by Erin Hunter
Leafpool beckoned Brightheart farther into the cave with a twitch of her tail. “Would you mind if I left the camp for a while?” she asked.
Brightheart’s single eye stretched wide. “Is something wrong?”
“I . . . I have to go in search of an herb that doesn’t grow in our territory. StarClan told me to go when I visited the Moonpool.”
“Are we going to be struck by greencough this leaf-bare?” Brightheart mewed worriedly.
Leafpool shook her head. “Not that I have heard. Will you take care of my duties while I’m gone?”
“Of course,” the she-cat mewed. “But don’t stay away too long, Leafpool. We need you here.”
Firestar was less easy to convince. “Is StarClan sure that we need this herb?”
“Completely.” Leafpool felt her pelt crawl. She hated lying to any of her Clanmates but especially her father, who trusted her to interpret the signs from their ancestors. She wondered if StarClan would forgive her for using them falsely.
“Then you’ll have to go, of course,” Firestar meowed. “Did StarClan say how long it might take to find this plant?”
Leafpool swallowed. “I might be away for more than a moon.”
The ginger tom blinked. “A moon? This herb must be very important.”
Sandstorm entered the leader’s den in time to overhear. “Do you have to go, Leafpool? Couldn’t it wait until after leaf-bare?” Her voice was gentle, but the words burned into Leafpool’s fur. Does she know why I have to leave?
“No, it can’t wait,” she insisted. She gazed at her father. “StarClan wouldn’t send me away if there was any danger to my Clanmates. I promise I will come back as soon as I can.”
Firestar twitched his tail. “And you have to go alone, do you?”
Leafpool nodded, but at that moment Squirrelflight burst into the den. “No, she doesn’t! I’m going with her!”
Leafpool stared at her sister. Squirrelflight continued, “Is it true, what Brightheart said? That you’re leaving ThunderClan?”
“Only for a while,” Leafpool whispered.
“Then I’ll come with you,” Squirrelflight meowed.
“I’d be happier if you weren’t alone,” Firestar admitted.
“So would I,” Sandstorm murmured.
“You may go if you take Squirrelflight with you,” Firestar meowed, as if that was his final decision.
Leafpool glanced at her sister, whose jaw jutted in determination, and nodded. “Very well. Thank you, Firestar.”
He rested his muzzle briefly on top of her head, then watched her walk out of the den. At the bottom of the stones, Leafpool turned to Squirrelflight. “You know why I’m going, don’t you?”
Squirrelflight nodded. “Yes, and I am keeping my promise to help you however I can.”
“Have you told Brambleclaw?”
“That I’m going away with you for a while? Yes.” Squirrelflight curled her lip. “He tried to persuade me to stay here and let Thornclaw or Rainwhisker go instead, but I said that you had asked for me.”
Leafpool suddenly felt exhausted by the lies, the half-truths, the weight of the secret that dragged in her belly. “I’m glad you are coming,” she murmured.
Squirrelflight touched Leafpool’s ear with the tip of her tail. “I could never let you go through this alone.”
They left just before sunhigh, not that the sun was visible through the dense yellow clouds that hung above the tops of the trees. Brambleclaw curled his tail with Squirrelflight’s and seemed to be trying to persuade her to change her mind. But Squirrelflight shrugged him off.
“I’m sure you can organize the patrols without me,” she teased. But her voice was high-pitched with tension, and Leafpool knew that her sister was frightened of what lay ahead. There was nothing she could say to reassure Squirrelflight. The future yawned before her like a bottomless chasm. The path ahead of her led straight into the dark.
They headed up to the ridge above the hollow and crossed over the ThunderClan border as soon as they could. Now that they were on their way, Leafpool had a strange urge inside her to get as far from her home as she could, as if the whispers of her Clanmates could still be heard all around her. In spite of her swollen belly, she walked quickly, and Squirrelflight sometimes had to trot to keep up.
“What’s the hurry?” she panted.
Leafpool just looked at her. Squirrelflight ducked her head with embarrassment. “Okay, let’s keep going.”
