Yellowfang’s Secret

Newtspeck emerged from the nursery with Littlekit, Wetkit, and Brownkit scampering around her feet. Featherstorm followed, but there was no sign of Mosskit, Volekit, or Dawnkit.

Brokenstar gazed down at Featherstorm with a disapproving expression. “Where are your kits? Fetch them at once!”

“But they’ve just gone to sleep!” Featherstorm protested. “And it’s very cold out here. Besides, they’re not old enough to catch their own prey and usually—”

Brokenstar cut her off. “Are they part of ShadowClan?” he growled. “Then get them!”

So he does want the kits here, Yellowfang thought. Why?

Featherstorm hesitated, anger clear in her eyes, but she could not hold Brokenstar’s gaze. She retreated into the nursery and reappeared a few heartbeats later, guiding her kits in front of her. All three stumbled sleepily into the open and collapsed into a bundle of fur close to their mother. Brokenstar gave Featherstorm a curt nod.

“I will not rest until WindClan has been punished, and until ShadowClan is feared by every cat in the forest,” he announced to his Clan. His voice rose to a roar. “They will bow down before us! From now on warriors will only fight and train for battle. Hunting is of little importance, and cats will have to find food where they can.”

He paused, but the Clan was silent; Yellowfang thought that shock—and perhaps a little fear—had closed their jaws as they exchanged uncertain glances.

“Meanwhile,” Brokenstar went on, “it is time for me to choose a deputy. I say these words before the spirits of my ancestors, that they may hear and approve my choice. Blackfoot will be the next deputy of ShadowClan.”

The big white warrior rose from his pace and walked to the Clanrock. His black paw looked like a shadow in the moonlight and his eyes shone with pride. “Brokenstar, your choice honors me,” he meowed. “I’ll do my best to serve you and our Clan well.”

Yellowfang felt the Clan relax around her. Blackfoot was popular. He hasn’t had an apprentice, but then, we haven’t had any kits ready to give him.

“Now,” Brokenstar went on, “I need an apprentice. Mosskit, step forward.”

“Wait!” Yellowfang, broke in. “He’s not old enough.”

“Quiet!” Brokenstar’s voice cut across mutters of agreement from other cats. “I am the leader and this is my decision.”

Featherstorm, clearly reluctant, prodded Mosskit awake. He was a big, healthy kit, but even so, Yellowfang knew he wasn’t ready to be an apprentice. He stepped forward, glancing around him uncertainly.

“From this time on,” Brokenstar announced, “you will be known as Mosspaw. I will be your mentor.” He jumped down from the Clanrock to touch noses with the little cat, who looked startled.

“That’s not fair!” Volekit complained, gazing at his brother with undisguised envy.

“That’s right!” Dawnkit agreed. “We’re just as old as he is!”

“I promise you will be made apprentices as soon as you’re as tall as your brother,” Brokenstar mewed. “Blackfoot will be your mentor, Dawnkit, and Clawface can have Volekit.”

At once Volekit arched his back and stood on his toes, as if he was trying to grow taller right away.

“Stop that!” Featherstorm snapped. “Your brother is too young to be an apprentice, and so are you.”

“But it’s a great honor,” Blackfoot assured her. “You should be proud.”

Newtspeck said nothing, just drew her kits closer to her with her tail.

Though some of the cats were still looking worried, Yellowfang could see that most of them thought it was a good idea.

“We don’t have any apprentices just now,” Wolfstep commented. “And we need to start training young cats.”

Flintfang nodded. “Mosspaw is big and strong. He’ll be fine.”

Runningnose padded up to Yellowfang and spoke into her ear. “I guess we’d better stock up on marigold for scratches.” His voice sounded concerned but resigned. “You’re looking troubled, but don’t be,” he went on. “Everything will be fine, you’ll see!” He paused, then added, “WindClan is going to regret killing Raggedstar, that’s for sure.”

Chapter 37

Fernshade lay stretched out on the floor of the nursery. A powerful ripple passed along her swollen belly, and she bit down hard on the stick Runningnose had brought to stifle her shriek of agony. Yellowfang blocked the she-cat’s pain so that she could concentrate and ran her paw over Fernshade’s belly. She could only feel one kit inside, but it was a big one, and it was stubbornly refusing to be born.

A lively ball of fur bounced against Yellowfang’s shoulder. “Is the kit here yet?” Volekit squeaked. “I want to see!”

Yellowfang bit back a sharp retort. It was difficult enough delivering this stubborn kit without the other five and their mothers watching her every move. The nursery is so full I can hardly move a whisker!

“All of you kits, out of here!” she hissed. “Go over to the apprentices’ den and play with Mosspaw.”