Crash! Lightning crackled high in the sky, arcing to earth in blinding white slashes. Cats howled and cowered in their dens. In a grassy hollow, sheltered by trees, one yowl rose louder than the rest.
"The kits are coming!" The agonized wail of a frightened cat ripped through the air. The pretty tortoiseshell lay on a grassy nest, swollen belly heaving. A pale gray tom rushed over.
"Just breathe, Sparktail," he soothed. Reedfoot dropped some green leaves in front of the queen. Sparktail opened her mouth as if to yowl, but nothing came out. Everyone was sickeningly reminded of Sparktail's lack of speech. Reedfoot bared his teeth at the gaping cats and growled. "Don't just stand there! Do something! The apprentices can look for a s try ick to bite on. Warriors, split up and protect the camp. Elders can watch."
All of the cats split up guiltily and trotted off to their duties, less frightened for having something to do. The Clan was ordered again.
"Fire!" The word, filled with terror and didpair, was echoed from mouth to mouth across camp. Warriors panicked, fleeing everywhere or standing frozen in fear. As quick as a rabbit, a light shape jumped onto the Greatstone.
"Quiet! We are WindClan! We do not flee at the slightest flame. Be strong, and protect those that need it. Now, all strong tunnelers, make a fighting wedge. We will transport Sparktail to the lake. Hunters, now is your time to earn glory from swiftness and courage. Take grass, moss, anything you can find, and soak it! Then run and douse the fire. Our camp MUST not be destroyed!"
As Gorsestar spoke, WindClan warriors straightened their backs. Gorsestar knew that her warriors would gight to the death for the Clan, but this was an enemy who fought dirty, like a rogue. She shook her cream head and yowled, "Tunnelers!" They pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, and Reedfoot heaved Sparktail up. The wedge slowly moved forward, slightly unnerved by the silent pain howls of the queen. Wolfscar, the black deputy, shuddered but did not move to help his mate. He had never loved her as much as Seedwing, his former mate. Slowly, like a burial procession, they made their way to the lake. Dashing back and forth were the lithe prey hunters, wetting the fire in vain. But Sparktail saw none of this, and there, on the shore of the blazing lake, in the dark night alight with skyfire, she gave birth. There was no father, no den, no help but Reedfoot's measly supply of herbs to help her. She writhed one last time, and lay limp. Two kits were there, whimpering for milk.
But no mother was there, for Sparktail's eyes glazed over, and already around her hung the reek of death. A dark brown queen, heavy with almost born kits, limped over. She wailed in grief for her sister, and snuggled the kits to her side. She purred to the kits, her mew choked with grief for her sibling.
"You will be my kits, my loves. You shall be Smokekit, for the night you were born. And you, Eaglekit, for the strength and courage of your mother. I will love you now. You will not die."
And so it began.