to continue doing precisely what she had been doing, moulding his kits into bastard royalty. Then she would be the parent they resented and he, the fun one who offered a bit of raw glee.
Kier thumped down beside Flutterkit and Blisskit again, smiling at them. “I’m sorry, that was horribly rude. Hello, sweet girl. My girl.” Everything was always my with Kier. There would never be just a dear from him; that was all fondness and no ownership. He leaned down, reached forward, and touched his nose to Blisskit’s. Love stirred faintly in his chest. He liked this part, the time early on when everyone was still getting to know each other, he and the kits; it felt sacred, like an innocent meeting to bond and try gentle touches and see what clicked. It was always strange for him; he was so used to always being the smallest one in any room, even among the apprentices, and so he’d groomed for himself a personality that made up for it. That brought all eyes to him. With these little kits, he felt like a deer trying to tread through grass without snapping the dew-specked spiderwebs between — aware of his own body, of his size that felt suddenly unfamiliar, of his own strength. Everything about him gained a new, reaching gentleness. A soft, shy, delicate uncertainty when Kier was never uncertain; he tried his best to bluster his way through it with sheer confidence. “You’re looking lovely.” He raised his head to look at Sablemaid again, passing her an idle comment in that voice that became suddenly adult again after the tender kit-voice. “I really do like all these black pelts. My last litter, you know, all ears.” Brat’s shoulders drew up further behind him. “This one’s nicer. It does to sow one’s oats with someone of similar looks, I think.” He looked back down at the two kits, smiling and so serenely pleased. “Very good.”
***
When her little half-sister approached her, Brat backed away, ears pinning back self-consciously like she was a caged animal. She avoided her eyes, looking down at the stone floor. When she circled around her, so confident, she felt like prey. All her own confidence suddenly felt stitched up and theatrical and oddball next to her little sister’s; one was the necessity that the rest of her litter had needed, the class clown to make puppet shows in their lonely den and keep them laughing, and one was natural. She felt hollow and fake by comparison. At Primrosekit’s questions, her gaze slowly rose to the back of her father’s head, hoping with a melancholy, angry sort of hope that he’d answer for her. But he never did. “Half sister,” she corrected finally, voice quiet and tired and eyes drifting back to the floor. They looked up at Primrosekit’s for only a heartbeat, and for the first time she truly met her little sister’s gaze. But then she looked down again, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “I’ve been here a while.” Are there others? “Two sisters and a brother.” Her eyes crept up again and she tried a small smile. “They’re… Oh, they’re out and about. Here and there. Y’know.” The smile dimpled, uncharacteristically shy. And then she asked her name. Her eyes wandered over accusingly to her father.
“Brat,” she replied, and her voice was too forceful, too loud, her eyes still on the back of Kier’s head like she was spitting the name back at him, or like she was saying she was still there. She’d always still be there. It was the most openly angry she’d ever looked. But Kier didn’t respond, still fussing over the two kits in front of him; his ears slightly angled back were the only clue he was listening. When she looked back down at her half-sister and went on answering her questions, her voice kept that same quality — forceful, slightly ill-tempered, like she was answering more for the two adults in the room to hear than for Primrosekit. “Sure, I bet you’ll grow plenty tall. Maybe if your mom can spare you for a bit from her busy schedule of lying around all day, I can show you everything I can see.” Her gaze threw sharp accusation at the kits’ mother. It felt mean, to be hurling blame at a she-cat that was so young she’d been an apprentice at the same time as herself, but she was hurt — and all she knew was that Pantherpaw, Sablemaid, was the reason. Her father was the real reason, but she had taken him from her. And then Sablemaid came to snatch her half-sister away, like she was something she wasn’t meant to be tainted by, and she would hardly look at her, and Brat’s anger grew. She opened her mouth again, this time to say something really biting—
“My dear,” Kier finally interrupted, twisting around to look back at her at last from where he lay, with a smile that was no kindness and all warning. “They’re too young to chat so much. Mm?” The smile widened, thin and violent. The meaning was clear: this was his new family. “And don’t be rude to Sablemaid. Say sorry.”
Brat glared back at him, rooted to the spot like a bull. Kier stared back, slowly tilting his head like a snake. Finally, she snapped her head to Sablemaid across the den with a snarl. “Sorry, Pantherpaw.” Kier let out a breath, giving up. He had no fight left in him for this daughter, or for defending his mistress. He just wanted everything to be perfect and peaceful with these new kits. His first litter was business; this one was a happy hobby. He could afford for it to be.
***
Flutterkit looked frightened and bewildered by everything happening, looking between her mother, her father, and the strange she-cat at the entrance with eyes that looked close to tears. “Mama?” she whispered fearfully, looking back at her pleadingly. She always made everything better. Brat's anger was scaring her.