The dense undergrowth and fresh young trees that Leafpool associated with ThunderClan territory gave way to sparser, older trees, their trunks silvery and scaled with lichen. The bracken thinned out and soft grass lay underpaw. They could have moved faster here, but Leafpool’s paws were starting to ache and instead she slowed down. Squirrelflight said nothing, just matched her pace and stayed close enough to support Leafpool with her shoulder when the medicine cat stumbled.
Peering through the lake toward the trees, Leafpool figured they were almost level with ShadowClan territory by now. She hoped the breeze wouldn’t carry their scent across the border. They were skirting a thicket of elderberry bushes when Squirrelflight let out a soft cry.
“Look! There’s an old Twoleg nest!” She ran forward and slipped inside the tumbledown heap of reddish stones. Leafpool studied it. If Twolegs had ever lived here, it had been a long time ago. There were holes in the roof, and ivy sprouted from the stones as if the den were trying to grow itself a pelt.
Squirrelflight reappeared at the entrance. “We could shelter here for the night,” she mewed. “It’s dry inside, and there’s a good smell of mouse.”
Leafpool padded over and peered into the den. It was filled with shadows but it felt warm without the constant tug of the wind. Squirrelflight trotted past her and started nosing through a pile of old straw. “You know, this would make a great place to have your kits. It’s clean enough and dry, there’s plenty of prey, and we’re not too far from the Clans if anything goes wrong.”
Leafpool cut her off with a hiss. “We cannot ask any Clan cat for help! And this is much too close to the territories; we might be seen or heard. No, we can’t stay here.”
With a sense of panic swelling inside her, and her kits writhing in distress, she ran away from the abandoned den. Squirrelflight followed without trying to argue. Leafpool was grateful for her sister’s silence. She couldn’t explain the strange, fierce feelings that surged inside her the closer it came to her kits arriving. All she knew was that the urge to follow her instincts was too strong to fight.
The trees toward the lake grew thinner and Leafpool glimpsed the stretch of open grass where Twolegs came during greenleaf. The cats reached a narrow, steep-banked stream which bubbled down to the shore. Squirrelflight paused on the bank.
“I guess you don’t feel like jumping across?” she mewed.
Leafpool shook her head, too breathless to speak.
Squirrelflight narrowed her eyes. “You can’t go much further. Come on, we’ll head deeper into the woods and find somewhere to spend the night.” She turned and led the way along the stream. As the trees thickened around them, the sounds of birds and rustling prey died away, and Leafpool felt as if they were the only living creatures in the forest. It started to rain, gently at first but then harder, until the cats were drenched to the skin. Leafpool shivered uncontrollably, and the sound of her chattering teeth competed with the raindrops that spattered around them.
Suddenly Squirrelflight halted and scented the air. “I smell rabbit,” she announced. She veered away from the edge of the stream and plunged into the dripping ferns. “Follow me, Leafpool,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m not leaving you on your own!”
Leafpool was too tired and uncomfortable to argue. She stumbled behind her sister along the faint trail of scent. They emerged from the ferns in a sandy clearing dotted with holes. Rabbit burrows! Leafpool saw Squirrelflight lick her lips in anticipation of the hunt.
But there was another scent here, stronge
r than rabbit, only half disguised by the rain. Not rabbit but . . .
“Fox!” gasped Squirrelflight, whirling around. “Quick, let’s get out of here!”
It was too late. In front of them the bracken shook violently and tore apart to reveal—not a fox, but the pointed, striped face of a badger, little eyes gleaming and jaws parted to reveal slavering yellow teeth. It growled when it saw the cats.
Squirrelflight jumped in front of Leafpool. “Wait until it attacks me, then run!” she hissed.
Leafpool crouched down, ready to flee. Her kits squirmed in her stomach as if they could feel her terror. Leafpool felt such a surge of love for her babies that she rocked on her paws. She glared at the badger and felt her lip curl in fury. If she couldn’t get away, then she would stay and fight. Badgers held no fear for her now.
You will not harm my kits!
