by Erin Hunter
“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?”
“She’s recovering,” Squirrelflight told her.
“Good.” Daisy purred. “I expect these two will want to see their real mother soon.” She nuzzled the kits fondly. “Sorrelstripe’s been suckling them along with her own. It’s exhausting for her, so I’ve been keeping them with me when they’re not feeding.” She unfolded her paws. The kits mewled indignantly as she revealed them to the chilly night air. Squirrelflight hurried across the den and nuzzled them. They reached instinctively for her. The smell of them filled her heart, and as they fidgeted blindly, pawing at her nose, she knew with a jolt that she wasn’t expecting a litter of her own after all. It had never been more than desperate hope, and tiredness caused by worry. She’d been foolish to believe she was carrying Bramblestar’s kits. Squirrelflight nuzzled the kits harder, purring, as longing hollowed her belly. If Sparkpelt didn�
�t want these kits, she would take care of them as if they were her own.
Tiny claws scraped her cheek as the tortoiseshell she-kit rolled away and began pummeling Daisy’s belly. The black tom-kit wriggled after his sister, pressing his face into Daisy’s soft belly fur.
Daisy curled her paws around them once more. “They need names.” She hugged them gently.
Meadowkit. Gladekit. Bluekit. Names flashed in her mind, names she’d planned when she’d been dreaming of new kits of her own. She pushed them away and blinked at Daisy. “Sparkpelt should name them.”
Daisy reached toward the moss piled in a soggy heap at the side of the bracken. She hooked a piece and offered it to the kits. Mewling, they lapped at it and began to suckle, each tugging at a corner. “This keeps them quiet while Sorrelstripe rests.”
Squirrelflight was impressed by how quickly they’d adapted to such strange nursing. “They’re going to be great warriors, just like Sparkpelt and Larksong.”
“Of course.” Daisy’s eyes shone in the half-light.
“I’ll see if Sparkpelt is ready to come and see them.” Squirrelflight headed for the den entrance. She slid out and saw her Clanmates gathering around Larksong and the kit. Graystripe and Millie stood in the shadow of the elders’ den. Thriftpaw, Bristlepaw, and Flippaw sat between Ivypool and Fernsong while their Clanmates ringed the clearing.
Bramblestar was heading toward the nursery. “I was just coming to fetch you.”
“What about Sparkpelt?” Squirrelflight scanned her Clanmates.
“She’s here.” Bramblestar nodded toward a shadowy figure padding across the clearing.
Sparkpelt’s green eyes glittered in the darkness as she reached Larksong’s body. She lowered her head and pressed her muzzle against his lifeless cheek. Then she sat beside him and lifted her chin, as though bracing herself for a long night. An owl hooted above the camp.
Squirrelflight moved closer to Bramblestar. “Is she fit enough to sit vigil?”
“If she weren’t, Leafpool wouldn’t have let her come,” Bramblestar whispered.
“What about the kits?” Squirrelflight glanced at the nursery. “She’s hardly seen them.”
“Let her mourn Larksong first.” Bramblestar’s eyes glistened as he gazed at his daughter. “She has moons to spend with her kits.”
Lilyheart padded from between Honeyfur and Leafshade. She touched her nose to Larksong’s shoulder. “Snowbush won’t be lonely anymore.” The small tabby lifted her head, her eyes clouded with grief. Honeyfur and Leafshade huddled beside her. Sparkpelt glanced at them, as though acknowledging their grief, then looked away.
Twigbranch padded from the shadows at the edge of the clearing. She stopped beside Lilyheart. “Larksong was lucky to have a mother like you,” she mewed. “As a kit, I lost my own mother. I moved from one camp to another, lost and gained a sister and a father. Throughout it all, you were there for me, and Larksong was like a littermate.” She dropped her gaze shyly. “I will miss him like a brother.”
Lilyheart blinked gratefully at the young warrior as Twigbranch took her place beside Honeyfur and Leafshade.
Finleap hurried forward. “Larksong was a great mentor.” He glanced around at his Clanmates. “It’s not fair he died of sickness and not in battle. But I promise to become the best warrior I can be in honor of his memory.” He backed away, pelt prickling self-consciously, and took his place again beside Plumstone and Eaglewing.
Bramblestar padded forward, stopping in a pool of moonlight. “ThunderClan has lost two brave warriors, for I know Larksong’s kit would have followed in his father’s paw steps. Larksong was always kind to his Clanmates and loyal to his Clan. May StarClan welcome him with open hearts. He can never be a father to his kits here, but his memory will live on in them and in the hearts of the cats he’s left behind.” Squirrelflight’s heart flooded with grief as Bramblestar blinked affectionately at Sparkpelt. “We will miss him and the kit we never had the chance to know.”
Squirrelflight fluffed her fur out against the wind. There was a chill in the air, and the heavy dew brought by the dawn hadn’t yet lifted. She sat near the fresh-kill pile, eyeing the medicine den anxiously. Sparkpelt had returned there to sleep after her long night’s vigil beside Larksong’s body. She still hadn’t been to the nursery to see her kits. As Squirrelflight wondered whether to wake her, the thorn tunnel shivered and Berrynose padded into camp. Plumstone, Mousewhisker, and Lionblaze trailed after him.
