PART ONE
I'm the son of rage and love
The Jesus of Suburbia
From the bible of none of the above
on a steady diet of
soda pop and ritalin
No one ever died for my
sins in hell
Far as I can tell
At least the ones I got away with
Graystripe gave the beautiful gray she-cat one final lick good-bye. He nudged her body into the grave he had dug beside the river: his love. Now his life meant nothing to him. And Fireheart took her kits. He sighed. They need to be buried with her, he thought sadly, his anguish flooding through his body like the river that he had met his love at so many times before.
He gently placed the dirt back over the grave, sighed, and stood, padding back towards the ThunderClan camp. Fireheart appeared over the ravine and looked at him, then bounded towards the gray tom. Graystripe let his gaze fall as he murmured, "Fireheart, where are the kits? They should have been buried with Silverstream."
"Buried?" he echoed, voice holding amazement. "Graystripe, didn't you know? The kits, they're alive!"
Graystripe's gaze snapped up to Fireheart's. "Where are they?" he asked excitedly.
"In the ThunderClan nursery, with Goldenflower," he responded.
"Surely ThunderClan won't keep them, though!" Graystripe meowed, the whole situation dawning on him. "They're half-Clan kits."
"Bluestar doesn't blame the kits," Fireheart meowed. "Come on, and I'll let you see them."
When the two cats arrived in the nursery, Goldenflower glared at Graystripe and didn't speak to him, though the kits kept suckling.
But finally, the queen raised her head to speak to Graystripe.
"Your love has caused quite a bit of rage, Graystripe. These kits are the kits of the rage and love."