"Mother! Hey, Mother!"
"Mother, come play!"
"Pleeeaaase, Mother, come play with us!"
Willowpelt chuckled at her kits. "Of course I'll play with you. Would you like me to get your father to join us?"
"Oh, yes, please!" squeaked a brown tabby-and-white kit.
"Okay, Swiftkit. Give me second; I'll go get him."
Willowpelt turned around, ready to go find Whitestorm, when a horrible sound entered her ears.
Behind her, high, shrill screeches exploded out, followed by a stomach-churning, gurgling sound.
She whipped around, and let out a hiss of shock, as she stared, bristling, at the ground.
Her three kits lay dead with deep claw marks in their throats, pooling out blood.
"Swiftkit! Snowkit! Spottedkit! Oh, great StarClan, no..."
Purrs, laced with a dark, triumphant tone, echoed in the distance. Willowpelt's eyes widened with horror as she saw the source.
She recognized the unkempt gray tabby pelt and crazed amber eyes.
"Tawnyspots!" she gasped.
The father of her first kit made a smirk. "Ah, Willowpelt. It's been a long time, has it not?"
"W-What are you doing here?"
Tawnyspots crept closer. "Isn't it obvious?"
And closer.
"I'm here for one thing, and one thing only."
And even closer.
"Revenge."
Willowpelt's heart pounded. Tawnyspots's spirit had returned to get revenge on her for not accepting him as her mate and taking his life.
But that was many moons ago! Wouldn't he have come sooner?
She unsheathed her claws. "Don't come any closer," she growled, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
"Willowpelt, Willowpelt, Willowpelt," Tawnyspots mewed wistfully, "Playing hard to get, I see. Some things never change."
"Playing hard to get"? Since when did this involve playing hard to get?
"But that doesn't matter anymore," Tawnyspots continued, "Because, no matter what, you're going to die with me, dear beloved. We'll walk together among the stars...forever."
"Never!" Willowpelt hissed, "Can't you see that that's in the past? I have a mate now –one that I can be happy with," she added, "One that I've wanted all along."
"Oh, yes, Whitestorm," the tabby warrior meowed, his tone confident and unafraid, "Well, we won't have to worry about him. He's already been taken care of."
"W...What?" Willowpelt's whispered, her voice rasped with fear.
A shape formed in the distance, its pale form stained scarlet with blood.
Whitestorm!
"No!" Willowpelt wailed, "Oh, Great StarClan, no! What have you done?"
Tawnyspots's eyes glinted. "As I said before, revenge," suddenly his gaze burned her insides like fire, "Your beloved Whitestorm cannot save you now, Willowpelt?" he crouched down, his tail flicking, "Brace yourself for me. Here I come!"
Willowpelt tried to flee, but her paws were planted to the ground, as if they were made of frozen stone.
The weight of the elderly warrior slammed like a fallen tree onto Willowpelt. The breath was knocked out of her as her back made contact with the rock-hard ground, even though she could easily see the springy grass underneath her.
Memories of the horrible encounter with the tabby tom that created Darkstripe flooded back into her mind, along with the mirroring moments with Patchpelt.
It's all too familiar...Oh, StarClan, help me!
"This is the end of line, Willowpelt," Tawnyspots snarled hungrily, "Don't worry; it'll be all over soon."
She yowled as his fangs tore through the flesh on her abdomen. He yanked his head in every direction, worsening the wound, and making the blood spill out like a torrential storm of bright-red.
StarClan, where are you? Help me!
But she was left alone. Left to me slaughtered by the cat that had ruined her life, so long ago.
"StarClan, if you care one bit about me, get this forsaken monstrosity off me!" she screamed.
"Willowpelt! Willowpelt, wake up!"
The pale queen's head shot up. Her breath crashed out of her lungs, her heart about to explode.
Once she returned to her senses, she realized every cat in the nursery was staring at her.
Oh, thank StarClan it was just a dream.
"Are you okay, Willowpelt?" Goldenflower mewed, her pale-ginger fur bristling with fear, "You were having some nightmare."
"I..." Willowpelt couldn't explain the horror the nightmare of Tawnyspots caused, "Yeah, I'm fine."