CHAPTER 8
The badger took one step forward and lowered its head, ready to charge. Suddenly there was a ferocious roar behind them and Leafpool glanced around to see a big red fox explode from the nearest burrow. For a moment Leafpool waited to be crushed between fox and badger. Then there was a rush of stinking air as the fox leaped over her head and launched itself at the black-and-white intruder. Squirrelflight threw herself against Leafpool and bundled her into the nearest burrow. Around them, the ground shook and sand fell from the walls as the two animals battled outside. The she-cats crawled deeper into the burrow and curled into a corner, huge-eyed with terror, too frightened to speak.
At last they heard the fox bark in triumph, and the sound of the badger lumbering away. Leafpool began to stand up but Squirrelflight stopped her. “Wait,” she urged in a whisper. “We won’t be able to find shelter in the dark, and it’s still raining. It’s dry inside, and the tunnel is too small for the fox to follow us down. I think we should stay here for the night.”
Leafpool stared at her sister in alarm. Sleep next to a fox hole? Had Squirrelflight lost her mind? But then she saw the exhaustion in her sister’s eyes, and knew that Squirrelflight couldn’t walk another step. From the scent of blood drifting down the burrow, she guessed that the fox had been badly hurt, hopefully enough to make it lose any interest in hunting a couple of cats. “Okay,” she meowed, lying down again. “Let’s get some rest.”
Squirrelflight fell asleep almost at once and began to snore gently, just audible above the patter of rain overhead. The kits in Leafpool’s belly were wide awake, wriggling and wrestling to change position, and sleep seemed a long way off. With a grunt, Leafpool hauled herself to her paws. If she stayed here, tossing and twitching, she would disturb Squirrelflight. A cold breeze whispered down the burrow, making Leafpool reluctant to go outside. Instead she turned deeper into the tunnel, carefully testing with her whiskers to see where the walls were.
A tiny beam of moonlight shone through a hole in the roof ahead of her, casting a silvery gleam onto the sand below. Leafpool padded forward and found herself at the opening to a much larger burrow. The scent of fox almost sent her fleeing back to the open air, but she steadied herself and peered into the half-light. The big fox was here, smelling of blood and anger, but fast asleep now. Her body was curled around three cubs, each not much larger than a kit. In spite of her wounds, the she-fox had tucked them close to her belly, and as one of the cubs stirred, she reached out and nudged it back to the warmth of her fur.
Leafpool felt a strange sensation of joy swell inside her. I know how this fox feels. Even asleep, she is still their mother. Soon I will have babies of my own to guard with my life, to love with every beat of my heart. With one more look at the she-fox, this time with a mix of admiration and envy, Leafpool turned and tiptoed back to her sister.
“Leafpool, wake up! It’s light outside. We should leave before the fox scents us.” Squirrelflight prodded Leafpool with her paw.
Leafpool rolled over and opened her eyes. Her kits had settled at last and she had gone to sleep dreaming of gentle foxes and milk-scented dens. She stood up, and gasped as her belly swung below her.
Squirrelflight jumped to her side. “What’s wrong?”
Leafpool found her balance and took a deep breath. “I think the kits will come today,” she mewed.
She waited for her sister to panic, but instead Squirrelflight looked calm and determined. “Okay. Well, you can’t have them here! We need to get you as far from this fox hole as possible and find some shelter.” She helped Leafpool up the sandy tunnel and into the cold, clear air. It had stopped raining, and the forest was quiet save for dripping leaves.
Leafpool could hear Squirrelflight’s belly rumbling with hunger but she was relieved when her sister didn’t suggest stopping to hunt. Leafpool didn’t think she could eat a mouthful. She just wanted to find a safe place to have her babies. Squirrelflight sniffed at a clump of ferns and stuck her head inside.
“It looks dry in here,” she called, her voice muffled.
“Not if it rains again,” Leafpool replied. She staggered on, almost falling when a bramble snagged her fur.
“What about underneath this thicket?” Squirrelflight suggested as she helped Leafpool free from the prickly tendril.
“Do you want my kits to be full of thorns?” Leafpool meowed.
Squirrelflight said nothing, just walked on. “How about next to that fallen tree?” She pointed with her tail to an oak that lay on its side.
Leafpool wrinkled her nose. “It smells bad.” She could tell Squirrelflight was about to explode. Then she stumbled to a halt as a spasm of pain gripped her belly. “Oh! I think they’re coming!”
