“Aw, we want to say hi to the new kit,” Dawnkit protested, disappointed.
“And you can,” Runningnose promised from his place beside Fernshade’s head. “Just not yet. I’ll call you when it’s time.”
There was a brief moment of squealing as the five kits bundled out of the den.
“I’ll go keep an eye on them,” Featherstorm muttered.
When she and the kits had gone, Yellowfang had room to breathe. She watched another spasm of pain pass through Fernshade. “You’re doing very well,” she praised her. “It won’t be long now.”
Her gaze met Runningnose’s and she saw her own worry reflected in his eyes. Fernshade was exhausted, and there was no sign that the kit inside her was making any progress.
“Feel here,” Yellowfang murmured to Runningnose, placing her paw on Fernshade’s belly. “I think her kit is the wrong way around.”
Runningnose reached out his front paw, then nodded. “You’re right. What do we do now?”
“Massage her belly just there,” Yellowfang instructed, “and I’ll give the kit a push like this…”
For a moment nothing happened, except that Fernshade bit down on her stick again, her eyes dull and glazed with pain. Then the kit gave a great heave inside her. The stick splintered in Fernshade’s jaws, and a small black-and-white shape slid out of her onto the soft moss.
“Yes!” Yellowfang gave an exultant yowl. “Well done, Fernshade!”
“It’s a fine, handsome tom,” Runningnose announced.
The exhausted queen curled around her son, her eyes full of love as she began to lick his fur and guide him toward her belly so he could suckle.
“His face is striped just like a badger,” Yellowfang observed.
“Then that’s his name,” Fernshade murmured. “Badgerkit.”
Worn out, but full of joy at the successful birth, Yellowfang rose to her paws and climbed out of the nursery.
Outside, Wolfstep was pacing back and forth; he whipped around as soon as Yellowfang emerged. “Well?” he demanded.
“You have a son,” Yellowfang told him, seeing delight spring up in Wolfstep’s eyes. “You can go in, but be careful. Fernshade is very weak.”
She followed Wolfstep back in, noting with approval how gentle he was as he settled down beside his mate and licked her ear.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Fernshade whispered, pressing her muzzle against Wolfstep’s shoulder. “His name is Badgerkit.”
“He’s the most beautiful kit in the forest,” Wolfstep responded, looking down at his son with love and pride in his eyes. “And that’s a really good name.”
Watching them, Yellowfang felt a warm thrill of satisfaction. “This is the best part of being a medicine cat,” she told Runningnose. “Breathing new life into the Clan.”
Since Brokenstar had become leader, the Clan had seemed to be a dark place. Yellowfang felt as though she spent all her time now treating wounds and overseeing burials. Stonetooth had died peacefully in his sleep; Yellowfang was glad that he hadn’t had to witness the battles Brokenstar had led his warriors into. Vengeance had been taken on WindClan more times than Yellowfang could count, with stolen rabbits regularly appearing on the ShadowClan fresh-kill pile. A hint of ThunderClan scent on the wrong side of the border near Fourtrees had led Brokenstar to extend patrols beyond the Thunderpath until warriors returned with tufts of ThunderClan fur caught in their claws and the scent of their rivals’ blood on their pelts. It seemed as if ShadowClan was at war with every cat, and amid all this turmoil the birth of new kits felt even more precious.
Leaving the new family together, Yellowfang slipped out of the nursery to see light growing in the sky, the trees outlined against a bright morning. Yellowfang took in a deep breath and arched her back in a long stretch.
“You’re exhausted,” Runningnose commented, emerging from the nursery behind her. “Why don’t you go back to the den and sleep? I’ll fetch some wet moss for Fernshade.”
Yellowfang opened her jaws to protest, then realized that she was so tired she could scarcely hold her head up. “Okay, thanks,” she mumbled, and headed for her nest.
She hardly seemed to have slept for a heartbeat when she was awoken by a small nose prodding her in her side. “Excuse me, Yellowfang,” a voice squeaked. “I’m hurting.”
Yellowfang opened her eyes to see Brownkit standing in front of her, holding up one paw. “Is it a thorn?” She yawned as she scrambled out of her nest. “Let me look.”
But however carefully Yellowfang searched, she couldn’t find a thorn in the tiny paw. Letting down her defenses, she tracked Brownkit’s pain and realized that it came from his shoulder. Somehow he had wrenched it.
“How did this happen?” she asked him. “What have you been up to?”
“Brokenstar let all the kits go with Mosspaw to the training area, to give Fernshade some peace and quiet,” Brownkit explained. His eyes glowed at the memory. “It was great! We learned some battle moves; watch this—ouch!” He broke off with a gasp of pain as he tried to swipe with his injured leg.
