by Erin Hunter
“Another tom,” Yellowfang announced, efficiently peeling off the sac and delivering the mewling bundle to Leafpool’s belly. “Two sons and a daughter. Congratulations, Leafpool.” There was warmth in her voice, and Leafpool caught a spark of emotion glistening in the old cat’s eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She bent over her babies and started licking the stickiness from their fur.
Above her, she heard Yellowfang telling Squirrelflight that they both needed to get some rest, then Squirrelflight could fetch prey and more water. “Wait for the kits’ eyes to open before you go back to the hollow,” she mewed. There was a pause. “If you go back.”
As she slipped into the stillness of sleep, Leafpool thought she might stay in this hollow tree forever. Everything that matters to me in the world is here.
She woke to a strong, meaty scent under her nose. Blinking open her eyes, she saw Squirrelflight pushing a shrew toward her. “You haven’t eaten for two sunrises,” her sister meowed. “Come on, share this with me.”
Leafpool half sat up, aware of an empty feeling in her belly. She looked down and saw her three kits curled tightly against her, fast asleep. Her heart swelled with love, more fierce than anything she had felt before. I would die for you, she thought. The hollow was cold and there was a strange white light filtering through the narrow entrance. Leafpool craned her neck and saw thick flakes drifting down from the sky to settle on the forest floor.
“It’s snowing!” Squirrelflight mewed. “It’ll make hunting more difficult, but at least it will hide our scent.” She watched Leafpool tuck into the shrew. The black she-kit wriggled free from her brothers and wailed when she felt cold air on her pelt. At once Leafpool stopped eating and tucked her daughter gently back into her belly fur.
“See?” Squirrelflight purred. “You know exactly what to do! I knew you’d be a brilliant mother.”
There was a ring of sadness in her voice, and Leafpool recalled Yellowfang’s prophecy that Squirrelflight would never have kits of her own. She felt a stab of guilt that she had ever doubted these kits should be born. They were a blessing, like Brackenfur had said. Thank you, StarClan, she whispered.
Squirrelflight curled her body around Leafpool’s, blocking out the draft from the entrance. Leafpool felt her sister’s breath warm on the back of her neck as they drifted into sleep. A slight shift in the air made Leafpool open her eyes. Outside the forest was still and silent under its pelt of snow. She could hear the tiny breathing sounds of her kits, muffled against her belly, and steady snores from Squirrelflight. And something else . . .
A glittering outline appeared in a shaft of starlight. Warm eyes glowed from the shadows, and Leafpool detected a faint, half-remembered scent. Not Yellowfang this time. Feathertail!
The pale silver she-cat stepped forward and looked down at the kits. Her purrs rumbled against the hollow tree, and Squirrelflight stirred. Leafpool felt her sister stiffen in surprise.
“Feathertail!” she gasped. She scrambled to her paws and tried to press herself against the starlit shape, her tail curled over her back in delight. “I never thought I’d see you here! Have you come to see Leafpool’s kits? Aren’t they amazing?” Squirrelflight broke away and leaned down over Leafpool. Very gently, she moved the kits into view one by one. “A black she-cat and two toms, this golden tabby and this gray. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.” Her voice cracked.
Feathertail’s blue eyes brimmed with love. “They are perfect. Crowfeather would be so proud.”
With a jolt, Leafpool remembered that Feathertail had been Crowfeather’s mate first. Had she come all the way from the Tribe of Endless Hunting to tell Leafpool that Crowfeather deserved to know he had become a father? As if she could tell what Leafpool was thinking, Feathertail shook her head.
“These kits are more precious than you could possibly know,” she mewed softly. “Cats will speak of them for many seasons to come. They must stay in ThunderClan, for all the Clans’ sakes, with a mother and father who can be proud of them, who can share them with their Clanmates to be raised as strong, loyal warriors.”
Leafpool opened her mouth to protest that this was impossible, her Clanmates would never accept Crowfeather as their father, and might reject her too, knowing that their medicine cat had destroyed the code. But Feathertail was looking at Squirrelflight.
“I know how much Leafpool loves these kits,” she murmured. “But you must be their mother and raise them in ThunderClan with your head held high.”
