Pulling herself out of her grief, Yellowfang turned her attention to her only surviving kit, and saw the expression on his small, flat face. He was new to the world—couldn’t see, could barely crawl to her belly to feed. And yet his face was already twisted with strong emotion…
Fear flooded through Yellowfang, making her shiver with cold.
But then he squirmed over to Yellowfang and pressed his face into her fur.
Desperately she told herself that he was only a little kit, after all—her kit, and the son of Raggedpelt, the cat she loved. Yellowfang licked the top of his head and he let out a small purr. Her heart seemed to expand to fill her whole chest.
Leaving the tiny tom in the hollow tree, Yellowfang buried his sisters in the unknown forest, digging deep into the soil so that no cat or fox or badger would ever sniff them out. Then she returned to her one living kit.
“Silverflame told me to trust my own instincts and make my own choices,” she whispered to the tiny tom, bending to lick his head. “And I choose that you will grow up in the Clan as a warrior without knowing who your mother is.” She heaved a deep sigh. “That will be best for both of us, little one.”
Giving him a last lick, Yellowfang slunk back through the undergrowth, her fur matted and stinking of toadstools, the tom kit dangling from her mouth. Aware of how many questions would be asked, she stopped to clean herself in a pool near the entrance. By the time she and her kit entered the camp, no cat would have been able to guess the ordeal she had been through.
Raggedpelt spotted her the moment she pushed through the brambles. He barely even looked at her; his eyes were all for the kit, and they were full of hope and excitement. He came bounding across the clearing to follow Yellowfang into the nursery. Lizardstripe was there tending to her own two kits, born a few days earlier. Her pale brown tabby fur and white underbelly seemed to glow in the darkness of the nursery den. She looked at Yellowfang with narrow, unfriendly eyes. Yellowfang had never really liked or trusted Lizardstripe, but she had no choice. Lizardstripe was the only nursing queen at the moment.
Yellowfang dropped the kit at Lizardstripe’s paws and he let out a furious shriek.
“What,” growled Lizardstripe, “is that?”
“It’s a kit,” Yellowfang replied.
“It’s my kit,” Raggedstar added proudly, shouldering his way into the den.
“Oh, yes?” Lizardstripe mewed. “What a miracle. If I’d known toms could have kits, I would have made Mudclaw have these brats of mine himself.”
Raggedpelt ignored her. Yellowfang thought that the space seemed to get smaller with him in it, as if he drew all the air into himself. She wanted to press herself into his fur and tell him everything she’d been through and about the two tiny bodies in the forest. The effort of holding back left her shaking inside, but Raggedpelt still wasn’t looking at her.
He crouched and sniffed at his son. The kit tried to lift his head, and then swiped his paw through the air, connecting with Raggedpelt’s nose. The tabby tom jerked his head back in surprise.
“Look at that!” he cried delightedly. “He’s a little warrior already!”
Lizardstripe’s amber gaze was making Yellowfang uncomfortable. “His mother wishes to keep her identity secret,” Yellowfang meowed. “She cannot care for this kit, and she hopes that you will take him in for her.”
Lizardstripe lashed her tail. “What kind of mouse-brained nonsense is that?” she snapped. “Why should I have to put up with another mewling lump of fur? I didn’t ask for these kits either, but you don’t see me dumping them on some other cat. It’s not my job to take care of every unwanted kit in the Clan.”
Raggedpelt snarled, and Lizardstripe shrank back in her nest. “He is not unwanted,” Raggedstar hissed. “He is my son, and I will always claim him as my own. You are being given a great honor, you unworthy cat. Who wouldn’t want to be mother to the Clan deputy’s son—and perhaps the future leader of the Clan himself?”