She suddenly felt a horrible pain in her side. The first thing that came to her was the image of Tawnyspots's fangs ripping at her flank.
I'm not still dreaming, am I?
At that moment, an old instinct replaced the crazy thought. She knew exactly what was triggering the discomfort.
"Goldenflower! Speckletail! Someone! My kits are coming!"
"Goldenflower!" Speckletail hissed to her daughter, "Get Yellowfang! Quick!" her amber gaze was then shot to the youngest cats in the nursery, "You kits go visit the elders. I'm sure One-eye can tell you a great story of when she was your ages."
"Okay, Speckletail," Bramblekit mewed. He called his tortoiseshell sister, Tawnykit, and uncle, Snowkit, to follow.
Tawnykit instantly rose to her dappled paws, but Snowkit kept staring at an ant with wide blue eyes.
"Snowkit," Speckletail prompted her only living son, "Go with them."
Snowkit seemed to ignore his mother, and continued to stare at the tiny insect.
Speckletail let out a hiss of irritation, and slammed her pale paw onto the ant. Snowkit jumped back, letting out a tiny squeak of surprise.
Speckletail used her paw to meet her eyes with her son's. She flicked her striped tail in the direction of her grandkits as she repeated her order, louder and slower this time.
Snowkit blinked, then replied in his distorted-worded voice, "'Kay, Speckatay." He bounded joined his niece and nephew and followed them outside.
Willowpelt shook her head with confusion. The lively white kit had bounced happily out of the nursery, as if he had done nothing wrong.
I hope no one in this litter will be as difficult as Snowkit, or...odd.
She winced as another pain clinched her distended belly.
"How long has she been in labor, Goldenflower?" Willowpelt recognized the rasp of Yellowfang.
"Her pains came just now," the queen answered as she escorted the medicine cat into the nursery, "It's about time too."
Yellowfang's apprentice, Cinderpelt, limped behind Yellowfang with strong-smelling herbs in her jaws.
"Well, I should say so," the ragged-face she-cat remarked, her orange eyes locked onto Willowpelt's twitching belly, "You're fatter than an overfed, pregnant kittypet."
"This is no time for jokes!" the laboring queen hissed, missing the calm gentleness of her sister, Spottedleaf.
"Of course, of course," Yellowfang muttered, then turned her head to her apprentice, "You've delivered kits before, Cinderpelt. Why don't you deliver these ones?"
The young, dark-gray she-cat stiffened, her blue eyes flashed, as if some dark memory seeped into her mind like pinesap.
Yellowfang rested her bushy tail over Cinderpelt's lean shoulders. "Relax, would you?" she murmured, "I promise, it won't happen again. I'll monitor you, okay?" her amber gaze sparked with humor as she added, "And if you do something wrong, I'll give your ear a good nip with these scraggly, old teeth. How's that sound?"
Cinderpelt's eyes brightened a bit at Yellowfang's humorous promise. "Okay," she meowed.
She settled herself beside Willowpelt, wrapping her tail around her soft paws. "How're you feeling, Willowpelt?"
"Uncomfortable, but it's nothing new. How many do you think I'll have this time?"
Cinderpelt pressed her paw against Willowpelt's tender flank. "More than one, that's for sure. What do you think, Yellowfang?" she called to the more-experienced medicine cat.
Willowpelt's teeth clenched as Yellowfang pressed a little more forcefully with her paw.
"You're right, Cinderpelt. I guess Willowpelt's finally breaking the trend of single-kit litters I've heard about. She'll probably have two or three kits, maybe four."
Willowpelt closed her eyes in concentration.
Okay, focus. She told herself. You can do this. You can this. You've done this two times before, you can do it again. You just have to focus.
"Willowpelt..."
Willowpelt stiffened with surprise at the voice. She opened her eyes, and stared at the cat in front of her.
A she-cat, starlight and frost sparked at her paws, and gleamed in her eyes. She recognized the long, white fur, bright-blue eyes, and distinctive gray ear-tips from stories.
Are you Snowfur?
The stranger ran a paw over her ears. "That's right, little one. You catch on fast."
Willowpelt stared at the mother of her mate. She hadn't expected her to look so youthful. She must have given birth to Whitestorm slightly over the age Willowpelt was when she had given birth to Darkstripe.