Squirrelflight stared at the starlit she-cat. “How can you do this?” she whispered. “You are asking me to lie to every cat I love.”
Feathertail ran her paw very lightly over the backs of the sleeping kits. “Because I love these kits as much as you do. They are Crowfeather’s: How could I not? I want them to have the best life, not one lived outside the Clans, in shame and exile.”
“Do you wish they were yours?” Squirrelflight whispered.
The silver cat blinked without looking up. “That was never meant to be. The destiny of these kits begins now, and you have the power to change everything, Squirrelflight. Please believe me when I say that Leafpool’s kits must stay in ThunderClan.”
She began to fade until the bark of the hollow tree could be seen behind her. Squirrelflight gazed at Leafpool, and the medicine cat saw water glistening in her sister’s eyes. “Feathertail was right,” Squirrelflight whispered. “I do love these kits, and I want them to have the best life they can—whatever lies ahead for them.” She took a deep breath. “I will raise them as mine and Brambleclaw’s, as true cats of ThunderClan.”
Leafpool closed her eyes. It is the best for my babies, she told herself. “Thank you,” she murmured.
At that moment the golden tabby wriggled and started mewling. Leafpool nudged him toward her belly but he didn’t seem interested in feeding; he just wanted to test his voice. His sister burrowed deeper into Leafpool’s fur with a squeak, while the pale gray tom raised his head, eyes still tightly shut, as if he was trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.
“I need to give them names,” Leafpool purred, marveling at the way these tiny cats already seemed so different, so strong and full of life. She studied the golden tom. His neck was ringed with thick fluff, and his mouth opened wide to reveal thorn-prick white teeth. “He looks like a lion!” she commented. “I think I’ll call him Lionkit.”
Squirrelflight nodded. “The she-cat is as dark as holly bark. Maybe Hollykit for her?”
Leafpool hesitated. My daughter is the image of Crowfeather. Shouldn’t she be named after her father, even if he never knows the truth?
Her sister was watching her closely. “Leafpool,” she mewed, as gently as the snow falling outside. “I am going to raise these kits as my own. Surely I should have a say in their names?”
Leafpool felt a pain inside her belly that was sharper than birth pangs. My precious kits! A few snowflakes drifted down through the hollow tree and settled on Lionkit’s fur. Leafpool battled the urge to cover the kits with her body, protect them from snow, rain, hail, badgers, foxes, anything that might harm one hair on their pelts. Then the scent of Feathertail drifted around her, and she knew their path had already been chosen. Whatever she felt, however many regrets the future held, the only thing that mattered was creating the best life for these three perfect babies.
Squirrelflight pressed her muzzle against Leafpool’s shoulder. “ThunderClan needs you to be their medicine cat,” she mewed. “I will love these kits as if they were my own. I already do! I will never take them from the Clan, you will see them all the time, and they will know you are my kin so they will always be close to you. Remember what Feathertail said: These kits deserve parents who can be proud of them, who can raise them among their Clanmates as fine warriors. Brambleclaw and I can do that. And the secret of their birth will die with me, I promise.”
But I am their mother! Leafpool wailed silently. In her heart, she knew Squirrelflight was
right. She could not raise these kits, their mother a medicine cat, their father a WindClan warrior who seemed to have found a new mate already.
“Hollykit is a good name,” she mewed numbly.
CHAPTER 10
Sunrises rolled past in a snow-bright haze. The kits grew faster than Leafpool thought possible, and almost overnight the hollow tree seemed too small to contain them. After five days, she and Squirrelflight ushered the little cats outside. They stumbled into the thick snow on tiny legs with their tails stuck straight out behind them. Lionkit and Hollykit had already opened their eyes—amber and green, reminding Leafpool of newleaf and warmth and the certainty that the snow would not stay forever.
The smallest kit was still unnamed and his eyes were tight shut. As Leafpool went to fish him out of a snowdrift, he blinked and Leafpool was dazzled by a flash of brilliant blue. “Like a jay’s wing!” she gasped.
Squirrelflight bounded over, snow clinging to her belly fur, and looked down at the tom. “Then we should call him Jaykit, don’t you think?”
