Firestar’s Quest

Epilogue

Frost glittered on leafless branches as Firestar bounded down the ravine. He felt full of energy, completely recovered from the long journey back from SkyClan three moons before.

Brambleclaw and Mousefur followed him: the dawn patrol was returning to the ThunderClan camp, cold and hungry, but with fur unruffled. The borders were peaceful, and leaf-bare would soon give way to the fresh growth of newleaf.

Firestar pushed his way through the gorse tunnel and turned to wait for his Clanmates. “Better get something to eat, and then rest,” he meowed. “I want you both to come with me to the Gathering tonight.”

“Great!” Brambleclaw’s fur bristled with excitement, while Mousefur simply flicked her ears and headed for the fresh-kill pile.

Firestar headed across the clearing toward the nursery, spotting Sorrelpaw, Sootpaw, and Rainpaw wrestling together beside the apprentice’s den among the ferns. While he watched, Thornclaw emerged from the warriors’ den and called to Sootpaw; mentor and apprentice disappeared through the gorse tunnel.

As he approached the nursery Cinderpelt emerged; Firestar bounded up to her. “Is everything all right?” he demanded.

Cinderpelt’s blue eyes glimmered with understanding.

“Everything’s fine, Firestar. I just took her some borage to help her milk come.”

Firestar let out a long breath of relief. “I still can’t believe how beautiful they are,” he confessed.

Cinderpelt gave his ear a gentle flick with her tail. “In you go, then, and have another look.”

Firestar pushed his way through the brambles and into the nursery, the warm, milky scents flowing over him. Sandstorm lay in a deep nest of moss and bracken; huddled close to her belly were two tiny she-kits, their eyes still closed. One was tabby with a white chest and paws, the other a dark ginger like Firestar himself.

Whitekit, Brightheart and Cloudtail’s daughter, was looking down at the two kits with as much pride as if they were her own. She was nearly old enough to be apprenticed, and Firestar knew how protective she felt about the new arrivals.

Brightheart roused from her nest and stretched out a paw.

“Be careful,” she warned her kit. “Don’t get too close. They won’t be ready to play for a while yet.”

As Firestar entered, Sandstorm drowsily raised her head.

“I thought of some names,” she murmured. “How do you like Squirrelkit and Leafkit?”

“I think they’re wonderful names,” Firestar replied. The dark ginger Squirrelkit for her fluffy tail, of course, and tabby

Leafkit in memory of Leafstar—and perhaps of Spottedleaf too.

Pride surged through him as he looked at the tiny scraps of fur. He had so many hopes for them: good hunting, happi-ness, perhaps even leadership of their Clan. Though he had been a kittypet, his daughters were Clanborn through and through. His blood would run through ThunderClan for many seasons to come, even when he no longer walked the forest.

The thought of blood and kinship made Skywatcher’s prophecy echo in his ears once more: There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws.

Would these powerful cats be descended from Firestar’s two precious daughters? Was the prophecy a warning of great good—or great evil? A chill ran through him, and he shivered as he wondered where the path of his blood would lead.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to Cherith Baldry