As the three tiny kits slipped out into the world, Ashflower breathed her last.
The wail of a grieving mate tore through the night. Several cats who'd been sleeping peacefully were jolted out of their dreams unceremoniously. The leader herself awoke and hurried out of her den.
In the nursery, Smallfeather was crouching next to Ashflower's unmoving body, furiously licking life into her kits. They began to squirm and mewl, their noises mixing with their father's pain-filled yowls.
"Foxberry!" Smallfeather said.
Foxberry fell silent, his eyes locked on the young medicine cat, looking hopeful.
"Can you help me carry the kits to the warriors den?"
Foxberry's eyes dulled. He turned away. "You let her die. You're a terrible medicine cat."
Smallfeather tried ignore the cold, slippery guilt in his belly. "Foxberry, please!" The kits were wailing, nuzzling into their mother's cold fur, searching for milk and warmth. He swept his fluffy white tail around them, pulling them toward him.
Specklestar padded into the nursery. "Smallfeather? Foxberry? Ashflower?"
Smallfeather spoke quickly. "Ashflower's dead. I need to get these kits to the warriors' den."
Specklestar didn't hesitate. She bent down, gripped one of the kits by the scruff, and began padding toward the warriors' den. Smallfeather grabbed another, and Foxberry reluctantly did the same. Smallfeather ran to the warriors' den, the kit swinging from his jaws.
He bounded into the den just a tail-length behind Specklestar. Most of the warriors were awake and watching in confusion. He set down the kit and meowed, "Jaggedfern?"
A pale gray she-cat padded forward. "Smallfeather." Her face was a mask as she eyed the kits. "Don't ask me to take care of them."
"Please, Jaggedfern, you have to. I know you still have milk. There are no other queens in the nursery."
Her face darkened, but she didn't say a word.
"Please," he begged. "They'll die without you."
The kits squealed. Jaggedfern still didn't say anything, but her face softened slightly. She bent down and began to lick the kit with firm, solid strokes of her tongue. She then curled her body around the three kits. They all started suckling at once, and not another sound came from their tiny mouths.
Smallfeather let out a relived purr. "They need names," he said after a moment.
"Foxberry should do it," said Jaggedfern.
They looked at him, but he hissed. "I won't name them. They killed my Ashflower. I will have nothing to do with them."
The russet-colored tom fled the den.
Smallfeather and Specklestar shared a look. Grief could do terrible things to a cat.
Jaggedfern lashed her tail. "How dare he! They're just kits! It's not their fault." She glanced down at them protectively.
Smallfeather suppressed a sad smile. She would make a good mother to them. If only Ashflower hadn't died. "Will you name them?"
She closed her eyes and nodded. "I never did get to name my own kits." There was sorrow and longing in her words, but also joy. She opened her eyes again and gazed at the suckling kits. She touched her tail tip to one, a creamy tom with brown paws. "Creekkit." She placed her tail tip on the second kit's head. This was light brown she-cat with dark reddish stripes and a white chest. Jaggedfern paused, her eyes narrowed in thought.
"How about Hawkkit?" Specklestar suggested.
Jaggedfern smiled and nodded. Then she looked up at Smallfeather as she touched the last kit, a golden-orange tabby. "You name this one."
"Me?" Smallfeather hesitated, uncertain. "Hmm…" He looked at the small she-cat. She let out a quiet squeak.
"Flickerkit," he whispered. Then he repeated it, louder. "Flickerkit."
Jaggedfern nodded. "I like it." She stroked the three kits' back with her tail. "There, there," she whispered to them. "You're safe now, little ones. You're safe with me."
But as Smallfeather stared down at the three kits, he felt certain they weren't as safe as they seemed…
