Leafpool’s Wish

Chapter 9

Leafpool dragged herself into the hollow tree and collapsed onto the leaf mulch with a groan. She was dimly aware of Squirrelflight fluttering around her, shoving more dried leaves beneath her and placing a bundle of dripping moss near her head. Leafpool felt as if the whole world had shrunk to the dimensions of her body, a world that was full of scarlet pain and throbbing fear. There was a pulling sensation underneath her tail and Leafpool cried out in alarm.

“Tell me what I should do!” Squirrelflight hissed in Leafpool’s ear. “I can see a kit coming!”

Leafpool gritted her teeth against the next pulse of agony. “Wait until it is free, then nip open the sac around its body. Push it toward me so I can lick it.” She yelped at a wave of sharp stabbing pain across her belly. She lifted her head and saw a small, slime-covered black shape slither out onto the leaves. Squirrelflight tugged away the transparent sac that covered its head and Leafpool stiffened as a wail pierced the air.

Squirrelflight nudged the kit closer to Leafpool’s belly and Leafpool curled herself around it. Her world expanded just enough to enclose this beautiful, perfect kit. She started to lick its fur clean as she felt its tiny mouth latch onto her. Then she writhed as another spasm racked her body, stronger than any before. She waited for the wave of pain to die away as the kit shifted inside her, but the throbbing continued. In the red mist of agony, Leafpool felt herself begin to panic.

Something’s wrong!

“I can see another kit!” Squirrelflight called. “But it’s not moving! Push harder!”

Leafpool had no breath to speak. She tried to press her paws against her belly, manipulate the kit the way she would if she were helping a queen in the nursery. But her legs flopped weakly to the ground. She felt Squirrelflight trying to help, prodding and nudging with her own paws, but she hadn’t been trained, and Leafpool had no strength to tell her sister what to do. Dark shadows clustered around her and she felt herself ebbing away. She knew that cats could die if a kit got stuck. Help me, StarClan…

Then the air stirred beside her, and a new, familiar scent filled the hollow tree. Leafpool felt strong paws pressing down on her flanks, and the kit inside her started to turn. She opened her eyes and saw the faint outline of a starlit cat, gray-furred and flat-muzzled. Yellowfang!

Squirrelflight was standing beside Leafpool, huge-eyed and gaping.

“Make yourself useful,” Yellowfang ordered, and her voice sounded like the wind between the stars. “Give Leafpool some water, and rub some warmth into that black kit.”

Squirrelflight rolled the moss closer to Leafpool so she could drink, then started pummelling the tiny shape beside her belly until the little cat squeaked. Leafpool felt Yellowfang shove a stick between her teeth.

“This is going to hurt,” the old cat grunted. She leaned on Leafpool’s belly with a force that made her shriek in protest. “Have a little faith,” Yellowfang hissed.

With a wrench, the kit was born, a huge golden tabby tom with broad shoulders and a deafening yowl. Squirrelflight dragged him beside the black kit and Leafpool stared down at the tom in disbelief. My son! She felt him start to suckle and let her head fall onto the leaves. She had never been so exhausted in her life. She felt as if she had been turned inside out, and wanted nothing more than to sleep for a moon.

But Yellowfang shook her roughly awake. “Stay with us, Leafpool,” she rasped. “There’s one more kit to be born.”

“I can’t,” Leafpool whimpered without opening her eyes. “I’m not strong enough.”

“You have to be,” Squirrelflight told her, her amber eyes fierce in the darkness. “Come on!” She propped Leafpool’s head against her shoulder and held her close as yet another spasm rolled through Leafpool’s body. This time the kit slipped out easily, a pale gray tabby even smaller than its littermates.

“Another tom,” Yellowfang announced, efficiently peeling off the sac and delivering the mewling bundle to Leafpool’s belly. “Two sons and a daughter. Congratulations, Leafpool.” There was warmth in her voice, and Leafpool caught a spark of emotion glistening in the old cat’s eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She bent over her babies and started licking the stickiness from their fur.

Above her, she heard Yellowfang telling Squirrelflight that they both needed to get some rest, then Squirrelflight could fetch prey and more water. “Wait for the kits’ eyes to open before you go back to the hollow,” she mewed. There was a pause. “If you go back.”

As she slipped into the stillness of sleep, Leafpool thought she might stay in this hollow tree forever. Everything that matters to me in the world is here.

She woke to a strong, meaty scent under her nose. Blinking open her eyes, she saw Squirrelflight pushing a shrew toward her. “You haven’t eaten for two sunrises,” her sister meowed. “Come on, share this with me.”

Leafpool half sat up, aware of an empty feeling in her belly. She looked down and saw her three kits curled tightly against her, fast asleep. Her heart swelled with love, more fierce than anything she had felt before. I would die for you, she thought. The hollow was cold and there was a strange white light filtering through the narrow entrance. Leafpool craned her neck and saw thick flakes drifting down from the sky to settle on the forest floor.

“It’s snowing!” Squirrelflight mewed. “It’ll make hunting more difficult, but at least it will hide our scent.” She watched Leafpool tuck into the shrew. The black she-kit wriggled free from her brothers and wailed when she felt cold air on her pelt. At once Leafpool stopped eating and tucked her daughter gently back into her belly fur.

“See?” Squirrelflight purred. “You know exactly what to do! I knew you’d be a brilliant mother.”

There was a ring of sadness in her voice, and Leafpool recalled Yellowfang’s prophecy that Squirrelflight would never have kits of her own. She felt a stab of guilt that she had ever doubted these kits should be born. They were a blessing, like Brackenfur had said. Thank you, StarClan, she whispered.

