Suddenly he halted. “The prophecy!” he burst out.

Lionblaze, who had padded on a few paw steps, stopped. “How can you think about that now?”

“But don’t you see?” Jayfeather clawed at the grass. “What happens to the prophecy if Hollyleaf is dead? It said there would be three cats, and now there are only two!”

Jayfeather stretched his cramped limbs and turned his face up to the first feeble rays of the sun. All night his Clanmates had kept vigil for Hollyleaf, even though there was no body to be buried. Cats were beginning to stir around him, and a few fox-lengths away he could hear Brambleclaw quietly calling together the dawn patrol.

A full day and night had passed since the Gathering and the death of Hollyleaf in the tunnels. The day before, Firestar had addressed the shattered ThunderClan from the Highledge.

“Last night Hollyleaf revealed secrets that shocked us all,” he meowed. “But that prey is eaten. There can be no going back. Instead we must find the way forward, for all of us.”

“What about the other Clans?” Dustpelt called out. “They all know what happened, thanks to Hollyleaf.”

“Maybe Hollyleaf should not have spoken out,” Firestar admitted. “But she has paid terribly. As for the other Clans—they think we are broken. It’s up to us to show them that we are not. ThunderClan will survive!”

Yowls of agreement rose from the listening cats; Jayfeather could feel their shock and distress giving way to a new sense of purpose.

Now he rose, gave himself a long stretch, and sat down to groom his pelt, craning his neck to reach over to the fur on his back. After a few moments he became aware of movement outside the nursery as several of his Clanmates gathered there; he padded across to find out what was going on.

“It’s Whitewing’s kits,” Lionblaze told him. “It’s the first time they’ve left the nursery.”

“Their eyes are open!” Whitewing was announcing delightedly as Jayfeather and his brother approached. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

A loud squeaking and the patter of tiny paws drew closer and then stopped. Jayfeather felt a powerful curiosity trained on him.

“Hello, little kits,” Lionblaze murmured. “Welcome to ThunderClan.”

“This one has such fluffy gray fur,” Sandstorm commented. “And the little one’s tabby-and-white pelt is so pretty. Have you given them names yet?”

“Yes.” It was Birchfall who replied, sounding ready to burst with pride. “We’ve called the gray one Dovekit, and the tabby-and-white one is Ivykit.”

“Those are beautiful names,” Brightheart purred.

The ginger-and-white she-cat was sitting close by, with Cloudtail beside her, watching their daughter’s kits; Jayfeather could feel their happiness at seeing all their kin healthy and strong. It was brighter than the sun just breaking over the trees at the top of the hollow.

Another scent wafted past him as Firestar bounded up. “This is good to see,” the Clan leader meowed. “They’ll be apprentices before we know it.”

Jayfeather suddenly felt a jolt in his belly like a blow from some cat’s paw. He clawed at Lionblaze. “The prophecy…” he whispered.