The air around him grew hotter, buzzing with the drone of insects. Pinestar knew he had to return to his Clan. He had to see Leopardfoot and his kits. He was their father, for StarClan’s sake! He could do nothing more for Shanty. But he still had responsibilities toward his Clanmates—and his kin.
He padded back to the ravine, pausing only to roll in ferns to disguise the Twolegplace scent on his pelt. His legs trembled from losing a life, and he wondered if Featherwhisker or Goosefeather would know that he was now on his last. It would be hard to explain how he had lost this one.
His heart sank lower as he followed the path down to the gorse tunnel. Ignoring the mutters as he entered the clearing, he headed for the nursery. Featherwhisker was just slipping through the branches.
“Can I see them?” Pinestar asked.
The medicine cat nodded and stepped aside. “The tom’s the weakest,” he warned.
A savage burst of hope flared in Pinestar’s chest. Perhaps StarClan will take him before the prophecy can come true.
Leopardfoot looked up as he entered. “You came,” she stated flatly. “I waited for you all night.”
Pinestar bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re all right.”
The queen bent over the tiny damp shapes squirming at her belly. “I won’t be all right until I know my babies are safe,” she murmured. “They’re so frail. I can’t even make them feed!” Her voice rose to a wail as she tried to nudge them closer to the milk that stained her fur.
Pinestar stepped forward and placed one paw on her shoulder. “Calm down,” he mewed. “You’ll frighten them.”
“I just want them to take some milk,” Leopardfoot whimpered.
“I’m sure they will,” Pinestar meowed. His heart was thudding so loud that he thought Leopardfoot would hear it. He peered down at the three little bodies. “Have… have you named them?”
Leopardfoot nodded. “The she-cats are Mistkit and Nightkit, and the tom is Tigerkit.” She touched each one with her nose as she spoke, moving with the tenderness of every queen that had ever nursed a kit.
Pinestar stared at the dark brown tom. His eyes were tight shut and his mouth opened and closed silently, too feeble even to mew. He looked smaller and more pitiful than a mouse on the fresh-kill pile. Did this kit really have the power to destroy ThunderClan? It was easier to imagine being threatened by a beetle.
Suddenly the kit opened his eyes and glared up at Pinestar. Amber fire blazed in the depths of his gaze, and for a moment he looked older and more terrifying than any cat Pinestar had seen before. He leaped backward and Leopardfoot let out a hiss.
“Careful, you’ll tread on them!”
“Tigerkit looked at me!” Pinestar stammered.
“Don’t be mouse-brained. They won’t open their eyes for days,” Leopardfoot snapped. She placed her tail protectively over her son, whose tiny eyes were tight shut once more. “I think you should go now.” She looked up at Pinestar. “Our kits are very sick. Pray to StarClan that they survive.”
Chapter Nine
Pinestar dreamed he was back in the nursery, watching his kits nestle into their mother’s fur. The she-cats slept peacefully, but Tigerkit’s cold yellow eyes blinked open and he scowled up at Pinestar. He was growing now, faster and faster until he covered his sisters and Leopardfoot, filling the nest, filling the nursery, pressing Pinestar against the bramble walls. And now Pinestar’s paws were sinking into the moss—no, not moss, some kind of liquid, thick and red and lapping at his belly. Blood! The nursery was drowning in blood!
Pinestar scrabbled desperately at the brambles, trying to get out. Behind him, Tigerkit’s breath was hot on his neck, and he could hear his son growling from deep in his belly. The blood rose higher, splashing against Pinestar’s muzzle, pulling him down…
He was lying on icy stone, somewhere high up, with only the starlit sky above him. Silver-furred cats surrounded him, their faces obscured by mist. Pinestar tried to sit up but he was pressed down by invisible paws.
“Your son is evil!” hissed one of the cats; Pinestar couldn’t see which one because the fog was too thick.
“He’s only a kit!” Pinestar protested.
“He won’t be a kit forever!”
“Your Clan is in danger!”
“What can I do?” Pinestar wailed.
There was a moment of silence, when even the wind dropped. Then a voice murmured, “Kill him.”
Pinestar flinched in horror. “No!”
“Kill him.”
“Kill him.”
“Kill him! It is the only way to save your Clan!”
Pinestar flung off the unseen paws and leaped to his feet. “I cannot kill my own son!”
The mist and the mountaintop vanished. He was standing in his den, shreds of moss clinging to his fur, his flanks heaving. Goosefeather’s face appeared in the entrance.
“Having a bad dream, were you?” he rasped. His watery blue eyes seemed to look right through Pinestar and see into his mind.
“It doesn’t matter,” Pinestar mewed, shaking off the leaf dust and trying to tidy his nest.
“Oh, I think it does,” growled Goosefeather, taking a step into the den. “Sweetpaw is dead.”
Pinestar blinked. “But… but it’s been nearly a quarter-moon since she ate that mouse! Bluefur and Rosepaw got better ages ago!”
“And Sweetpaw didn’t,” Goosefeather snapped. “Another death, and your kits are still so weak…”
“They have nothing to do with Sweetpaw,” Pinestar retorted. He stared bleakly around his den. “I thought the Clan was getting stronger,” he murmured. “The fresh-kill pile has been full for days. I thought everything was going to be okay.”
“Did you really?” sneered Goosefeather. “Don’t be a fool, Pinestar. I think StarClan has told you exactly what is going on.”
He turned and limped out of the den. Pinestar took a deep breath. Sweetpaw’s death is not an omen. I will not kill my own son!
He padded into the clearing. A knot of sad she-cats was gathered around Sweetpaw’s little body. Judging by the emptiness of the rest of the clearing, Sunfall must have taken most of the young cats out on patrol. Pinestar was relieved. He wanted to spare them the grief that seemed to shroud the Clan every moon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tiny shape playing with a piece of moss. Tigerkit!
The tom had survived, and not just survived but grown swiftly and strong, unlike his sisters, who were still too frail to leave the nursery. With the gaze of his Clanmates burning his pelt, Pinestar forced himself to go over to his son.
Tigerkit looked up at him. “Sweetpaw’s dead,” he announced.
“I… I know,” Pinestar mewed.
“Are you really sad?” Tigerkit asked.
“Of course!” Pinestar replied.
The little brown tom tipped his head on one side. “As sad as if I died? I mean, you’re my father, so you must love me more than Sweetpaw or any of the other cats.”
Pinestar stared at his son in horror. Why is he talking about dying? “Y-yes, of course I love you and your sisters the most. But I care for every cat in ThunderClan.”
Tigerkit seemed to lose interest in speculating about his death. “Play with me.” He pushed the ball of moss toward Pinestar. It rolled against his paw and he looked down at it.
Kill him!
But he is only a kit!
You have to protect your Clan!
“I’m sorry, I can’t play with you today,” Pinestar meowed. The blood was roaring in his ears and his vision blurred. “I have to go somewhere.” He turned and padded quickly across the clearing.