The blind medicine cat was slow to recover from the belly sickness. Alderheart was aware of him now, curled up in his nest, his eyes closed but his ears pricked as though he was listening to every word Alderheart and Velvet said.

It’s okay, Jayfeather, Alderheart thought. I’m not going to do anything you won’t approve of.

Paw steps outside the den distracted him, and a moment later Fuzzball, who slept in the apprentices’ den, bounced in through the bramble screen. He was carrying a vole in his jaws.

“Look, Jayfeather,” he meowed cheerfully, setting his prey down in front of Jayfeather’s nose. “The first hunting patrols are coming back, and I picked out this vole for you. Voles are your favorite, aren’t they? Come on, sit up now, and while you’re eating it, I’ll fluff up your nest so you can have a nice nap.”

While Fuzzball was chattering on, Jayfeather let out a long groan. He sat up, irritably shaking scraps of moss and fern from his pelt. “I’m cured,” he announced.

“Are you sure?” Alderheart asked, trying to hide his amusement. “I think your belly is still a bit tender. You might do better with another day of rest.”

“No, I’m completely cured,” Jayfeather insisted, shooting a glare at Alderheart before bending down to take hungry bites of the vole. “I’d better get back to my duties, and that means I can’t chat right now.”

“That’s great, Jayfeather!” Fuzzball exclaimed. “Now I can help you with medicine-cat stuff.”

“StarClan give me strength!” Jayfeather muttered through his teeth. “Alderheart, stop sitting there like a frozen rabbit and get over to the nursery. It’s only been three days since Ivypool had her kits, and you need to check on her.”

Like I haven’t been doing that, Alderheart thought, trying to stifle a slight feeling of resentment. I know he’s only saying that to get me away from Velvet.

But Alderheart knew he had no right to protest. Hauling himself to his paws, he dipped his head to the gray she-cat and headed out of the den. Behind him he heard Fuzzball’s excited squeak.

“Can we go into the forest and look for herbs, Jayfeather? Can we? I know I’ll find lots!”

When Alderheart reached the nursery, now securely patched after the damage from the storm, Ivypool was curled up with her three kits snuggled into her belly. Fernsong sat beside them, gazing down proudly at his litter.

“We’ve named them,” Ivypool told Alderheart. “The pale gray she-kit is Bristlekit, the dark gray she-cat is Thriftkit, and the little tabby tom is Flipkit.”

“They’re beautiful,” Alderheart purred, his resentment vanishing as the milky scent of the nursery flowed over him and he gave the three tiny bodies a quick check. “And they seem to be thriving,” he continued. “Are they feeding well?”