“Well done!” Leafpool exclaimed. “Greetings, little kits. Welcome to ThunderClan.”

The first kit squeaked loudly, and Leafpool uttered a soft mrrow of laughter. “This one’s tiny, but she’s strong. There, little ones, go to your mother.”

“They’re beautiful!” Whitewing purred. “Thank you, Jayfeather. And you, Leafpool.” With one paw, she drew the tiny kits toward her and started to lick them vigorously.

A wave of triumph swept through Jayfeather as he headed for the entrance to the nursery. “Birchfall!” he called. “Come and meet your daughters.”

Birchfall brushed past Jayfeather as he stumbled inside. Jayfeather almost staggered under the wave of his relief and joy. “Whitewing, are you okay?” he choked out. “Oh, thank StarClan! What beautiful kits!”

Crouching beside Leafpool as she tended to Whitewing, Jayfeather wondered whether she had felt the same when he and her other kits were born. Did our father share that joy?

More than anything, he wanted to talk to Leafpool, to hear her side of the story and learn the truth. In the closeness of working together, he felt for a few heartbeats that it might be possible. “Leafpool…,” he began.

Leafpool turned to him. “She’ll be fine now,” the medicine cat meowed, cutting off what Jayfeather meant to say. “Go and fetch me some strengthening herbs, and a few leaves of borage to help her milk come.”

The moment was gone. “Sure,” Jayfeather replied, and slipped out of the nursery.

By the time he had delivered the herbs, the rain was easing off. Jayfeather padded over to the fresh-kill pile for a bite to eat before he went back to his den. Several cats were clustered around it, sharing prey; their delight washed over Jayfeather as he crouched to gulp down his vole.

“It’s hard to give birth to kits in leaf-bare,” Ferncloud mewed. “Whitewing has done really well.”

“She’ll raise them well, too.” That was Mousefur, sounding less crotchety than usual. “Whitewing is one of the best cats in this Clan. When she was an apprentice she always made sure we had fresh moss, and it was dry, too.”

“We’ll all have to watch our tails when these kits are old enough to leave the nursery.” Dustpelt’s voice held a hint of amusement. “They have your blood, Cloudtail, and we all know what a hard time you gave Firestar when you were a kit.”

Cloudtail snorted. “They’ll be fine warriors, Dustpelt, and I’ll claw any cat who says different.”

Jayfeather, who was eating his prey, paused for a heartbeat as Hollyleaf and Lionblaze padded up and sat down beside him, listening to the cheerful talk in silence. None of them wanted to join in, but Jayfeather sensed that all of them felt cut off from one another, too.

“I remember when you three were kits,” Brackenfur meowed; paw steps approached and the golden brown tabby flicked Jayfeather on the ear with his tail. “Chasing foxes! It’s a wonder any of you survived to be apprentices.”

“Yeah, right,” Jayfeather muttered. Suddenly the happiness of his Clanmates was more than he could bear. Without another word, even to his littermates, he swallowed the last mouthful of vole and headed for his den.