Leafpool nodded. And one day you will be Jayfeather, like your father.
Jaykit ran in a circle and blundered straight back into the snowdrift. Squirrelflight hooked him out with an amused purr. “You can watch where you’re going now that your eyes are open!” she teased.
Lionkit squeaked and Jaykit tottered in the direction of the sound. Leafpool looked around for her daughter. She was wrestling with a leaf, biting it with her tiny teeth and clawing at the edges. “Come on, fierce little warrior,” Leafpool called. “Back to the nest to warm up!”
The kits only stayed still long enough for Leafpool to lick their fur clean before they tumbled out of the nest and started exploring the inside of the tree. Lionkit found the dry clump of moss that Leafpool had drunk from during the birth, and he started rolling it around with angry little growls in his throat. Hollykit watched for a moment, her head on one side, before running over to join him. Bits of moss flew up as they tussled with their prey.
Leafpool noticed Jaykit marching across the den. Suddenly he slipped on a wet leaf and bumped his nose against the bark wall. Leafpool was ready to comfort him, but the little cat shook his head, then changed direction and headed for the moss game instead. Hollykit stopped playing and sat back to let him have a turn shredding the ball. There wasn’t much left but a few scraps once Lionkit had finished shaking it in his teeth. Leafpool felt a rush of love for her brave, strong son and her gentle, thoughtful daughter. But there was a special place in her heart for her smallest kit, who seemed oddly vulnerable compared with his littermates.
Half a moon passed. The snow began to thaw and the she-cats basked in an unexpected and welcome patch of sunshine outside the hollow tree. In front of them, Lionkit, Hollykit, and Jaykit were pushing fronds of dead bracken into a pile, then leaping off a grassy tussock into the middle.
“I can jump the highest! Watch me!” mewed Lionkit. He sprang into the air with his sturdy forelegs outstretched and plunged into the ferns.
“And me!” squeaked Jaykit. He leaped off the tussock and there was a muffled yelp as he landed squarely on his brother, who was still wriggling free.
“Jaykit, look out!” Hollykit piped. She was purring with amusement. “You’re so silly!”
The little toms scrambled out of the bracken with their fur full of spiky brown prickles.
“I think we’ve just seen some flying hedgehogs,” joked Squirrelflight. “Come here, you two. Let’s clean you up.”
Lionkit ignored her. “That was fun! Let’s do it again!” He scampered back to the tussock.
“Wait for me!” Jaykit chirped.
Leafpool shook her head. “They have so much energy!” she exclaimed.
“They’re growing fast,” Squirrelflight agreed. There was a pause, and it seemed to Leafpool as if the whole forest was waiting. “You know we should take them back,” Squirrelflight mewed.
Leafpool closed her eyes. “I wish we didn’t have to,” she whispered. “They’re so happy here.”
“I know. But we don’t have a choice. If we stay here any longer, the kits might remember too much . . .”
Leafpool stared at her kits as if she would never see them again. Will they remember this time? she wondered. Will there always be some part of them that knows the truth? She knew that Squirrelflight would love them, but what about Brambleclaw? And through Brambleclaw, Tigerstar? Does he know that these kits have been born? Leafpool stared at Lionkit in alarm. Will Tigerstar lure him to the Dark Forest as well?
Suddenly there was a wail, and Leafpool realized Jaykit had vanished. Lionkit and Hollykit were standing on top of the tussock with their backs to the she-cats, looking down.
“Jaykit fell in a hole!” Lionkit called. “I think he’s stuck.”
“Jaykit’s a mouse-brain!” mewed Hollykit.
“Hush,” Leafpool chided, bounding over to take a look. The little gray tom had vanished into the gap where a sapling had stood before being wrenched out of the soil by a storm. Only the tips of his ears were visible against the brown earth.
“Help!” he wailed.
Leafpool braced her hindpaws in the loose soil and leaned down into the hole. “Wriggle this way, Jaykit,” she panted. She felt his feather-soft fur brush against her muzzle, and reached down to grip his scruff in her teeth. With a heave, she dragged herself backward and hauled him out of the hole.
