The hunting patrol consisted of Stormtail, Dappletail and Rosetail as well as Thrushpelt. If you could call it a hunting patrol. They weren't finding anything. Thrushpelt, at the head of the patrol was sick of feeling his paws and mouth empty. He'd scented a mouse but been unable to find it. Once Stormtail had bounded after a rabbit but it had gotten away.

To make matters worse, Stormtail and Dappletail were padding side by side and whispering to each other. They didn't seem to be concentrating on hunting at all; rather on each other. Even though the Clan needed all the help it could get. Thrushpelt wished he could just bring himself to snap at them to hunt for their Clan. But he didn't want to play the grouch. He wondered if there would be new kits soon. Since Dappletail's best friend, White-Eye had moved to the nursery with her first litter, Dappletail had been spending more and more time with Stormtail though ever since the death of his first mate he seemed to have had his eye on her.

Hope he'd be a better father than he was to Bluefur and her sister, thought Thrushpelt bitterly. Then he winced. He'd been trying to keep thoughts of her from his head. Why hadn't she noticed how he felt? It was tearing him apart inside. He should just tell her how he felt. But what would she say? She didn't even notice him much as a friend. She'd been so busy with Whitekit and then with her apprentice and then she'd thrown herself into caring for her Clan. He knew she had had a good deal of tragedy in her life and she was a heavy griever; she had such strong love for her loved ones. Her mother and sister both dead and them the most important cats in her life. Not Stormtail, thought Thrushpelt with sudden anger as he watched Dappletail rummaging about under the roots of a tree and Stormtail purring encouragingly. He was never there for her. And at the battle where her mother died, he was already thinking about Dappletail. Right from when she became a warrior. No thought for his kits either. He didn't even visit them in the nursery. Stormtail was never one of Bluefur's most important cats. Shame he's the one who survived.

Thrushpelt realized he wanted to be one of the most important cats in someone's life. Robinwing, his mother, still thought he was important but that wasn't the same. Spottedpaw, his former apprentice, still looked up to him but that wasn't the same either. He wished he could tell Bluefur how he felt, again.

Maybe I should take another cat as a mate, thought Thrushpelt. Leopardfoot or Rosetail. No. He shrugged off these disloyal thoughts. I could never feel about them the way I feel about Bluefur . And Rosetail is so silly sometimes. And Leopardfoot is...well she's okay. I guess.

He bundled into a gopher hole at that moment. A squirrel that had been foraging for nuts under a nearby tree dashed up it, chittering loudly. Thrushpelt stared in frustration. His first possible prey of the day and he'd lost it.

Rosetail wasn't giving up so easily. She charged up the tree, knocking snow onto Thrushpelt's head. She shot through the branches, unable to keep up with the squirrel but as it leapt from one branch to another just above her head, Rosetail's paw shot out, whacking it in the head. It fell out of the tree and landed, dazed, on the ground. Quick as a flash, Thrushpelt leapt onto it and killed it with a quick bite to the neck.

He noticed Dappletail and Stormtail's approach. Both were carrying mice, scrawny mice but mice nonetheless. He was annoyed with himself. He was the only one without a piece of prey to carry back to camp. Rosetail deserved the credit for the squirrel. She was the one who had continued after it when he had given up.

"I think this is all we are going to find," said Dappletail. "Perhaps we should head back to camp."

"Yes," agreed Thrushpelt bitterly as they set out ahead of him and Rosetail, their heads together once again.

"It's okay," Rosetail surprised Thrushpelt by placing her tail on his shoulder. "It's only natural to be a bit distracted right now. She's told you hasn't she?"

Thrushpelt stared. Who's told me what?

"Silly, don't pretend you don't know! Congratulations on being a father is all I have to say."

"What?" said Thrushpelt, shaking his head to clear it.

Rosetail gasped. "Oh no, she hasn't told you! Bluefur said I shouldn't. But I thought she'd told you..." Rosetail trailed off, visibly embarrassed.

"Rosetail could you take the squirrel back to camp. I have something I have to deal with." Thrushpelt pushed the squirrel towards her and walked off in the direction of the RiverClan border. He'd been told Bluefur would be on a patrol with Thistleclaw that day. He left Rosetail standing there looking ashamed.

Bluefur was wandering through the woods, visibly upset. Thrushpelt could tell. A surge of protectiveness shot through him. Whatever was going on, it was bad.

"Bluefur," he called. "Are you okay?"

Bluefur noticed him. "Just going back to camp," she said, with her head down.