In an instant Squirrelflight was pressed against her. “Not yet, Leafpool! We have to find somewhere safe for them.”
Leafpool looked up and saw a gnarled tree in front of them, so old and twisted that she couldn’t tell if it had been an oak or an elm to begin with. It was smothered in ivy, and a dark shadow that ran down its length showed that it had been hollowed out by a blast of lightning many moons ago. She felt a pull toward it as if it had reached out and grabbed the scruff of her neck.
“That is the place,” she whispered as another wave of agony rippled through her. “That is where my kits will be born.”
CHAPTER 9
Leafpool dragged herself into the hollow tree and collapsed onto the leaf mulch with a groan. She was dimly aware of Squirrelflight fluttering around her, shoving more dried leaves beneath her and placing a bundle of dripping moss near her head. Leafpool felt as if the whole world had shrunk to the dimensions of her body, a world that was full of scarlet pain and throbbing fear. There was a pulling sensation underneath her tail and Leafpool cried out in alarm.
“Tell me what I should do!” Squirrelflight hissed in Leafpool’s ear. “I can see a kit coming!”
Leafpool gritted her teeth against the next pulse of agony. “Wait until it is free, then nip open the sac around its body. Push it toward me so I can lick it.” She yelped at a wave of sharp stabbing pain across her belly. She lifted her head and saw a small, slime-covered black shape slither out onto the leaves. Squirrelflight tugged away the transparent sac that covered its head and Leafpool stiffened as a wail pierced the air.
Squirrelflight nudged the kit closer to Leafpool’s belly and Leafpool curled herself around it. Her world expanded just enough to enclose this beautiful, perfect kit. She started to lick its fur clean as she felt its tiny mouth latch onto her. Then she writhed as another spasm racked her body, stronger than any before. She waited for the wave of pain to die away as the kit shifted inside her, but the throbbing continued. In the red mist of agony, Leafpool felt herself begin to panic.
Something’s wrong!
“I can see another kit!” Squirrelflight called. “But it’s not moving! Push harder!”
Leafpool had no breath to speak. She tried to press her paws against her belly, manipulate the kit the way she would if she were helping a queen in the nursery. But her legs flopped weakly to the ground. She felt Squirrelflight trying to help, prodding and nudgin
g with her own paws, but she hadn’t been trained, and Leafpool had no strength to tell her sister what to do. Dark shadows clustered around her and she felt herself ebbing away. She knew that cats could die if a kit got stuck. Help me, StarClan . . .
Then the air stirred beside her, and a new, familiar scent filled the hollow tree. Leafpool felt strong paws pressing down on her flanks, and the kit inside her started to turn. She opened her eyes and saw the faint outline of a starlit cat, gray-furred and flat-muzzled. Yellowfang!
Squirrelflight was standing beside Leafpool, huge-eyed and gaping.
“Make yourself useful,” Yellowfang ordered, and her voice sounded like the wind between the stars. “Give Leafpool some water, and rub some warmth into that black kit.”
Squirrelflight rolled the moss closer to Leafpool so she could drink, then started pummelling the tiny shape beside her belly until the little cat squeaked. Leafpool felt Yellowfang shove a stick between her teeth.
“This is going to hurt,” the old cat grunted. She leaned on Leafpool’s belly with a force that made her shriek in protest. “Have a little faith,” Yellowfang hissed.
With a wrench, the kit was born, a huge golden tabby tom with broad shoulders and a deafening yowl. Squirrelflight dragged him beside the black kit and Leafpool stared down at the tom in disbelief. My son! She felt him start to suckle and let her head fall onto the leaves. She had never been so exhausted in her life. She felt as if she had been turned inside out, and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a moon.
But Yellowfang shook her roughly awake. “Stay with us, Leafpool,” she rasped. “There’s one more kit to be born.”
“I can’t,” Leafpool whimpered without opening her eyes. “I’m not strong enough.”
“You have to be,” Squirrelflight told her, her amber eyes fierce in the darkness. “Come on!” She propped Leafpool’s head against her shoulder and held her close as yet another spasm rolled through Leafpool’s body. This time the kit slipped out easily, a pale gray tabby even smaller than its littermates.