Pinestar padded through the bracken, ignoring a brittle frond that tickled his ear. He had taken to pushing through the thickest undergrowth on his way to and from Twolegplace, avoiding the tiny paths where he might encounter a border or hunting patrol. A quarter moon ago, Lionpaw had seen him talking to Jake’s housefolk and Pinestar had lied to explain himself, telling the apprentice that he had only pretended to befriend the Twoleg in order to find out more about the kittypets.

Pinestar’s fur prickled. He couldn’t let his Clanmates find out about his friends outside the territory. They would never understand that it was cats like Jake and Shanty who kept him calm and focused, who listened to fears he couldn’t share with his warriors.

Today, Shanty had reassured him that he was doing the right thing by holding back from yet another attack on RiverClan, even though the mangy fish-eaters had set their border marks around Sunningrocks again. Pinestar knew his warriors were unhappy, and were waiting for him to give the command to attack their neighbors. Shanty had agreed that he couldn’t risk injuries or death so close to leaf-fall, when the warriors should be concentrating on hunting and building up their strength for the cold weather. She shrugged off Pinestar’s fear that his Clanmates thought he was too fox-hearted to defend their territory.

“They must know you are only trying to protect them from getting hurt,” she mewed impatiently.

The only thing he hadn’t confided to the kittypets was Doestar’s warning about his unborn kit. That was something Pinestar couldn’t begin to deal with until his son had arrived.

He was sitting beside the fresh-kill pile with Patchpelt when Sunfall’s border patrol returned. To Pinestar’s relief, none of his warriors bore any signs of a skirmish. His fur pricked when he saw Bluefur studying him intently, as if she was trying to detect traces of Twolegplace on him.

Suddenly Featherwhisker appeared from the nursery. The medicine cat’s silver fur was ruffled and his eyes were wide with alarm. “Leopardfoot’s kits are coming!” he announced.

“So early?” Swiftbreeze gasped. “They’re not due for half a moon!”

“Is she okay?” Patchpelt called.

Featherwhisker ignored them. “Pinestar!” he meowed. “Will you stay with her while I fetch supplies?”

Pinestar stared at him in dismay. No! This can’t be happening! I’m not ready! “I think it’s best if I leave it to you and Goosefeather,” he mewed, his pelt burning under the gazes of Bluefur and Swiftbreeze, who were looking at him as if he’d grown an extra head.

“I’ll sit with her!” huffed Swiftbreeze, pushing her way into the nursery.

Pinestar sagged with relief. Leopardfoot would be much better off with her mother to care for her. But his respite was short-lived. Behind him, Goosefeather had started sifting through the fresh-kill pile, scowling and muttering to himself. Pinestar’s heart started to pound. Was he looking for omens to mark the birth of the new kits?

The day dragged on. Goosefeather stopped fiddling with the fresh-kill pile and limped out of the camp. Patrols returned and excitement spread through the Clan about the kits. Featherwhisker sent Bluefur for herbs, and the waiting cats tensed as if braced for bad news. But nothing came from the nursery, only the sound of Leopardfoot groaning and soft murmurs of encouragement from Featherwhisker and Swiftbreeze. Pinestar looked impatiently at his gathered warriors, who were acting as if a tree was about to come crashing down on their heads. Kits were born all the time! Why was today any different?

“We must eat,” he told them. “Starving ourselves won’t make these kits come any quicker.”

He caught Bluefur glaring at him and turned away. Too wound up to eat, he stalked past the fresh-kill pile and headed into his den beneath Highrock. He knew his Clanmates were judging him for being cold and uncaring toward the mother of his kits. But nothing would make him share Doestar’s warning. How could he possibly tell them that his own son was going to be the greatest threat the Clan would ever face?

Outside, he heard excited voices. Then Bluefur announced, “Two she-cats and a tom.”

He is here. The cat that will destroy us all.

In the midst of his Clan, which had just swelled by three, Pinestar had never felt more frightened or more alone.

The night was starless and unseen brambles clutched at his paws as Pinestar ran blindly through the forest. He knew he should be with Leopardfoot, with their newborn kits, watching over them as proudly and fiercely as Oakstar had once watched over him. But how could he?

These kits should never have been born!

Even as the thought slipped through his mind, Pinestar recoiled in horror. He had stared across the clearing at the nursery as dusk fell, the simple clump of tightly woven brambles changed by shadows into a dark and thorn-pierced trap. His paws had refused to carry him one step closer, as if he had turned to stone where he sat. Gradually the clearing emptied and the camp fell silent as his Clanmates settled down to sleep. Pinestar stood up, stretching out each stiff limb, then headed toward the gorse. Guilt and shame dragged at his pelt. But he would not, could not, enter the nursery.

There was only one place he could find comfort now, far from the Clans, far from the weight of the terrible prophecy about his own son. He leaped over the wooden fence and streaked along the hard stone paths. A couple of kittypets sprang out of his way with angry hisses, but Pinestar ignored them. He raced around the corner of a Twoleg den and skidded to a halt at the edge of the little Thunderpath.

Shanty was sitting on the other side, talking to a fat gray tom. She jumped up when she saw Pinestar, her fur bristling.

“What are you doing here at this time? Is everything all right?”

Beside her, the gray tom slipped into the shadows and disappeared.

“Leopardfoot’s kits have come!” Pinestar called.

He saw Shanty’s eyes widen. “That’s… that’s good news, isn’t it?”

“No,” meowed Pinestar. “It is the end of my Clan.” All his sorrow, all his self-loathing, all his fears came crashing down on him, and he sank to the ground with a moan.

