Nothing particularly important happened for the next moon or so, just regular training and off-time play.
But one late night, I woke to a panicked yowl. Blinking a little, I snapped my head up and peered at Whitepaw. His fur was fluffed out and he was coated in blood. I sprang onto my paws in alarm and opened my mouth to ask what was happening.
He beat me to it. "Leafstar, she's kitting wrong. I sent Stormpaw for Echosong, and Shadepaw for Sparrowpelt. I need your help!"
He didn't wait a single heartbeat before he charged the other direction. I realized that the den was empty. Orangepaw and Firepaw were having their final assessment, and Whiskerpaw was on the night patrol.
My tail fluffed out in fear, I barreled after Whitepaw up to the nursery. We had to move aside to avoid being run over by some of the warriors. They were evacuating the entire nursery, kits and queens alike, to make space for Whitepaw. We slunk along the edge of the rocks until we came skidding to Leafstar's side.
And I do mean skidding. I slipped on a shallow puddle of her blood and nearly fell onto my face. Bile rose in my throat from the stench, the sight, of my wounded leader. Whitepaw seemed immune to the horror of it. He took up his position and ordered me briskly, "Hold your paw against her neck, hard. It will slow the blood flow."
"Won't that stop her from breathing?" I asked in confusion.
Whitepaw snapped his head up, his blue eyes suddenly colder than the ice they seemed to be made of. He answered me darkly, "It's her or the kits, Tawnypaw, and I've made my decision."
A chill ran along my spine, but I did as I was hold. My heart was galloping against my ribcage as I watched him manipulate our leader's stomach expertly. An instant later a little bundle slid out of her. He broke the casing around it and handed the motionless ball of fur to the nearest cat---Petalnose.
She retreated and started licking it. I realized that Patchfoot and Hutch were also with us in the den. Patchfoot fell to his belly and pressed his nose against Leafstar's face, muttering private whispers to her barely conscious body.
A second kit was handed to Hutch. Echosong and Stormpaw came pounding into the den just as Whitepaw announced there was a third.
Echosong's eyes were wild. She glanced at Stormpaw and asked, "Do you know what dried clover looks like?"
"It's too late for that," Whitepaw confidently announced. "She's gone, Echosong. There's still a kit in her."
"She's gone?" Patchfoot wailed. "How do you know?"
Whitepaw ignored her as he helped Echosong try to coax the final kitten out---it seemed it was almost ready to arrive.
"Leafstar, you can't leave me!" The tom cried, pushing me aside to nudge her shoulder. I stumbled backwards and leaned against Stormpaw, feeling a little light headed.
The third kit came. Whitepaw himself took it and began to wash it. Echosong hung her head, her eyes drifting to Leafstar. After a few moments Petalnose reminded quietly, "The kits are getting cold."
Just then I became awake to the two creatures, mewling faintly as they blindly wiggled at the paws of the elder and kittypet.
"What queen will suckle them?" Hutch asked tensely. "Cherrytail's milk dried a half moon ago."
"Tinybird, surely, cannot manage three more." Tigereye's voice cut into the silence. Several warriors were gathered at the face of the den now, alerted by Patchfoot's frantic wailing minutes previous.
Was he right? Only two of her three kits still needed milk. Had no queen ever had a litter of five before?
"They will die before sunset tomorrow." Sharpclaw hissed scornfully, his eyes regretful as he looked at his fallen leader's motionless body.
"She had three lives left!" Mintleaf cried. "Why didn't you try to save her, Whitepaw? There would have been other kits."
"You let your leader die!" My uncle Thornfang shouted in outrage. I heard several aggressive growls sound from behind him. The thick scents of confusion and disbelief, fear and anger, were all sifting into the cramped little den.
Whitepaw lifted his head from the squirming body, his eyes gentle again. He looked directly at the warriors---the very heart of the clan---and disagreed. "I did the right thing."
"What you thought was right," Nightwing hissed.
"Would you rather lose three kits?" I demanded, suddenly feeling so furious and shocked that I whirled around to face the rest of the clan. Every hair on my pelt bristled with hostility as my protective side flared. I glared them all down and hissed, "Murder three kits by not even trying to save them?"
"What is more important?" I heard Shadowfox ask. "A cat near the age of an elder, or three new lives?"
The angry snarls and mutters hushed considerably after Shadowfox challenged them. She and her brother had come to SkyClan when they were just seven moons old.. She had trained under Leafstar herself, and played an active and reliable role ever since. Her thoughts were valued among the others.
Duskfall, Whitepaw's own mother, sided with the other she-cat. "Leafstar wouldn't have wanted anything different. Her kits would have always been out above herself."
"Would any of you done differently if you had to choose?" I heard Clovertail ask accusingly.
No cat dared to challenge Clovertail's opinion. She was eldest warrior in the clan, and she was among the very most respected. Besides, her question was valid.
The crowd suddenly parted in the middle as Sparrowpelt, our new leader as of three minutes previous, padded into the den. His eyes were dark and his pelt rippling with tension. It led me to believe he had heard the scorn being thrown at Whitepaw, and he looked furious.
For a few seconds he was silent. He spoke to the clan in a slicing tone, "The life of a kit is never to be sacrificed if it can be prevented. Whitepaw was right to bring them into this world. All of you, get out."
Someone tried to argue. "But, Leafstar is-"
Sparrowpelt snapped his head backwards to quickly it looked like a blur. For the first time ever, he let his pain and his anger lash against his own clan. He half-snarled, half-caterwauled, "Get OUT!"
Terrified by this unfathomed burst of rage, the clan scattered in various directions. Only those of us with kits remained. Cherrytail and Tinybird hesitantly peered into the dark den, their kittens clustered fearfully at their feet.
