Suddenly Featherwhisker appeared from the nursery. The medicine cat’s silver fur was ruffled and his eyes were wide with alarm. “Leopardfoot’s kits are coming!” he announced.
“So early?” Swiftbreeze gasped. “They’re not due for half a moon!”
“Is she okay?” Patchpelt called.
Featherwhisker ignored them. “Pinestar!” he meowed. “Will you stay with her while I fetch supplies?”
Pinestar stared at him in dismay. No! This can’t be happening! I’m not ready! “I think it’s best if I leave it to you and Goosefeather,” he mewed, his pelt burning under the gazes of Bluefur and Swiftbreeze, who were looking at him as if he’d grown an extra head.
“I’ll sit with her!” huffed Swiftbreeze, pushing her way into the nursery.
Pinestar sagged with relief. Leopardfoot would be much better off with her mother to care for her. But his respite was short-lived. Behind him, Goosefeather had started sifting through the fresh-kill pile, scowling and muttering to himself. Pinestar’s heart started to pound. Was he looking for omens to mark the birth of the new kits?
The day dragged on. Goosefeather stopped fiddling with the fresh-kill pile and limped out of the camp. Patrols returned and excitement spread through the Clan about the kits. Featherwhisker sent Bluefur for herbs, and the waiting cats tensed as if braced for bad news. But nothing came from the nursery, only the sound of Leopardfoot groaning and soft murmurs of encouragement from Featherwhisker and Swiftbreeze. Pinestar looked impatiently at his gathered warriors, who were acting as if a tree was about to come crashing down on their heads. Kits were born all the time! Why was today any different?
“We must eat,” he told them. “Starving ourselves won’t make these kits come any quicker.”
He caught Bluefur glaring at him and turned away. Too wound up to eat, he stalked past the fresh-kill pile and headed into his den beneath Highrock. He knew his Clanmates were judging him for being cold and uncaring toward the mother of his kits. But nothing would make him share Doestar’s warning. How could he possibly tell them that his own son was going to be the greatest threat the Clan would ever face?
Outside, he heard excited voices. Then Bluefur announced, “Two she-cats and a tom.”
He is here. The cat that will destroy us all.
In the midst of his Clan, which had just swelled by three, Pinestar had never felt more frightened or more alone.
The night was starless and unseen brambles clutched at his paws as Pinestar ran blindly through the forest. He knew he should be with Leopardfoot, with their newborn kits, watching over them as proudly and fiercely as Oakstar had once watched over him. But how could he?
These kits should never have been born!
Even as the thought slipped through his mind, Pinestar recoiled in horror. He had stared across the clearing at the nursery as dusk fell, the simple clump of tightly woven brambles changed by shadows into a dark and thorn-pierced trap. His paws had refused to carry him one step closer, as if he had turned to stone where he sat. Gradually the clearing emptied and the camp fell silent as his Clanmates settled down to sleep. Pinestar stood up, stretching out each stiff limb, then headed toward the gorse. Guilt and shame dragged at his pelt. But he would not, could not, enter the nursery.
There was only one place he could find comfort now, far from the Clans, far from the weight of the terrible prophecy about his own son. He leaped over the wooden fence and streaked along the hard stone paths. A couple of kittypets sprang out of his way with angry hisses, but Pinestar ignored them. He raced around the corner of a Twoleg den and skidded to a halt at the edge of the little Thunderpath.
Shanty was sitting on the other side, talking to a fat gray tom. She jumped up when she saw Pinestar, her fur bristling.
“What are you doing here at this time? Is everything all right?”
Beside her, the gray tom slipped into the shadows and disappeared.
“Leopardfoot’s kits have come!” Pinestar called.
He saw Shanty’s eyes widen. “That’s… that’s good news, isn’t it?”
“No,” meowed Pinestar. “It is the end of my Clan.” All his sorrow, all his self-loathing, all his fears came crashing down on him, and he sank to the ground with a moan.
Shanty gasped and sprang toward him. At that moment, a pair of glaring white eyes appeared at the end of the Thunderpath. With a roar, the monster launched itself toward the little brown cat. She stopped dead in the middle of the Thunderpath, frozen in horror.
“Shanty!” Pinestar yowled. He threw himself toward her, his paws skidding on the black stone. He was less than a mouse-length from her when the monster struck them both, slamming Pinestar so hard that he flew into the air and tumbled over and over before he crashed to the ground with a thud.
Suddenly his eyes were dazzled by silver light and he felt cats close around him, sniffing his pelt, urging him to lie still, promising that all would be well. Pinestar had been here before. He was losing another life. He let his body sink into the ground, felt the searing pain ebb out of his muscles, and waited for his mind to clear.
A cat leaned over him, musty breath warm against his ear. “The time to choose is near, Pinestar,” rasped an ancient voice. “Only you can decide.”
Thunderstar? Pinestar struggled to sit up and looked around. He was alone at the edge of the Thunderpath. The monster had gone and everywhere was silent. In the center of the Thunderpath, a small brown heap lay very still. Pinestar climbed stiffly to his paws, his pelt lifting in dismay.
“Shanty!” he whispered. He padded over to her, each paw carrying the weight of Sunningrocks. The little brown shape didn’t move. Pinestar pushed his muzzle into her fur, trying to feel a heartbeat or a stir of breath. “Shanty, wake up!” Surely the monster had hit him harder? The loss of his life didn’t matter, as long as Shanty had escaped. She can’t be dead! Not now, when I need her more than ever!
There was a thud from the Twoleg den behind the hedge, and a beam of light slanted through the dense leaves. Pinestar heard rapid paw steps and he looked up to see Shanty’s housefolk rush out, their mouths open wide. Pinestar backed away from Shanty’s body.
“I’m sorry,” he mewed. “I tried to save her but I was too slow.”
The female Twoleg dropped to her knees and bent over the dead cat. A howling sound rose into the air. The male Twoleg patted her and made gruff noises as he wiped at his face with a hairless brown paw. Pinestar felt his heart crack. He wanted to tell them that he shared their grief, that he had loved Shanty too, she had been his dearest friend, closer to him even than his Clanmates… But he knew that he couldn’t make them understand him, even though he felt the same pain as they did. They would sit vigil for Shanty tonight, not him.
The Twoleg walls blurred around him as Pinestar padded away.
He walked in the forest until dawn, then sat beneath a tree and watched the sun rise. A day that Shanty will not see. He felt hollow and cut loose, as if his paws weren’t quite touching the ground. He knew he wouldn’t find Shanty in StarClan, however much he dreamed. That was not where kittypets went at the end of their lives. Wherever you are, I hope you are warm and safe, and can see me. The thought that Shanty might have vanished into nothingness was too much for Pinestar to bear. He had felt alone before; now he felt as if he were teetering at the edge of a shadowy chasm, echoing with the yowls of dying cats. Shanty, I need you!