I lie in the old burned out tree that is the nurserey. Rosepool leans over. "Congratulations! You have three healthy kits. Two toms and a she-cat. Yes, Stormheart, you can come in," she sighs, moving aside. My mate charges in. "Three kits! Great job!" he says, licking my face gently.
"You're telling me," I mutter. He laughs. I lean down and lick the grey tom nuzzling my belly. "What should we name them?"
"You pick," he says.
"Um, okay. The she-kit...Frostkit," I say, licking my little, unusually pale grey she-cat.
"Perfect."
"This tom...Rainkit," I say, touching a blue-grey tom with my nose.
"Lovely."
"And the last one...Couragekit." I look up from my little grey tabby tom. There's a soft look, a look of intense, sad gratitude in Stormheart's eyes.
"Thank you," he whispers.
I smile and touch noses with him. "We have to honor them, don't we?"
"Yes," he says softly. Then he licks my ears.
"We're here now," he breathes. "It's okay."
As usual, it was too much to hope.