He was dying.
It wasn't unexpected; he was an old cat, and greencough always hit the elders hard. But even now, he could feel his breath rattling in his chest. Even now, he could feel the deadly infection spreading through him, devouring his thin frame. He knew that it wouldn't be long until he joined his ancestors in the stars.
He lifted his head, raising his dull blue eyes to the twinkling lights in the night sky above. A smile briefly crossed his face. They were all waiting for him up there – his mother and father…and Larkflight.
He remembered the day she had died – struck down in battle by the cruel claws of a RiverClan warrior. ShadowClan had won the battle that day…but at a terrible price. They had lost their deputy – and Hailstorm had lost his mate. The grief had never really left, even after he was chosen to take her place as ShadowClan's deputy. But it was slowly leaving him now, being replaced with the joy of seeing Larkflight again.
"Father!"
A stocky gray tom loped into the elders' den, joy lighting up his gaze. Stoneleap was almost the perfect copy of him – he had the same gray pelt, the same strong build, and the same white flecks that dotted his fur. He looked just like Hailstorm – save his eyes. Stoneleap's eyes were the very same shade of blue that Larkflight's had once been – clear and bright, like the color of a greenleaf sky.
"Father, Flowerbreeze is kitting!" Stoneleap announced excitedly. "She's in the nursery now, and –"
His son suddenly stopped talking. Hailstorm could see the realization dawn slowly over his face. "Father!" Stoneleap cried, rushing to his side.
Hailstorm managed to smile at his son. "Hello, son," he rasped weakly.
Stoneleap crouched by his face. "Hold on, Hailstorm!" he said quickly. "It'll be all right – I'll fetch Robincall!"
"No!" Hailstorm cut his son off, feeling his strength sap away more quickly just from using the word. "No," he repeated more softly. "My time has come."
Anguish dawned over Stoneleap's face. "No!" he yowled. "You can't die now!"
"What's going on?" A familiar tortoiseshell head poked into the den – Hailstorm recognized his old apprentice, Lilythorn. "What's all the racket…" Then she, too, made the realization. Her face went slack with shock, and she went silent.
"It's all right," Hailstorm said as he gazed over both of them. "I'm an old cat. It would have happened sooner or later."
"But you can't die now!" Stoneleap repeated. "Not after –"
The wail of a queen suddenly broke the air. Hailstorm could feel the life draining from his frail body. "Your kits are being born," he whispered.
Stoneleap lifted his head to gaze across the camp to where his mate lay.
"Go to them," Hailstorm said. "Go see your kits."
The gray tom turned his head back towards him, eyes still shining with grief.
Hailstorm simply smiled again, though he could barely get the words out now. "Don't…don't waste your time…being upset over me," he croaked. "Be happy…for the young. Be…happy for those who still have time left."
He finally rested his head on the floor of the den. For the last time, his gaze flicked to the sky. The stars seemed brighter now, more welcoming. Was it just him, or were they moving towards him?
"After all," he whispered, with the smallest of smiles. "Death…is just another part of life."
The stars were beginning to take a definite shape now: the shape of a smiling tabby she-cat with eyes as clear as the greenleaf sky.
"Hailstorm…my dear Hailstorm…it's time to come home."
And the dying cat smiled as the last of the air hissed from his lungs. As he surrendered himself willingly to the soft darkness, he thought he heard the faintest sound – the cry of a newborn kit as it took its first breath.
Don't worry, Larkflight…I'm coming home.