"Her gaze then moved to her sister, Flutterkit. "Don't be so scared," she meowed to her sister. "Daddy won't let anything happen to us. Plus, she's our sister! She won't hurt us." She sounded surprisingly confident in her words for the situation - Brat did look like she wanted to punt each of her siblings individually to the moon, and perhaps Flutterkit was right to be a little afraid. But, Blossomkit seemed to already implicitly know the rules of the game. Their father's love was a protection, as long as the leader was still infatuated by them, no harm would come to them.
She then looked over to her older sister. If Kier didn't have the energy to fight her, Brat was in luck; Blossomkit was filled with boundless energy, and she would defend her mother. "You're not that nice," Blossomkit meowed with a tipped head as she looked at Brat. "Plus, mama's name isn't Pantherpaw, silly. I don't even know who a Pantherpaw is, but it's a dorky little name. My mama's name is so much better." Blossomkit was blissfully unaware that she, too, was being a little less than nice. She didn't know that she probably just insulted her mom and by extension her dead grandmother who had originally named her; to Blossomkit, Sablemaid had always just been Sablemaid.
As soon as she spoke, her attention then moved back to the man of the hour. She was a little later than her siblings to address him, but she made up for that with a cheerful purr, skipping merrily to his side. "Does she always get confused like that?" she asked with an innocent little smile, glancing back to Brat. She then presses against her father, the purr intensifying the closer she got to him. "Hi, daddy!" she then added. "I missed you so much since the last time you came!"
Brat got her full attention — a rare feat when it came to Primrosekit, who seemed to bounce from subject to subject too quick to keep up with, as if staying on the same topic for more than a few minutes hurt — and she stared up, eyes wide and wistful and sparkling, like Brat was the best thing in the world talking about other things that were equally as great. "Here and there?" She repeated breathlessly, "I want to see them! Can they visit? I hope they visit," her words had a slightly worried tinge, as if she was just realizing that they hadn't yet, and that they might not ever. She decided to gloss over it instead of dwelling. Brat. Her look turned puzzled, only briefly, looking over her shoulder to glance at Kier as Brat glared at him, turning her head back to her sister as if trying to solve a puzzle she didn't have a picture for. She wiped the confusion off of her face, "Brat's a strange name," she settled on, filter not yet developed in her young age — it was a very strange name, but that didn't necessarily make it a bad one. She wasn't concerned about the blatant insult it was supposed to be, all she knew was that her father and his other family seemed to have some strange, unclan-like names, and that was more of a fun mystery to solve than anything else because she wasn't sure why.
Maybe if your mom can spare you for a bit from her busy schedule of lying around all day, I can show you everything I can see. The biting tone, the insult, it all went over her head, and instead of reacting to it she bounced around instead, rubbing the top of her head against Brat's leg and circling between them, just to get that exciting energy out of her small, buzzing body. "Oh, really! I'm going to see so much!" She half-yelled, voice echoing faintly off the walls of the cave, "So, so much," she repeated in a whisper to herself.
She was going to say more, she was going to ask more, but before she could get anything else out she was being dragged away as if Brat were something dangerous that she shouldn't be around, and she felt indignation bubble inside of her, fighting her mother's jaws clamped around her scruff with tiny, soft paws. When she was placed back in the nest, her thick fur was nothing but irritated prickles, like a small, angry burr-bush. She glared at Sablemaid, "hey! I was just talkin' to her — she didn't mind it, right, Brat? You didn't mind?" She hung over the edge of the nest, tail flicking behind her. "Manners, manners, it's all about manners."
When Kier placed a paw on her head, mumbling quiet, though audible, threats to her mother, Primrosekit let out a low, unintimidating growl, batting at him, too. "My name is great!" She defended, feeling a tinge of embarrassment, "and I think dad should mind his manners, not me." He lifted his paw, and she scurried away from him, stumbling over the side of the nest with careless clumsiness, shaking out her pelt with ire. Primrosekit made her way back to Brat, stopping beside Blossomkit to look between the two, following their conversation. At her littermate's words, she gave her a rough tap, close to a hit, on the shoulder, "don't be rude! She's plenty nice, she said she'd help me see all the tall things like she can. Plus, names are hard, like sometimes I get you and Blisskit mixed up because you both start with a B, and it gets confusing," she giggled and then wiped the joy from her face, replacing it with a sterner look. "Manners! Manners! Where are your manners!" When Blossomkit approached their father, Primrosekit turned to watch with a huff, before facing Brat once more.
The constant babbling of his sisters was once again offsetting Sproutkit. Each time he thought he might go to Kier, one of his sisters beat him to it. As far as he was concerned, they were hogging all of the brief attention they would get from their father, and that was truly unacceptable. With a huff he stomped over to Kier, shouldering any sister that stood between them, and promptly sat on his butt in front of their father, chin held high as he looked at him. "Father, it's so nice another boy is finally here!!" It all came out a bit too loud, as if he had been desperate to escape the females around him but couldn't say so till now, being stuck alone with them and all. "Really. Girls are so annoying." Truly, more than anything, Sproutkit probably just wanted to relate to his father on some level, to connect with him because he was a boy too -- the only boy. A young boy needs his father, after all.