Jaykit crouched down and shook himself, sending earth flying. He gazed up at Leafpool with eyes as clear as the sky. “Thank you for rescuing me!” he chirped. “That was a really big adventure, wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was,” purred Leafpool. She looked into her son’s eyes. They were so beautiful, and yet . . .
She looked over her shoulder. “There’s a big leaf over there, Jaykit,” she mewed. “Please could you fetch it for me so I can wipe the mud off my fur?”
“I’ll get it!” Hollykit offered, jumping down from the tussock.
“It’s okay, Jaykit can manage,” Leafpool meowed. She watched as her son trotted away from her. He paused when his paws crunched onto the edge of a dead leaf.
“Is this the one?” he called.
“Find the biggest leaf you can, please!” Leafpool told him.
Jaykit lowered his muzzle and brushed his whiskers over the leaf under his paws. He moved sideways and did the same to the next leaf. With a satisfied grunt, he picked up the second leaf and carried it back to Leafpool, almost tripping over the bottom edge.
“Thank you, little one,” Leafpool praised him. “That will get me very clean.” She watched him trot back to his littermates.
“What was all that about?” Squirrelflight asked. “Are you getting him ready for apprentice duties?”
Leafpool shook her head. “He didn’t choose the biggest leaf,” she murmured. “And did you see the way he only stopped when he was standing on them, and how he measured the size of the leaves with his whiskers?”
Squirrelflight looked curiously at her. “Am I missing something?”
Leafpool took a deep breath. “I think Jaykit is blind.”
“Blind? Are you sure?”
Leafpool nodded. Squirrelflight stared at the gray kit as he bundled against Lionkit, growling like the tiniest badger. Lionkit turned and batted him very gently with his paw.
“Poor little thing,” Squirrelflight murmured. “What sort of life will he have?”
“The same as his littermates, of course,” Leafpool snapped.
Squirrelflight’s eyes were troubled. “But blind cats can’t be warriors! Longtail had to join the elders’ den as soon as he lost his sight. What place is there in a Clan for a cat who cannot see?”
“There is an equal place for Jaykit as any of these kits!” Leafpool hissed. “I will make sure of it, even if you won’t. Look at him! He doesn’t know there is anything different about him!”
The she-cats watched the three kits tumbling on the damp grass. When Jaykit rolled too close to a patch of bramb
les, Hollykit nudged him away from the thorns, then pounced on his tail with a squeal.
“His littermates already know how to look after him,” Leafpool pointed out. Her heart ached. Be brave, my little son. I will always walk beside you, I promise.
CHAPTER 11
They left the hollow tree at the next sunrise. It was cold and calm, but drifts of snow still lay under the trees in the densest parts of the woods. The kits started out full of enthusiasm, but quickly became tired when their stumpy legs sank into the snow and their fur grew clogged and heavy. Leafpool felt exhausted too, uncomfortably full of milk and with a stabbing ache deep in her belly. Squirrelflight darted from one to the other, hoisting the kits out of clumps of snow and nudging Jaykit when he sat down and refused to move.
At sunhigh Leafpool found a sheltered patch of ferns and ordered the kits to rest. Squirrelflight darted into the undergrowth to look for prey. Hollykit and Jaykit snuggled into Leafpool’s belly for warmth and milk but Lionkit sat bolt upright, his sun-colored eyes curious.
“Where are we going?” he mewed.
“To the place where ThunderClan lives,” Leafpool told him. “In a big hollow full of warm dens and places for you to play. There will be lots of other cats there, and a big lake to cool your paws when it gets hot.”
For a moment Lionkit looked doubtful. “But I liked living in the hollow tree.”
“I know you did. But you’re getting too big to stay there forever! You are a ThunderClan cat, Lionkit, and you need to join your Clanmates.”
“Will they like me?”
“They will love you,” Leafpool purred.
Squirrelflight returned with a rather scrawny vole, which she shared with Leafpool. When they had crunched the last of the bones, Leafpool gently untangled her kits from her fur. “Come on, little ones. Time to go.”
“I don’t want to walk anymore,” Jaykit wailed. “My paws hurt!”