Oh my...it's truly an honor to meet you, Snowfur.
Snowfur dipped her head. "Oh, no, the honor's all mine. I'm glad that a strong and smart she-cat like you is bearing my son's kits. He couldn't have chosen better."
Gratitude flooded through Willowpelt's veins.
Whitestorm's told me so much about you. You look just like him.
A purr rumbled in Snowfur's throat. "Well, with my son being so handsome, I'll take that as a compliment.
It's nothing but that.
Willowpelt liked Snowfur. If only the white warrior was still alive when she and her littermates were born. They could have been good friends.
"Hey, Willowpelt! Snap out of it!"
She jumped at the sound of Yellowfang's hiss.
Her ears hot, Willowpelt turned her gaze to the medicine cat.
"Didn't you hear Cinderpelt?" Yellowfang croaked, "You missed the first push."
"Oh! Uh...s-sorry."
Yellowfang let out an irritable sigh. "That's all right; your body did it for you. It's just going to take a little longer now."
"I-" Her mew was cut off by another sharp pain that raked her flank like claws.
"Don't miss this one this time!" Cinderpelt encouraged her, "Give it a big push!"
Right.
She took a deep breath, and tightened the muscles in her hindquarters.
"Try to take deep breaths rather than holding your breath," Snowfur whispered.
Inhaling and exhaling, she continued to push.
A shudder passed through Willowpelt as she felt Cinderpelt slowly pull the kit out.
She watched the medicine cat apprentice nip the kitting sac, letting a gray bundle of fur fall out.
"The first kit has been born!" Yellowfang called, "A tom!"
As Cinderpelt lapped at the little tom's fur, Willowpelt stared at the shade of gray on his coat.
An image of Bluestar appeared in her head.
Of course he would look like Bluestar. Whitestorm is her nephew. This litter would be Bluestar's kin.
The kit's jaws parted, letting out a shrill squeak of wakefulness. His squeaks faded away as Cinderpelt placed him beside Willowpelt's belly, letting him suckle.
"Congratulations," Snowfur purred, "That's one kit down."
At that instant, another pain shook Willowpelt's body.
"Now, Willowpelt!" Cinderpelt ordered, "Push!"
Willowpelt clenched her teeth as she pushed, waiting for the kit to plop out beside its brother.
But nothing happened.
Yellowfang's eyes flashed with worry. She glanced at Willowpelt. "Try it again," she mewed.
The pale-furred queen followed orders. Still nothing.
Suddenly, something rushed out of Willowpelt's kitting spot. It wasn't a kit, though, but a gush of blood.
More blood spilled out onto the moss, coming out in tiny streams.
Great StarClan, what's happening?
Her mind began to buzz and cloud at that second. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Snowfur tense with fear.
Yellowfang quickly turned to her apprentice. "Cinderpelt! Get the raspberry leaves!"
But Cinderpelt was staring blankly ahead of her. Her blue gaze was darkened with horror and grief, as if she was reliving a dark memory that had returned to haunt her.
"Cinderpelt! Now!"
Yellowfang's yowl snapped Cinderpelt back to full conciousness. "Oh-Oh! Um...raspberry leaves...raspberry leaves, yes! Y-Yes, of course, Yellowfang. I'll-I'll get them."
In her jaws, Willowpelt saw the dark-gray she-cat carry a batch of spiky-edged leaves. She felt them brush her muzzle as Cinderpelt placed them beside her mouth.
"Here, Willowpelt," her words were gentle, but her voice was taught, "Eat these. They'll stop the blood from gushing out."
Tentatively, Willowpelt sucked the leaves and chewed. Their fuzzy exterior tickled her throat as she swallowed, and she had to stop herself from coughing.
"One more thing," Cinderpelt continued, grabbing a white flower with a yellow center.
Yellowfang twitched her ears inquisitively. "Chamomile?" she gasped, "Cinderpelt, why did you bring chamomile?"
"She's drifting off," Cinderpelt answered her mentor, "I can see it in her eyes," her blue gaze rested on Willowpelt, "Now eat these ones. They're chamomile flowers. It'll strengthen your heart and clear your mind. Trust me, you'll feel better after you've eaten them. Just please, eat them!"
