“Hi, Jayfeather,” the tortoiseshell warrior meowed. “You didn’t need to come. I’m fine.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Jayfeather muttered.
Sorreltail’s voice sounded tired, and as Jayfeather sniffed at her he picked up her feelings of anxiety and exhaustion. “You’re trying to do too much,” he told her. “You’re less than half a moon from giving birth, and keeping up with your warrior duties is wearing you out.”
“But last time—” Sorreltail began.
“Like it or not, you’re older than the last time you had kits,” Jayfeather pointed out. “You need to slow down to give yourself a chance to stay in good health. Birth is a very difficult time.”
Sorreltail sighed. “I know.”
As both cats fell silent, Jayfeather felt her flank shudder beneath his forepaw, and he was plunged into a terrible whirlpool of memory. He felt Sorreltail’s agony as she gave birth; he shared her horror as the badger forced its way into the nursery. He saw Cinderpelt leap bravely to protect Sorreltail and heard her shriek cut off abruptly as the huge creature clamped its jaws on her neck and shook her. In the same heartbeat he heard the thin wail of a tiny gray kit, born as the medicine cat gave up her life.
Jayfeather shivered.
He started, jerked out of the memory, as he realized that Sorreltail was speaking again, her voice low and weary.
“I know you’re right,” she mewed. “These kits need to have the best possible start. And if that means sitting around for this last half-moon… well, so be it!”
“Thank you, Sorreltail,” Jayfeather replied. “You’ve made the right decision.”
“Come on, then, Sorreltail,” Daisy mewed, bustling forward and nudging the tortoiseshell warrior to her paws. “Ferncloud and I have made you a really comfortable nest in the nursery.”
Jayfeather’s anxieties faded as he edged his way out of the warriors’ den.
Back in the clearing, Jayfeather listened for Cinderheart’s pawsteps, wondering whether this was the right time to speak to her.
His ears twitched as he heard paw steps padding toward him, but the scent that he picked up was Birchfall’s. “Are you busy right now?” he asked.
“No,” the tabby tom replied. “Do you want something?”
“Yes—Cinderheart,” Jayfeather replied. “If you see her, would you tell her I want a word with her?”
“Sure.” Birchfall padded off.
Jayfeather headed for the warriors’ den, but when he paused to taste the air there was no trace of Cinderheart among the mingled scents. He stood lashing his tail with frustration.
Then a voice spoke close to his ear. “Are you looking for Cinderheart?”
Jayfeather stiffened as Leafpool’s scent washed over him.
“Yes,” he replied warily. “Have you seen her?”
“Yes, but I need to speak to you first.”
Jayfeather hesitated, unwilling to discuss Cinderheart—or anything else—with his mother. But he could sense Leafpool’s determination, and knew he wouldn’t be able to put her off. “Okay,” he sighed. “Go ahead.”
“Not here,” Leafpool meowed. “Let’s go into the forest. I don’t think that what I have to say should be overheard.”
Suppressing a sigh, Jayfeather followed her out of the forest and into the camp. As he padded beside her, he felt the usual sense of disbelief that Leafpool was his mother. Sometimes she felt more like a stranger to him than a cat from another Clan.
Leafpool halted beneath a broad tree with noisy, rustling leaves; Jayfeather could hear the trickle of water close by. “So?” he demanded.
“I had a dream last night,” Leafpool murmured; Jayfeather had to lean close to hear her. “Spottedleaf came to me, and told me that Yellowfang wants to tell Cinderheart about… about who she was before. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Jayfeather replied.
“Well, she can’t!” Leafpool burst out; Jayfeather winced at the lightning bolt of her emotions. “Cinderheart has been given the chance to live a different life, as a warrior and as a mother. If you tell her about her previous life, you will rob her of that chance.”
Jayfeather could hear Leafpool tearing at the grass with her claws. He tried to interrupt her, but she ignored him.