Sparkpelt didn’t respond. She was staring at Larksong as the she-kit mewled beside his muzzle. His clouded gaze seemed to sharpen. He moved his head, touching his nose to the kit’s flank.
Squirrelflight held her breath as Larksong blinked slowly, his eyes widening with joy. The kit wriggled and rubbed her head against his muzzle. Larksong gave a short, rasping purr. His gaze flicked toward Sparkpelt, glistening with affection. Then it grew dull, like twilight fading into night.
Shock pulsed through Squirrelflight. He’s dead. Larksong’s eyes stared blankly at Sparkpelt, but she knew he couldn’t see her anymore.
“Larksong?” Sparkpelt stared back at him, panic edging her mew.
Jayfeather hurried to Larksong’s nest and pressed his ear to the tom’s chest. Squirrelflight quickly snatched the kit away and carried her back to Bramblestar, where she tucked her beside her littermate.
“Larksong!” Sparkpelt was struggling to her paws. She staggered toward Larksong, collapsed as she reached him, and laid her head beside his on the edge of the nest.
Squirrelflight blinked in panic at Leafpool. Would this be too much for Sparkpelt? But Leafpool was staring at the last kit. He lay lifeless on the ground. Blood roared in Squirrelflight’s ears as grief threatened to overwhelm her. Beside her, Bramblestar sheltered the first two kits between his paws. Dread glittered in his gaze. He stared at Sparkpelt, hardly moving.
Squirrelflight struggled to breathe. She felt as though she were drowning. Closing her eyes, she fought the grief. Sparkpelt mustn’t know that one of her kits had died. She’d been through too much already, and she was still sick. Steadying her breath, Squirrelflight nudged Bramblestar with her nose. It seemed to shake him from his horror. He blinked at her questioningly.
“We must take the kits to Sorrelstripe,” she told him.
“She’s got her own kits.” Bramblestar blinked at her.
“Then she’ll have milk,” Squirrelflight told him. “She can feed these with her own until Sparkpelt can nurse them. Daisy will be there to help look after them.” She glanced at her daughter, her heart twisting as she saw raw grief in Sparkpelt’s eyes. She wanted to comfort her, but she knew Sparkpelt was lost in misery. I can’t help Sparkpelt yet, but I can take care of her kits. Squirrelflight shook out her pelt and scooped up the she-kit. “Bring the black kit,” she told Bramblestar.
He glanced toward the third kit, his black-and-orange pelt dull in the half-light. “What about that one?” His mew was soft and Squirrelflight guessed that he, too, didn’t want Sparkpelt to hear.
Squirrelflight gently laid the wriggling she-kit on the floor, then lifted the orange-and-black tom-kit, carrying him outside the den. She laid him in a bed of leaves, then returned to Bramblestar and picked up the she-kit again.
“Where did you take him?” Bramblestar asked as he scooped up the black tom-kit.
Squirrelflight put down the she-kit and gestured to the leaves as they left the den. “We can plan a vigil for Larksong and his kit when these kits are safe,” she said. “In the meantime, I don’t want Sparkpelt to see.”
She picked up the she-kit again and blinked at him. He seemed to understand, grief sparking in his gaze. As she headed for the trailing brambles, he followed her. Squirrelflight bent her head low to protect the kit from the prickles. They were going to get through this. No matter how much grief Sparkpelt was going to suffer, Squirrelflight was determined not to let her daughter down.
CHAPTER 18
As the sun slid behind the trees, Squirrelflight ducked into camp. Patrolling the borders with Leafshade, Honeyfur, and Fernsong hadn’t eased her grief. The forest usually soothed her, but the sadness, which gripped her heart like fox teeth, hadn’t eased. It tightened as she saw Larksong’s body laid in the clearing, ready for the vigil. His tiny orange-and-black kit lay at his side.
As she paused, gazing at them in the twilight, Fernsong stopped beside her.
“Will Sparkpelt be well enough to sit vigil?” the yellow tabby meowed.
“I don’t know.” Squirrelflight eyed the medicine den nervously. Leafpool had given Sparkpelt the dandelion root after she’d finished kitting. Had it washed out the poison yet?
Honeyfur gazed at her dead littermate. “I’ll sit vigil.”
“So will I.” Leafshade paused at her sister’s side. The tortoiseshell glanced at the stars, which were beginning to show in the darkening sky. “Larksong is with Snowbush now.”
Honeyfur met her gaze. “They’ll be watching over us.”
Squirrelflight left them beside Larksong and headed toward the medicine den.
As she nosed her way through the brambles, Leafpool got to her paws.
“The dandelion’s working,” Leafpool mewed. For the first time in days the tabby’s gaze was lit with hope. “I gave some to Berrynose and Thriftpaw just to be on the safe side, but I don’t think they were ever sick. I’ve sent them back to their dens.”
Squirrelflight was hardly listening. Her heart quickened as she hurried to Sparkpelt’s nest. Sparkpelt was curled like a dormouse at the bottom.
Leafpool followed. “Her heart is beating strongly now and her breath is steady.”
“Then why is she still sleeping?” Worry nagged at Squirrelflight’s belly.
“She’s been sick, and she kitted this morning. She’s exhausted. Sleep is the best remedy now.” Leafpool pressed close to Squirrelflight. “She’s going to be okay.”
Squirrelflight blinked at her sister. “Did you tell her about the kit that died?”
“Yes.” Leafpool’s gaze glistened.
“How did she react?”
“I don’t think she took it in.” Distress glittered for a moment in Leafpool’s eyes.
“Has she seen the other two yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Has she asked after them?” Squirrelflight’s pelt prickled nervously. What if Sparkpelt could only associate the kits with Larksong’s death? She might never learn to love them properly.
“She’s only woken once,” Leafpool told her.
“And she didn’t mention them?”
Leafpool’s eyes rounded sympathetically. “She’s been sick.”
“Kits should be with their mother.” Squirrelflight’s thoughts whirled. Daisy would comfort them and Sorrelstripe would feed them, but the kits should have Sparkpelt’s love.
“They are safe,” Leafpool told her. “That’s most important now. It’s best they don’t have Sparkpelt’s milk until the poison is out of her system.”
Squirrelflight shifted her paws. “What if she doesn’t bond with them?”
“She will.” Leafpool held her gaze steadily. “It takes more than loss and separation to stop a mother from loving her kits. I know that more than any cat.”
Squirrelflight’s throat tightened. Leafpool had been through so much and hadn’t let it change her. Perhaps Sparkpelt would be okay. “I’m going to see the kits,” she meowed.
Leafpool dipped her head. “Come back when you’re done,” she told Squirrelflight. “Sparkpelt will probably wake up soon.”
Squirrelflight glanced at her daughter, still tucked up tight, and headed for the den entrance. Outside, night had settled over the camp. Her Clanmates moved quietly around the clearing as starlight dappled Larksong’s pelt. His kit sheltered in his shadow. Someone had gathered soft moss and tucked it around them, as though hoping to keep them warm. Eyes pricking, Squirrelflight padded softly to the nursery.
Sorrelstripe was asleep in her nest, her own kits curled at her belly. Where were Sparkpelt’s kits? As Squirrelflight blinked through the darkness, Daisy lifted her head. The queen was curled on a bed of bracken, her paws resting protectively around two tiny squirming bundles. “How’s Sparkpelt?”