Sunrise

And what are we going to say when Firestar asks us where we’ve been? He’ll claw us to pieces and toss us on the fresh-kill pile!

But as he staggered into the clearing, he heard a buzz of excitement rising from his Clanmates, who were clustered together near the nursery. No cat was paying any attention to Jayfeather or his littermates.

“What’s going on?” Lionblaze asked.

A sudden rush of paw steps answered him as Foxpaw raced up to them. “It’s Whitewing!” he burst out. “She’s having her kits.”

At the same moment, Jayfeather heard Brightheart calling from the nursery. “Jayfeather! Come quick—Leafpool needs you!”

Jayfeather stifled a sigh. He would far rather have crept into his nest to dry off his pelt and sleep. Instead he headed for the nursery, brushing past Birchfall, who was tearing up grass in his anxiety.

Inside, Daisy and Millie had drawn their own kits into their nests to give Whitewing and Leafpool space. The young white she-cat was lying on one side, her breath coming fast and shallow.

“You’re doing fine,” Leafpool reassured her. “And so are your kits. They’ll be born before you know it.”

“I hope so,” Whitewing panted.

Even though Leafpool sounded calm, Jayfeather could sense her fear. Leaning over, she whispered in his ear, “She’s exhausted. I’m afraid she won’t have enough strength left to deliver the kits.”

Jayfeather rested one paw lightly on Whitewing’s distended belly and concentrated. He could feel a double heartbeat inside her, frail but steady. “She’s having two kits,” he announced. “Come on, Whitewing! You can do it.”

It’s okay, little kits, he thought as he crouched over the laboring she-cat, murmuring encouragement. You’re nearly safe. Just a little farther.

Suddenly his mind slid into Whitewing’s. He heard a vicious snarling and saw a vision of gaping fangs and lolling tongues, as if the young white queen was imagining her kits savaged by dogs, just as her mother Brightheart had been. He heard the screech of battle with other Clans and saw blood welling in deep claw marks, scarlet against pale fur. He felt the grip of hunger in his belly as he looked out across a forest deep under the snow.

Jayfeather started back, his mind reeling. Does a mother really imagine her kits’ whole lives before they’re born? He sensed Whitewing’s terror as she lay silently begging him for help.

Recovering, he bent close to the young she-cat. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Your daughters will be fine. They will be loved and protected by their Clanmates.” He stroked one paw gently across Whitewing’s belly. “It’s time now.”

“Yes,” Whitewing gasped.

Jayfeather felt a strong ripple pass through her belly. She let out a screech, and a tiny wet bundle slithered out onto the moss.

“Is she all right?” Whitewing panted.

“She’s fine,” Jayfeather assured her. “Now the next one.”

Whitewing lay still for a moment; then her back arched as another ripple passed across her belly, and a second tiny bundle slid into the nest.

“Well done!” Leafpool exclaimed. “Greetings, little kits. Welcome to ThunderClan.”

The first kit squeaked loudly, and Leafpool uttered a soft mrrow of laughter. “This one’s tiny, but she’s strong. There, little ones, go to your mother.”

“They’re beautiful!” Whitewing purred. “Thank you, Jayfeather. And you, Leafpool.” With one paw, she drew the tiny kits toward her and started to lick them vigorously.

A wave of triumph swept through Jayfeather as he headed for the entrance to the nursery. “Birchfall!” he called. “Come and meet your daughters.”

Birchfall brushed past Jayfeather as he stumbled inside. Jayfeather almost staggered under the wave of his relief and joy. “Whitewing, are you okay?” he choked out. “Oh, thank StarClan! What beautiful kits!”

Crouching beside Leafpool as she tended to Whitewing, Jayfeather wondered whether she had felt the same when he and her other kits were born. Did our father share that joy?

More than anything, he wanted to talk to Leafpool, to hear her side of the story and learn the truth. In the closeness of working together, he felt for a few heartbeats that it might be possible. “Leafpool…,” he began.

Leafpool turned to him. “She’ll be fine now,” the medicine cat meowed, cutting off what Jayfeather meant to say. “Go and fetch me some strengthening herbs, and a few leaves of borage to help her milk come.”

The moment was gone. “Sure,” Jayfeather replied, and slipped out of the nursery.

By the time he had delivered the herbs, the rain was easing off. Jayfeather padded over to the fresh-kill pile for a bite to eat before he went back to his den. Several cats were clustered around it, sharing prey; their delight washed over Jayfeather as he crouched to gulp down his vole.