And what are we going to say when Firestar asks us where we’ve been? He’ll claw us to pieces and toss us on the fresh-kill pile!

But as he staggered into the clearing, he heard a buzz of excitement rising from his Clanmates, who were clustered together near the nursery. No cat was paying any attention to Jayfeather or his littermates.

“What’s going on?” Lionblaze asked.

A sudden rush of paw steps answered him as Foxpaw raced up to them. “It’s Whitewing!” he burst out. “She’s having her kits.”

At the same moment, Jayfeather heard Brightheart calling from the nursery. “Jayfeather! Come quick—Leafpool needs you!”

Jayfeather stifled a sigh. He would far rather have crept into his nest to dry off his pelt and sleep. Instead he headed for the nursery, brushing past Birchfall, who was tearing up grass in his anxiety.

Inside, Daisy and Millie had drawn their own kits into their nests to give Whitewing and Leafpool space. The young white she-cat was lying on one side, her breath coming fast and shallow.

“You’re doing fine,” Leafpool reassured her. “And so are your kits. They’ll be born before you know it.”

“I hope so,” Whitewing panted.

Even though Leafpool sounded calm, Jayfeather could sense her fear. Leaning over, she whispered in his ear, “She’s exhausted. I’m afraid she won’t have enough strength left to deliver the kits.”

Jayfeather rested one paw lightly on Whitewing’s distended belly and concentrated. He could feel a double heartbeat inside her, frail but steady. “She’s having two kits,” he announced. “Come on, Whitewing! You can do it.”

It’s okay, little kits, he thought as he crouched over the laboring she-cat, murmuring encouragement. You’re nearly safe. Just a little farther.

Suddenly his mind slid into Whitewing’s. He heard a vicious snarling and saw a vision of gaping fangs and lolling tongues, as if the young white queen was imagining her kits savaged by dogs, just as her mother Brightheart had been. He heard the screech of battle with other Clans and saw blood welling in deep claw marks, scarlet against pale fur. He felt the grip of hunger in his belly as he looked out across a forest deep under the snow.

Jayfeather started back, his mind reeling. Does a mother really imagine her kits’ whole lives before they’re born? He sensed Whitewing’s terror as she lay silently begging him for help.

Recovering, he bent close to the young she-cat. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Your daughters will be fine. They will be loved and protected by their Clanmates.” He stroked one paw gently across Whitewing’s belly. “It’s time now.”

“Yes,” Whitewing gasped.

Jayfeather felt a strong ripple pass through her belly. She let out a screech, and a tiny wet bundle slithered out onto the moss.

“Is she all right?” Whitewing panted.

“She’s fine,” Jayfeather assured her. “Now the next one.”

Whitewing lay still for a moment; then her back arched as another ripple passed across her belly, and a second tiny bundle slid into the nest.