“Leopardfoot’s kitting!” Featherwhisker called after him.
“I know, I know,” Goosefeather muttered distractedly as he began pawing through the pile. Turning each piece of prey with his paw, he leaned down and inspected them closely.
Featherwhisker flicked his tail and raced down the fern tunnel.
Snowfur slid out of the warriors’ den. “Did I hear that Leopardfoot’s kits are coming?” She followed Bluefur’s gaze and watched Goosefeather sift through the prey pile. “How can he think about food
Patchpelt frowned. “I think he’s looking for omens.”
“Omens can wait!” Snowfur’s ears twitched as a low moan drifted from the nursery. “It sounds as though Leopardfoot needs help.”
Bluefur glanced hopefully at Pinestar. Perhaps he would nudge the medicine cat into action. But Pinestar just stared blankly at Goosefeather while Goosefeather muttered and tossed aside another piece of prey. Bluefur was relieved to see Featherwhisker racing back from the medicine den with a leaf wrap tight in his jaws. He scrambled back inside the nursery.
“It’s been so long since there’ve been kits,” Larksong sighed.
Stonepelt picked up a sparrow, which Goosefeather had tossed aside, and carried it into the shade below Highrock. “We might as well eat,” he told Larksong. “These things take time.”
Bluefur paced until her paws ached. As the Clan cats began to return from patrols and hunting parties, they gathered in the clearing, eyes flicking more anxiously toward the nursery as time passed with no word from Featherwhisker.
“Shouldn’t you be with her?” Larksong called pointedly to Pinestar, who was crouched by the nettle patch.
“What could I do?” Pinestar answered. “I’m no medicine cat.”
Larksong muttered something into Stonepelt’s ear and turned her gaze back to the nursery.
Stormtail rebuilt the fresh-kill pile from the prey that Goosefeather had left all over the ground after wandering off. The gray warrior picked up two shrews and carried them to where White-eye and Tawnyspots sat at the edge of the clearing. “There’ll be more warriors for ThunderClan by nightfall,” he meowed.
White-eye flinched as an agonized wail sounded from the nursery. “May StarClan light their path,” she murmured.
The sun began to sink low over the trees when Dappletail and Goldenpaw padded into the camp.
“How was training?” Bluefur called to her old denmate.
“Dappletail says I should be fine for my assessment.” Goldenpaw trotted over and nodded toward the nursery. “What’s going on?”
“Leopardfoot’s kitting,” Bluefur told her.
Dappletail’s tail flicked. “Already?” Her eyes clouded with worry. “How long has she been at it?”
“Most of the afternoon.”
“Is Goosefeather with her?”
“No, Featherwhisker is.”
“Where’s Goosefeather?” Dappletail demanded.
Stormtail looked up from his shrew. “He was at the top of the ravine when we came down.”
Dappletail blinked. “What in the name of StarClan was he doing up there?”
“Staring at the sky when we passed, muttering about clouds,” Stormtail meowed. “I don’t think he noticed us.”
The nursery brambles shivered as Featherwhisker squeezed out. His eyes glittered with tension, and his pelt was sticking up along his flanks. Bluefur hurried to meet him. “Is she okay?”
Featherwhisker didn’t answer. “I need moss soaked with water, and herbs,” he mewed. “Go and ask Goosefeather to give you raspberry leaves.”
Bluefur’s belly tightened. The medicine cat apprentice looked strained, and she was frightened; he might panic if he knew that Goosefeather had wandered off. “He’s not in his den,” she mewed hesitantly.
“Okay.” Featherwhisker stared at her, his mind clearly racing. “They look like this.” He quickly traced out a leaf shape in the dust with his claw. “You’ll have to gather them. I can’t leave her.”
Pelts were bristling around the clearing as the Clan realized that all was not going well. Bluefur stared in panic at the shape he’d scratched. It looked like any other leaf.
“It’s soft to touch but the edges are jagged,” Featherwhisker told her. “And they’re stacked near the back of the den.” He paused. “Near the catmint. You remember the catmint?”
Bluefur nodded. “I’ll find it,” she promised.
Snowfur brushed up beside her. “And I’ll get the moss.”
Together they charged to the medicine den. While Snowfur picked bundles of moss from the pool at the clearing’s edge, Bluefur slipped into the crack in the rock. The pungent odors of herbs brought back the memory of sneaking in there as a kit with her sister. She wondered how they ever could have been so foolish, and a jab of grief pierced her as she remembered Moonflower dragging them out, her eyes round with fear for her daughters.