Squirrelflight curled her body around Leafpool’s, blocking out the draft from the entrance. Leafpool felt her sister’s breath warm on the back of her neck as they drifted into sleep. A slight shift in the air made Leafpool open her eyes. Outside the forest was still and silent under its pelt of snow. She could hear the tiny breathing sounds of her kits, muffled against her belly, and steady snores from Squirrelflight. And something else…

A glittering outline appeared in a shaft of starlight. Warm eyes glowed from the shadows, and Leafpool detected a faint, half-remembered scent. Not Yellowfang this time. Feathertail!

The pale silver she-cat stepped forward and looked down at the kits. Her purrs rumbled against the hollow tree, and Squirrelflight stirred. Leafpool felt her sister stiffen in surprise.

“Feathertail!” she gasped. She scrambled to her paws and tried to press herself against the starlit shape, her tail curled over her back in delight. “I never thought I’d see you here! Have you come to see Leafpool’s kits? Aren’t they amazing?” Squirrelflight broke away and leaned down over Leafpool. Very gently, she moved the kits into view one by one. “A black she-cat and two toms, this golden tabby and this gray. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.” Her voice cracked.

Feathertail’s blue eyes brimmed with love. “They are perfect. Crowfeather would be so proud.”

With a jolt, Leafpool remembered that Feathertail had been Crowfeather’s mate first. Had she come all the way from the Tribe of Endless Hunting to tell Leafpool that Crowfeather deserved to know he had become a father? As if she could tell what Leafpool was thinking, Feathertail shook her head.

“These kits are more precious than you could possibly know,” she mewed softly. “Cats will speak of them for many seasons to come. They must stay in ThunderClan, for all the Clans’ sakes, with a mother and father who can be proud of them, who can share them with their Clanmates to be raised as strong, loyal warriors.”

Leafpool opened her mouth to protest that this was impossible, her Clanmates would never accept Crowfeather as their father, and might reject her too, knowing that their medicine cat had destroyed the code. But Feathertail was looking at Squirrelflight.

“I know how much Leafpool loves these kits,” she murmured. “But you must be their mother and raise them in ThunderClan with your head held high.”

Squirrelflight stared at the starlit she-cat. “How can you do this?” she whispered. “You are asking me to lie to every cat I love.”

Feathertail ran her paw very lightly over the backs of the sleeping kits. “Because I love these kits as much as you do. They are Crowfeather’s: How could I not? I want them to have the best life, not one lived outside the Clans, in shame and exile.”

“Do you wish they were yours?” Squirrelflight whispered.

The silver cat blinked without looking up. “That was never meant to be. The destiny of these kits begins now, and you have the power to change everything, Squirrelflight. Please believe me when I say that Leafpool’s kits must stay in ThunderClan.”

She began to fade until the bark of the hollow tree could be seen behind her. Squirrelflight gazed at Leafpool, and the medicine cat saw water glistening in her sister’s eyes. “Feathertail was right,” Squirrelflight whispered. “I do love these kits, and I want them to have the best life they can—whatever lies ahead for them.” She took a deep breath. “I will raise them as mine and Brambleclaw’s, as true cats of ThunderClan.”

Leafpool closed her eyes. It is the best for my babies, she told herself. “Thank you,” she murmured.

At that moment the golden tabby wriggled and started mewling. Leafpool nudged him toward her belly but he didn’t seem interested in feeding; he just wanted to test his voice. His sister burrowed deeper into Leafpool’s fur with a squeak, while the pale gray tom raised his head, eyes still tightly shut, as if he was trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.

“I need to give them names,” Leafpool purred, marveling at the way these tiny cats already seemed so different, so strong and full of life. She studied the golden tom. His neck was ringed with thick fluff, and his mouth opened wide to reveal thorn-prick white teeth. “He looks like a lion!” she commented. “I think I’ll call him Lionkit.”

Squirrelflight nodded. “The she-cat is as dark as holly bark. Maybe Hollykit for her?”

Leafpool hesitated. My daughter is the image of Crowfeather. Shouldn’t she be named after her father, even if he never knows the truth?

Her sister was watching her closely. “Leafpool,” she mewed, as gently as the snow falling outside. “I am going to raise these kits as my own. Surely I should have a say in their names?”

Leafpool felt a pain inside her belly that was sharper than birth pangs. My precious kits! A few snowflakes drifted down through the hollow tree and settled on Lionkit’s fur. Leafpool battled the urge to cover the kits with her body, protect them from snow, rain, hail, badgers, foxes, anything that might harm one hair on their pelts. Then the scent of Feathertail drifted around her, and she knew their path had already been chosen. Whatever she felt, however many regrets the future held, the only thing that mattered was creating the best life for these three perfect babies.

Squirrelflight pressed her muzzle against Leafpool’s shoulder. “ThunderClan needs you to be their medicine cat,” she mewed. “I will love these kits as if they were my own. I already do! I will never take them from the Clan, you will see them all the time, and they will know you are my kin so they will always be close to you. Remember what Feathertail said: These kits deserve parents who can be proud of them, who can raise them among their Clanmates as fine warriors. Brambleclaw and I can do that. And the secret of their birth will die with me, I promise.”

But I am their mother! Leafpool wailed silently. In her heart, she knew Squirrelflight was right. She could not raise these kits, their mother a medicine cat, their father a WindClan warrior who seemed to have found a new mate already.

“Hollykit is a good name,” she mewed numbly.