Jayfeather massaged her belly, while Half Moon stroked her head. “Breathe deeply,” she encouraged her. “It’ll be over soon.”

As she spoke, a second kit slid out; Jayfeather trapped it gently between his forepaws and placed it beside its littermate. “Another tom,” he meowed. “And the next one’s right behind it.”

As Shy Fawn strained to bring her next kit into the world, Jayfeather heard jubilant yowls from outside the cave and turned his head to see the hunting patrol jostling through the entrance. Stone Song was carrying a vole, while Jagged Lightning was dragging an enormous snow-white hare.

“It worked!” Fish Leap bounded into the middle of the cavern. “A hawk swooped down on us, but it took one look at our claws and flew away again.”

“We should be able to work out a way to catch birds,” Dove’s Wing meowed. “An eagle would feed all of us for days!”

Then the hunting patrol fell silent as they realized what was going on. Stone Song dropped his vole and raced across the cavern to Shy Fawn. “Her kits are here!” he exclaimed. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” Jayfeather replied. Shy Fawn’s third kit—a little she-cat—had made her appearance. Looking down at the exhausted mother cat, he had his doubts about what he had just said, but he wasn’t going to voice them. Shy Fawn had been hungry and worn out by the journey before she ever got here, grieving for her mate, and life in the cavern still looked pretty bleak. But at least the hunting had been successful.

“Bring her something to eat,” he directed. “And when it’s ready, that hare’s pelt would be good to keep the kits warm.”

By now Shy Fawn’s three kits were beginning to squeak and wriggle. She guided them toward her teats, but Jayfeather fended them off with one forepaw while he ran the other over her belly.

“You’re not finished yet,” he told her. “There’s another kit in there.”

Shy Fawn made one last effort, letting out a high-pitched screech. The final kit slithered out and lay motionless on the cave floor.

“There!” Half Moon exclaimed. “Well done!”

Shy Fawn collapsed, exhausted, and Half Moon guided the kits into the curve of her belly. Each of them latched on to a teat, and their high-pitched complaints died away into silence as they began to suckle.

Jayfeather felt the fourth kit gently with one paw; it was another tom, this time with a golden tabby pelt, and though he was so small, he looked compact and strong. But he still didn’t move.

“Is he dead?” Half Moon whispered.

Jayfeather thought he could detect the feeble flutter of a heartbeat, but the kit didn’t seem to be breathing. “He’s not dead,” he replied. “And I’m not going to let him give up that easily!”

He pawed a little mucus out of the kit’s mouth, then began licking him vigorously, thrusting the fur the wrong way to warm the kit up and start his body working. Shy Fawn raised her head and watched anxiously. Suddenly the tiny kit convulsed between Jayfeather’s paws. He took a gulp of air and let out a loud yowl straight at Jayfeather, who stared at the familiar golden pelt and the set of the shoulders, and marveled at the strength in the tiny body.