Sparrowpelt lowered his ears and asked his mate quietly, "Tinybird, will you take him?"
"Of course," she answered instantly.
Finally, Echosong was roused from her thoughts. She announced, "I have herbs that will help you keep enough milk. Take the kits to my den until the nursery is cleaned out."
She padded off quickly. Tinybird and Cherrytail followed, their little ones scampering after them. Hutch and Petalnose grabbed their newborns and followed. Whitepaw did the same, holding his head high as he followed. I walked beside him, acutely ignoring the hostile eyes of the upset warriors.
Before long the queens had been settled into new nests---Skykit sharing his with Acornkit and Shortkit while Cherrytail comforted her brother over the loss of his leader and former mentor.
Whitepaw was finding the herbs for Tinybird, and I started licking the blood from my paws with a sick feeling in my stomach.
Echosong shattered the sudden silence. "Sparrowpelt, we must go to the Whispering Cave tonight. Now. Moonhigh is soon."
Sparrowpelt needed to share tongues with StarClan and receive his nine lives before he could truly be leader of the clan. And then before moonhigh tomorrow he had to name his deputy. It was tradition.
The two of them left the den. I heard Sparrowpelt calmly promise that he would speak to Leafstar if he could, and he would make sure the clan knew her thoughts on the matter. It seemed to satisfy the hurt---therefore aggressive---clan members because nobody said a single word of scorn again.
Whitepaw refused to let me leave the den. He made me eat an extremely horrid tasting herb, promising me that it would prevent shock. He gave the same thing to Patchfoot, who was slumped helplessly in a nest in the corner, his eyes hollow with grief.
Stormpaw and Cherrytail had taken Leafstar's body to be sat vigil for. Even the three eldest kits were with her.
Orangepaw had come into the den as soon as he had said his final goodbye to Leafstar. He was sitting rigidly near the entrance. I was surprised when I realized Firepaw and Stormpaw were lying just outside of the entrance, both of them looking extremely tense.
Were they protecting the new kits, or were they protecting Whitepaw? Some terrified part of me believed it was the latter.
"Tawnypaw?" Tinybird asked gently. I glanced at her to see what she wanted. She asked, "Can you manage watching them for a little while?"
She was a young kit when the clan was founded. Leafstar made her and her brothers apprentices the night she became a leader. Of course she would want to pay her final respects. I accepted gently, "Yes, I will be fine. Take as long as you need."
The kits would wake up hungry again in two hours. She had time to grieve if she needed it. The she-cat nodded gratefully and slipped past the boys. I curled myself around the five little creatures, setting my tail on top of them for extra warmth.
My gaze settled onto Whitepaw. He was staring past Orangepaw, watching the clan distantly mourn the loss of Leafstar. He looked as eerily calm as he always had. Even when two thirds of the clan was willing to shred him for they considered ultimate betrayal and disloyalty to the clan, he was unwilling to feel troubled.
For the very first time earlier, I had seen he had a side that was not so relaxed and gentle. I had seen in his eyes the bitterest confliction. He was extremely young to have had to make such a decision like that. To decide what had to be sacrificed for what. Dear StarClan, he was barely seven moons old! Little more than a kit himself!
How could be possibly be so serene? Was he bothered by the blood that had been soaking though his coat? Wasn't he torn apart because of the no-win situation he had been forced to suffer?
"You're confused," he pointed out quite correctly. "I can see it in your eyes. Why?"
He turned his head to give me his full attention. Orangepaw was listening with perked ears. I answered honestly, "I just can't figure you out, Whitepaw. How can you be so calm right now?"
He closed his eyes and answered, "What is there to be worked up over?"
"The clan is shocked deeply by the sudden loss of Leafstar," Orangepaw mentioned, reading my mind as usual. "It has shaken them all, and it is making them irrational."
"Sparrowpelt will simmer the anger when he returns," Whitepaw answered confidently.
"You're okay with... with what happened?" I asked hesitantly, cautious not to upset Patchfoot. I glanced at him. He was as stiff as a rock, and he didn't seem to be able to hear anything right now---he looked too stunned.
"Of course I am, Tawnypaw. I knew what it meant to be a medicine cat since before my apprentice ceremony. We do far more than collect and administer herbs. Sometimes bad things happen, and that is just a part of life."
He turned away from me after his answer had been said. I watched silently as he crossed the den and forcefully nudged Patchfoot to his feet. He mewed gently into the senior warrior's ear as he led him towards the vigil.
With one glance in my direction, Orangepaw bounded after the pair of them. Both Stormpaw and Firepaw followed, creating a protective triangle around the younger tom. I saw Shadepaw slinking her way over as well.
It shocked me down to the very bone. How could this possibly be acceptable? How could our warrior ancestors sit back quietly when the clan was turning on itself?
We were one clan. We were one united body. We shared the same heritages and warrior blood. We shared one common goal, survival of the clan. How could any cat deny that three strong, healthy kits would hinder the clan's survival more than help it?
An even more troubling question lingered in the front of my thoughts. Why was it okay for us to be so divided over one cat? Leafstar was old, and would not have lived forever. Maybe she had been so old that her body had ripped because her age made it lethal to try and bear a litter. If that were the case, she would have died of blood loss even if the kits had been cast aside.
But nobody wanted to realize that. They wanted to do something unthinkable---harm a clan mate. Harm a medicine cat of all things. An apprentice, a tom barely older than kit. And some feared they would hurt him. Our denmates were openly guarding him, warning off any possible threats to his safety. His life.
Even the cruelest of leafbares could not have made my blood feel as cold as it did the moment I realized how unforgiving warrior life really could be.
And some secret part of my heart began to wonder if that was what I really wanted my life to be like.