Shanty gasped and sprang toward him. At that moment, a pair of glaring white eyes appeared at the end of the Thunderpath. With a roar, the monster launched itself toward the little brown cat. She stopped dead in the middle of the Thunderpath, frozen in horror.

“Shanty!” Pinestar yowled. He threw himself toward her, his paws skidding on the black stone. He was less than a mouse-length from her when the monster struck them both, slamming Pinestar so hard that he flew into the air and tumbled over and over before he crashed to the ground with a thud.

Suddenly his eyes were dazzled by silver light and he felt cats close around him, sniffing his pelt, urging him to lie still, promising that all would be well. Pinestar had been here before. He was losing another life. He let his body sink into the ground, felt the searing pain ebb out of his muscles, and waited for his mind to clear.

A cat leaned over him, musty breath warm against his ear. “The time to choose is near, Pinestar,” rasped an ancient voice. “Only you can decide.”

Thunderstar? Pinestar struggled to sit up and looked around. He was alone at the edge of the Thunderpath. The monster had gone and everywhere was silent. In the center of the Thunderpath, a small brown heap lay very still. Pinestar climbed stiffly to his paws, his pelt lifting in dismay.

“Shanty!” he whispered. He padded over to her, each paw carrying the weight of Sunningrocks. The little brown shape didn’t move. Pinestar pushed his muzzle into her fur, trying to feel a heartbeat or a stir of breath. “Shanty, wake up!” Surely the monster had hit him harder? The loss of his life didn’t matter, as long as Shanty had escaped. She can’t be dead! Not now, when I need her more than ever!

There was a thud from the Twoleg den behind the hedge, and a beam of light slanted through the dense leaves. Pinestar heard rapid paw steps and he looked up to see Shanty’s housefolk rush out, their mouths open wide. Pinestar backed away from Shanty’s body.

“I’m sorry,” he mewed. “I tried to save her but I was too slow.”

The female Twoleg dropped to her knees and bent over the dead cat. A howling sound rose into the air. The male Twoleg patted her and made gruff noises as he wiped at his face with a hairless brown paw. Pinestar felt his heart crack. He wanted to tell them that he shared their grief, that he had loved Shanty too, she had been his dearest friend, closer to him even than his Clanmates… But he knew that he couldn’t make them understand him, even though he felt the same pain as they did. They would sit vigil for Shanty tonight, not him.

The Twoleg walls blurred around him as Pinestar padded away.

He walked in the forest until dawn, then sat beneath a tree and watched the sun rise. A day that Shanty will not see. He felt hollow and cut loose, as if his paws weren’t quite touching the ground. He knew he wouldn’t find Shanty in StarClan, however much he dreamed. That was not where kittypets went at the end of their lives. Wherever you are, I hope you are warm and safe, and can see me. The thought that Shanty might have vanished into nothingness was too much for Pinestar to bear. He had felt alone before; now he felt as if he were teetering at the edge of a shadowy chasm, echoing with the yowls of dying cats. Shanty, I need you!

The air around him grew hotter, buzzing with the drone of insects. Pinestar knew he had to return to his Clan. He had to see Leopardfoot and his kits. He was their father, for StarClan’s sake! He could do nothing more for Shanty. But he still had responsibilities toward his Clanmates—and his kin.

He padded back to the ravine, pausing only to roll in ferns to disguise the Twolegplace scent on his pelt. His legs trembled from losing a life, and he wondered if Featherwhisker or Goosefeather would know that he was now on his last. It would be hard to explain how he had lost this one.

His heart sank lower as he followed the path down to the gorse tunnel. Ignoring the mutters as he entered the clearing, he headed for the nursery. Featherwhisker was just slipping through the branches.

“Can I see them?” Pinestar asked.

The medicine cat nodded and stepped aside. “The tom’s the weakest,” he warned.

A savage burst of hope flared in Pinestar’s chest. Perhaps StarClan will take him before the prophecy can come true.

Leopardfoot looked up as he entered. “You came,” she stated flatly. “I waited for you all night.”

Pinestar bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re all right.”

The queen bent over the tiny damp shapes squirming at her belly. “I won’t be all right until I know my babies are safe,” she murmured. “They’re so frail. I can’t even make them feed!” Her voice rose to a wail as she tried to nudge them closer to the milk that stained her fur.

Pinestar stepped forward and placed one paw on her shoulder. “Calm down,” he mewed. “You’ll frighten them.”

“I just want them to take some milk,” Leopardfoot whimpered.

“I’m sure they will,” Pinestar meowed. His heart was thudding so loud that he thought Leopardfoot would hear it. He peered down at the three little bodies. “Have… have you named them?”

Leopardfoot nodded. “The she-cats are Mistkit and Nightkit, and the tom is Tigerkit.” She touched each one with her nose as she spoke, moving with the tenderness of every queen that had ever nursed a kit.

Pinestar stared at the dark brown tom. His eyes were tight shut and his mouth opened and closed silently, too feeble even to mew. He looked smaller and more pitiful than a mouse on the fresh-kill pile. Did this kit really have the power to destroy ThunderClan? It was easier to imagine being threatened by a beetle.

Suddenly the kit opened his eyes and glared up at Pinestar. Amber fire blazed in the depths of his gaze, and for a moment he looked older and more terrifying than any cat Pinestar had seen before. He leaped backward and Leopardfoot let out a hiss.

“Careful, you’ll tread on them!”

“Tigerkit looked at me!” Pinestar stammered.

“Don’t be mouse-brained. They won’t open their eyes for days,” Leopardfoot snapped. She placed her tail protectively over her son, whose tiny eyes were tight shut once more. “I think you should go now.” She looked up at Pinestar. “Our kits are very sick. Pray to StarClan that they survive.”