Leafpool’s Wish

Leafpool turned away. She didn’t want Sorreltail to look at her too closely; if any cat knew what an expecting she-cat looked like, it was this experienced queen. “I’m fine,” she panted. “Just a little bellyache. Must have been that tough old shrew I ate yesterday.” She glanced around and saw Brambleclaw’s tail whisking into the warriors’ den. His hunting patrol had returned. “I must go check Brambleclaw’s wounds,” Leafpool meowed, hurrying away. She felt Sorreltail’s gaze boring into her but she didn’t turn around.

Brambleclaw was lying in his nest, licking his pads. His claws were battered from digging up the fox trap and he was covered in scratches dealt by Hawkfrost, but he had insisted on going out on patrol as usual. He looked tired, though, and Leafpool could tell by the way he held himself that he was in pain.

He brought this upon himself! I saw him in the Dark Forest with Tigerstar and Hawkfrost! They must have plotted together to catch Firestar in the trap. Leafpool couldn’t explain why Brambleclaw had decided to free Firestar and kill Hawkfrost; she assumed something had gone wrong with the plan. But I saw the circle of thorns surrounding the hollow, keeping us safe! Why can’t I trust Brambleclaw now?

“Let me see your paws,” she mewed, bending over him.

With a grunt, Brambleclaw shifted and raised each foot in turn. Some of his claws were dangerously loose, and Leafpool suspected one would fall out next time he pounced on something, but there was no smell of infection. “They’d heal more quickly if you rested,” she commented. Brambleclaw shrugged. “I’ll send Whitepaw over with some marigold juice,” Leafpool went on. “Rub it into each pad, and also the wounds in your pelt. If you have trouble sleeping, I can give you a poppy seed.”

“I don’t need that,” Brambleclaw meowed. Leafpool turned away, eager to leave the cramped, musty space and her troubled feelings about the injured warrior.

She felt Brambleclaw’s amber gaze burning into her pelt. “You can trust me now, Leafpool,” he mewed.

Leafpool looked back at him. “It’s not my role to judge you.”

“I know you saw me in the Dark Forest with Tigerstar and Hawkfrost.”

Leafpool flinched. “I can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” she whispered.

Brambleclaw shook his head. “No, and I’m not going to deny it. But I promise that it won’t happen again. Yesterday changed everything. Hawkfrost is dead—dead because of me! And I know where my loyalty lies now. I am the deputy of ThunderClan, and my Clan is the only thing that matters.”

Suddenly the kits writhed, pushing against Leafpool’s flanks so hard that she staggered.

Brambleclaw sat up. “Leafpool, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Leafpool hissed through gritted teeth. “I… I swallowed some mouse bile by mistake when I was treating Mousefur’s ticks, that’s all.”

“You look like you need some fresh air,” Brambleclaw meowed. “Go on, I’m fine here. Send Whitepaw with the marigold juice when you’re feeling better. And get the apprentices to deal with ticks!”

Leafpool stumbled out of the den, gulping the cold, clean air as if it were water. Berrykit, Hazelkit, and Mousekit were lined up in the center of the clearing, taking turns pouncing on a stick.

“Got you, ShadowClan warrior!” Mousekit spat, baring his tiny white teeth.

Berrykit braced his front paws in the middle of the twig and pushed down until it snapped. “Death to the enemy!” he squealed.

Hazelkit was distracted by their father, Spiderleg, walking past. “This is the real enemy!” she chirped, making a grab for the black warrior’s tail.

Spiderleg dropped the piece of fresh-kill he was carrying and spun around. “What are you doing?” he snapped, flicking his tail out of the way.

Hazelkit’s shoulders drooped. “Only playing,” she mewed.

Daisy looked out of the nursery. “Don’t disturb your father!” she called. Spiderleg grunted and picked up his prey again. Leafpool saw Daisy narrow her eyes as the long-limbed black tom walked away.

Crowfeather would always be willing to play with our kits. The thought flew into Leafpool’s mind before she could stop it. She pictured the dark gray warrior surrounded by three tiny shapes, letting them pounce on his tail and nibble his whiskers. In her mind, the background was blurry, and she couldn’t tell whether he was framed by cliffs or the open moor where WindClan made their home. But what did it matter where they lived, as long as their kits were happy?

Chapter 3

Leafpool flattened her ears, feeling fury and shame battle inside her. Stop! Why are you thinking like this? You cannot have these kits!