Sorry it took me so long. Hope this chapter satisfies you. Little bit of angst on Whitefoot's part.

Chapter Three

Twistedclaw swatted distractedly at Whitekit. "Bug off, willya?" he growled.

The little she-cat only grinned evilly at him and bit down on Twistedclaw's pride and joy, his black and ginger striped tail. Hard.

"YE-OW-OW-OW!" Twistedclaw shrieked and leapt into the air.

Whitekit giggled. "You are so funny. Do that again. Brownkit didn't see." She turned and winked at her brother, who had seen Twistedclaw's spectacular leap, but he kept quiet about it because he too thought it had been hilarious and wanted to see it again.

"Oh, how sweet. Twistedclaw has had kits!" a mocking voice sneered.

Twistedclaw stiffened. He turned around to face a white she-cat with odd eyes. He composed himself quickly and mewed cheerfully, "Well, hello, Oddeye!"

Oddeye hissed at the calico tom. "Well, look who's being condescending."

Twistedclaw gaped at her. "I'm trying to be condescending! I was just trying to be polite!"

Oddeye snorted. "Yeah, right."

"He's not lying." A beautiful white she-cat with lovely pale blue eyes stepped delicately into the nursery.

"Snowflower!" Twistedclaw mewed happily and dashed over to her. A smile appeared on Snowflower's pretty face.

"Hello, Twistedclaw," she mewed in her voice that Twistedclaw thought sounded like the tinkling of the stream between ThunderClan and ShadowClan territory. Snowflower turned to Oddeye. "He's not lying," she repeated. "He was just trying to be friendly."

Oddeye snorted. "Of course, you'd side with him." Then she turned and stomped out of the nursery.

Brownkit looked up at Twistedclaw and Snowflower. "What was that all about?"

Twistedclaw glanced at the little white tom. "Well, you see, I like Oddeye. I think she's pretty, but she hates me."

Brownkit nodded. "Oh, so it's sort of like Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw and Firestar and Sandstorm?"

Twistedclaw grinned. "Yeah, sort of."

Whitekit decided she had to add her two mousetails' worth. "I think you and Snowflower should be mates. The two of you remind me of Greystripe and Silverstream."

"Yeah, gee, thanks, Whitekit. Then I'll die when I'm giving birth to his kits," Snowflower replied sarcastically. Twistedclaw, Whitekit, and Brownkit laughed. Snowflower glanced at them, then started to laugh along with them.

When they had recovered, Twistedclaw mewed, "Well, Snowflower and I have to go now. The fresh-kill pile needs replenishing."

"Whitefoot?"

The black tom turned, startled out of his misery. A skinny old brown she-cat lay soaking up the last bit of winter sunshine on Highledge.

The old cat was the archcat of ugliness. Her pelt, once sleek and full, was now dull, thin, and patchy. Several very large tumors protruded from her belly.

"Yes, Rushstar?" Whitefoot asked her.

Rushstar heaved herself to her feet and scrambled down unsteadily from Highledge. "Bother Firestar! Why'd he have to choose a den so far up?" she grumbled good-naturedly when she reached the ground. She glanced at Whitefoot. "Redcloud suggested I use a den on the ground, but I couldn't find any that I liked as much as the one behind Highledge."

Whitefoot smiled. The tumors might have taken Rushstar's beauty away, but they hadn't taken away her spirit.

"I heard about Elmheart." Whitefoot's smile faded. "Pity she died so young, but she was a dainty little thing. I would have preferred that she stayed in the warriors' den, and not have kits, seein' as many of the she-cats in her family have died kitting: her sisters, her grandmother, her aunts, and her nieces."

Whitefoot's head drooped. "I know, I know. But I loved her."

Rushstar rasped her tongue comfortingly over her deputy's ear, as if he were one of her own kits, which he might as well be, since his sister was her son's mate. "Love is a beautiful thing, Whitefoot. Burnttail and I loved each other dearly, even though we were only able to have one kit 'fore he died of greencough moon 'fore last. Moleclaw and Poppytail are very close to each other. And let me tell you, don't you ever blame yourself for Elmheart's death."

I won't. I never shall. It's Talonclaw's fault, isn't it? Whitefoot thought as he watched his leader struggle back up to her den.