Fading Echoes

He padded along the row of herbs once more, the pain in his side easing to a dull ache. The leaves were drying nicely in the breeze that filtered through the brambles trailing at the den entrance, and there was enough sunshine striking into the hollow to warm the air. There was nothing left to do but wait. Enough time to check on Poppyfrost and her kits.

Springing over the leaves, Jayfeather pushed his way through the entrance, the brambles stroking satisfyingly over his spine as he headed out of the den.

Firestar was dozing on Highledge, his breath clouding in the cool morning air as he rested his chin over the edge of the jagged rock. Sandstorm lay beside him. Jayfeather could hear their fur brushing as their flanks gently rose and fell. They must have been night hunting again. Jayfeather knew that the ThunderClan leader and his mate sometimes liked to slip out of camp while their Clanmates slept and run through the woods. Images of their hunt filled Firestar’s dreams now, and Jayfeather sensed joy as the ThunderClan leader relished the freedom of the forest, his mate at his side, the worries of the Clan left behind at the barrier of thorns.

Jayfeather pulled his mind away, always uncomfortable at intruding on the thoughts of his Clanmates, though the temptation was never far away.

“Come on, Blossompaw!” Graystripe called to the apprentice. “You’re supposed to be helping, not playing.”

Blossompaw froze, her tail sweeping to a halt, leaves drifting from the stale-smelling bundle that she clutched between her paws.

“Ha!” Briarpaw’s pads brushed the earth as she skipped out of the way, and Jayfeather pictured the scene: Blossompaw had been about to send a shower of leaves over her littermate and had been caught in the act by Graystripe.

“Sorry.” Blossompaw swept her leaves toward Graystripe with her tail, and the gray warrior focused on his task once more; Jayfeather could hear his fur snagging against the prickles. “There are more holes in here than in a rabbit warren,” he fretted. “I want them stuffed with leaves before the wind turns cold.”

Berrynose was picking through the brambles on the other side of the nursery. “It’s just as bad over here,” he reported. The cream-colored tom began crunching pawfuls of leaves in between the branches. It was his kits, after all, who were in the nursery along with his mate, Poppyfrost.

Jayfeather was concentrating so hard on the two warriors working on the nursery walls that the flailing, fluffy bundle rolling into his paws made him jump.

“Sorry, Jayfeather!” Cherrykit scrambled back toward her mother, who was basking on the sandy earth outside the nursery.

“Watch where you’re going,” Poppyfrost chided.

“Jayfeather!” Molekit mewled. The tiny kit pattered toward him. “Watch what I can do!”

Jayfeather felt Poppyfrost tense at her kit’s tactless words; he flicked his tail to let her know he wasn’t offended. He liked the way kits didn’t trip over themselves trying not to say the wrong thing to him. “Show me,” he prompted Molekit.

A scuffle of paws and a sudden “Oof!” were followed by purrs of amusement from Cherrykit.

“That was the worst pounce I’ve ever seen,” Cherrykit squeaked.

“You do better, then!” Molekit challenged.

Jayfeather heard her short, stumpy tail brush the ground as she crouched and prepared for her jump. As she leaped forward, a falling leaf brushed her pelt. Her paws skidded clumsily as surprise flashed through her.

Molekit yowled with amusement. “Nice landing!”

“Shut up!” Cherrykit huffed.

“You’re scared of a leaf!”

“Am not!”

“Are so!”

“Molekit!” Poppyfrost’s mew was stern. “Cherrykit’s your sister. You must encourage her, not tease! True warriors help their Clanmates.”

Molekit scuffed his paws on the ground. “Okay,” he muttered.

The nursery entrance trembled as Ferncloud slid out. Though she had no kits of her own, she preferred to stay in the nursery, along with Daisy, helping the queens as they came and went with the seasons. The two she-cats had helped raise so many kits that, these days, cats were as likely to see young apprentices visit the nursery for advice as the elders’ den. Especially now that Purdy had moved into the honeysuckle bush. Once the old loner started one of his stories, it could be sunset before a young cat got a word in edgewise.

“How are you feeling?” Jayfeather asked Poppyfrost. He sensed the queen’s weariness and felt a pang of sympathy. “The kits are doing well.” He could hear Molekit scampering after Cherrykit.

“Look out!” Graystripe warned, staggering on his hind paws as the kits raced past him.

Poppyfrost purred. Jayfeather stifled an urge to ask exactly what it was about squirming, querulous, hungry kits that made queens so forgiving of the exhaustion, the endless demands, and the squabbles that flared up with every second heartbeat.

“Are you eating and drinking plenty?” he checked.

“I’m fine,” Poppyfrost assured him.