Thrushpelt was tempted to just shadow her, letting her lean on him. But he needed to know what was going on first. With a surprising determination, he blocked her path. "Stop," he heard himself say. "Rosetail has just congratulated me on becoming a father."

Bluefur's eyes filled with fear. "She couldn't! She promised!"

"Is she right? Are you having kits?"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't tell her that you were the father. She just guessed and it was easier..."

Have I been that obvious? Thrushpelt wondered. Clearly, others in the Clan had noticed the attention he was paying Bluefur. "So are you going to have kits?" he demanded. He wanted to know who else had been paying her attention. And she had apparently accepted it.

"Yes I am," meowed Bluefur. She didn't seem to have any intention of telling him. So he decided he didn't need to know right away.

"I'm not going to ask who the father is. I'm sure there's a reason you've kept it a secret."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out differently, you know. I..I..I would have been happy with you, I know. But now everything has gone wrong and I don't know what to do."

Thrushpelt was seized with protectiveness. She did care about him and whoever the father was, she couldn't let it get out who it was. "You can tell the Clan I'm the father if you want. I mean, if it makes things easier."

Thrushpelt paced outside the nursery, listening to Bluefur's screams from within. When they stopped, he squeezed into the den. "How is she?" He asked desperately.

"Bluefur's fine," Featherwhisker told him. "She had three healthy kits. Two she-kits and a tom."

Thrushpelt felt relief that she and the kits were okay. His only regret was that they weren't his. But he knew he would act as if they were and this way maybe he could get Bluefur to care for him too. He looked at the three kits; one was gray-and-white and the other two were solid gray. The she-kit was the same blue-gray colour as Bluefur and the tom was only a little paler. They were beautiful. Thrushpelt loved them already. He leaned in close to Bluefur so he could tell her, "I would have been proud to be their father." He meant every word. "You're a good friend," Bluefur whispered back.

I hope to be more than that. Thrushpelt returned to admiring the kits, who were curled in a heap around Bluefur's belly. The little gray tom lay with half of his body on top of the gray she-kit's tail and she was flicking her paws about as if she couldn't believe the weight. The smallest gray-and-white she-kit was a few inches away from the others and already twitching her ears at the sound. Only she was still feeding. The other two had stopped to rest.

"What are you going to call them?" asked White-eye. Bluefur had an answer ready. "The dark gray she-kit will be Mistykit and the gray tom, Stonekit."

"What about this one?" Thrushpelt asked, stroking the gray-and-white one with his tail. "Mosskit," meowed Bluefur.

"So you're not letting the father decide on any names?" asked Featherwhisker. "But you always were determined, Bluefur."

Thrushpelt frowned. Who was the father who hadn't spoken up yet? Which father would have to be covered up no matter what? Was it Featherwhisker? Thrushpelt looked at him carefully as he gathered his herbs and beckoned to Spottedpaw with his tail. He had said the father, not Thrushpelt.

Bluefur and Featherwhisker had always been friends. Were they more than that? No, Thrushpelt told himself sternly. Featherwhisker wouldn't do that. He's a good and dedicated medicine cat. Mating and having kits are against the rules and I need to stop asking myself if every cat in the Clan is the father.

Yet silently, he ran the names of all the male warriors in the Clan through his head. Stormtail? Of course not. He was her father. Adderfang? Maybe. Swiftbreeze wouldn't be happy to have him mate with another she-cat. Tawnyspots? No, he had been incapacitated for too long. Another cat with a potentially jealous mate. Smallear or Sparrowpelt? But he hadn't seen Smallear, Sparrowpelt or Adderfang pay any particular attention to Bluefur. And it's hard to keep secrets in this camp. Yet Bluefur was keeping one. Patchpelt? Bluefur wouldn't have to keep him a secret though. And Thrushpelt had a feeling he would be a better father than whoever this was-not even recognizing the kits as his. Lionheart and Tigerclaw were also out this way. Thistleclaw? He and Bluefur were enemies, and definitely not lovers. Sunstar? Yes, that could be it. But Sunstar would take responsibility for any kits he had. He wasn't like Pinestar.

Was the father a cat from a different Clan? For the first time, Thrushpelt wondered if there might be something more to her insistence at saving the RiverClan warrior, Oakheart from Thistleclaw than disgust at Thistleclaw's tactics.

But he couldn't spend his life trying to figure it out. Reluctantly, he settled down beside Bluefur and her kits, feeling relieved when she did not push him away, but just purred.