The patrol was clearly in the middle of a heated conversation. Mousewhisker stopped at the edge of the clearing, his gaze dark. “I’m just saying that all this trouble started when the Sisters showed up.”
“It’s a coincidence.” Lionblaze sat down and began to wash the mud from his paws.
“It’s no coincidence that they’re taking up land meant for SkyClan,” Plumstone pointed out.
“And it’s strange that a poisonous plant we’ve never heard of shows up in the forest at the same time as the Sisters.” Berrynose lay down outside the warriors’ den.
Squirrelflight glared at him. “The Sisters didn’t cause the sickness. They’re the ones who told us what it was, and how to cure it.”
“They didn’t tell us what this meadow saffron looks like. There are plenty of different plants with purple flowers,” Berrynose answered. “How are we meant to find it and dig it up if we don’t know what it looks like?”
“I didn’t give them the chance to tell us.” Squirrelflight felt like she was always defending the Sisters. “I wanted to get back so Leafpool could treat Larksong and Sparkpelt.” She looked up at the Highledge, where Bramblestar was pulling apart a thrush. Tell them to stop. This isn’t the Sisters’ fault. Didn’t they realize that the Sisters had probably saved Sparkpelt’s life?
Bramblestar stopped eating when she caught his eye. He got to his paws and slithered down the rock tumble. Squirrelflight felt a prick of guilt. She shouldn’t draw him into this. He looked tired. He’d sat vigil with Sparkpelt all night and been the first to help dig the hole where Larksong and his kit would be buried. He swiped his tongue around his mouth, wiping it clean. “It would be helpful to know what plants we need to dig up.”
“I could visit them again and find out,” Squirrelflight offered.
Berrynose grunted. “What you need to find out is when they’re leaving.”
“Why?” Squirrelflight flicked her tail irritably. “SkyClan hasn’t even decided whether to move yet.”
Mousewhisker sat down. “Perhaps Leafstar doesn’t want to make a decision that might mean the Sisters have to move. She might be as fond of them as you are.” He gazed accusingly at Squirrelflight.
“I’m not fond of them,” she shot back. “I just happen to respect their way of life.”
Bramblestar shifted his paws. “You used to respect our way of life,” he grunted.
She looked at him, surprised. She’d thought they’d settled their differences. Was he still angry with her? “I still do!”
“Then why do you keep talking about the Sisters?” Bramblestar held her gaze.
“Mousewhisker and Berrynose started it!” Squirrelflight defended herself.
Berrynose sat up. “I just think it will be better when they’re gone. As long as they’re living on our border, Tigerstar will be bristling for a fight, Leafstar will be dithering over whether SkyClan should move, and you two will be bickering.” His gaze flashed toward Bramblestar.
The ThunderClan leader’s ears twitched. “Maybe it’s a good idea to pay them a visit. They can tell us when they’re planning to leave and what meadow saffron looks like. I want to organize a patrol to destroy any of those plants on our land.”
“I’ll go,” Squirrelflight offered again. She didn’t trust her Clanmates to treat the Sisters with the respect they deserved.
“Blossomfall and Cherryfall can go with you,” Bramblestar meowed.
“I don’t need a patrol,” Squirrelflight objected.
“You’ll be a long w
ay from home,” Bramblestar pointed out.
Squirrelflight shifted her paws. She wasn’t going to let Berrynose accuse them of bickering again. “Okay,” she agreed. “But I want to go now.”
“Take Leafpool with you, too,” Bramblestar ordered. “A medicine cat should learn all they can about this new plant.”
Squirrelflight’s heart lifted. It would be good to have Leafpool at her side. She headed toward the medicine den. “I’ll see if she’s ready.”
“I’ll let Blossomfall and Cherryfall know,” Bramblestar told her.
Squirrelflight nosed her way into the medicine den. Sparkpelt was alone with Leafpool. The orange tabby sat in her nest, staring blankly at the den wall. “How are you?” Squirrelflight crossed the den and touched her nose gently to her daughter’s head.
Sparkpelt ducked away distractedly, as if Squirrelflight had interrupted a thought.
“This grief will pass,” Squirrelflight told her.
Sparkpelt lifted her empty gaze to meet her mother’s. “I don’t want it to pass.” Her mew was hollow.
“But what about your kits?” Squirrelflight blinked at her, worry pricking through her fur. “You haven’t even named them yet.”
“I can’t think about names.” Sparkpelt turned her gaze back to the wall. “It hurts too much.”
Squirrelflight glanced anxiously at Leafpool. Her sister blinked back encouragingly, and Squirrelflight tried again to connect with her daughter. “Sorrelstripe is exhausted,” she told Sparkpelt. “For her sake, you need to feed your kits. Besides, you’re their mother. They need you.”
“Do they?” Sparkpelt looked puzzled.
“Of course they do!”
“I guess I’d better feed them.” Sparkpelt heaved herself to her paws. “Where are they?”
“In the nursery, of course.” Squirrelflight swallowed back frustration. Sparkpelt was so caught up in misery, she barely seemed to know where she was. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Why?” Sparkpelt stared at her. “You can’t feed them.”
Leafpool padded forward and nudged Sparkpelt toward the den entrance. “Go and feed them,” she mewed matter-of-factly. “You can come back here afterward. Daisy can keep them warm.”