Willowpelt was taken back by the conviction in the younger she-cat's voice. Not wanting to frighten Cinderpelt anymore, she chewed the chamomile and swallowed.
At that moment, a surge of energy burst through Willowpelt's veins, reaching every last corner of her body. She felt like she could run from Fourtrees and back. Her heart beating steadily and strongly, and her mind focused yet again, she pushed hard on her hindquarters.
She felt the kit plop out.
It fell limply out of the kitting sac after Cinderpelt nipped it.
"The second kit has been born!" Yellowfang announced, "Another tom!"
Cinderpelt lapped at the second tom kit, just as she had done with its brother.
The kit didn't stir.
Cinderpelt lapped at it more fiercely, her eyes flashing.
Still nothing.
Fear pulsed through her. Her newest son wasn't dead, was he?
She felt Snowfur's tail touch her shoulder, and the white warrior craned her neck until she stared at her grandson. She pressed her muzzle to his head and murmured, "My precious grandson...don't you dare give up now. You have a whole life ahead of you."
At that moment, the kit twitched and let out a tiny squeak. Relief flowed through Willowpelt. She blinked gratefully at Snowfur as she returned to her spot.
Her gaze flashed from Snowfur's ear-tips to the body of her son. The shades of gray were exactly the same.
She gazed warmly at her son that Snowfur had literally brought back from the dead as he was placed beside his brother.
Another pain gripped Willowpelt.
"I think is the last one," Cinderpelt meowed, placing her paw on her laboring Clanmate's flank, "Come on, Willowpelt, you're doing beautifully. Just give it one more push, as hard as you can!"
Willowpelt sank her claws into the ground as she tightened the muscles in her hindquarters. Cinderpelt's chamomile had given her the strength to force this final kit out in one push, and her body shuddered with relief as she felt it enter the world.
A tiny tortoiseshell-and-white shaped fell out of the kitting sac, reminding Willowpelt painfully of her dead littermates, Spottedleaf and Redtail.
"The third and final kit has been born!" Yellowfang announced, "A she-kit!"
A she-kit...I finally have a she-kit...
It didn't take Cinderpelt more than one lick to wake the she-kit up. At about the moment the medicine cat apprentice's muzzle touched her back, she squealed in surprise and for milk.
She squirmed on the moss, following the milk scent of her mother.
Willowpelt's whiskers twitched. She knew that this little she-kit would be the adventurous one.
Suddenly, Snowfur's mist-chilled breath stirred Willowpelt's ear fur.
"One of those kits will be drowned in a river of grief. But all is not lost for it, for it will find love beside a nettle patch."
Then Willowpelt felt the StarClan she-cat rasp her tongue lovingly over her head, as if she hadn't whispered the dark omen at all. Willowpelt drank in Snowfur's sweet scent.
So much like Whitestorm's...
A breeze made the branches of the nursery tremble, and Snowfur's presence and scent drifted away.
"Willowpelt? Are you all right?"
Whitestorm had entered the nursery.
"Of course I am, you mouse-brain," Willowpelt purred, "Come and meet your kits."
Yellowfang nudged Cinderpelt. "We better leave these five alone."
And at that moment, only Whitestorm, Willowpelt, and their three kits were left in the nursery.
Whitestorm curled up beside Willowpelt, their pale pelts brushing. His amber eyes grew misty as he stared at his sons and daughter.
"They're...beautiful," he murmured.
"What would you like to call them?" Willowpelt asked.
"I don't care, as long as you name. You are an expert in this, after all."
"Oh, all right," Willowpelt purred.
She gazed at her newest litter.
"The blue-gray one will be...Rainkit. The streaks on his pelt remind me of raindrops. And the thick-furred, gray one will be...Sootkit. His fur's the color of soot."
"What about the little tortoiseshell?" Whitestorm stroked his daughter with his thick, white tail.
"She will be...Sorrelkit. Her pelt reminds of the sorrel flower."
"Rainkit, Sootkit, and Sorrelkit," Whitestorm whispered, "Welcome to ThunderClan."
Willowpelt gazed at the sky. It just started to get the milky darkness of dusk.
Flickering above was a single star, it shimmered down in silver-white fire.
Thank you, Snowfur. I promise to raise these kits in your honor.