Pineheart strode through the gorse tunnel and carried the dead squirrel across the clearing. Around him, the trees clattered their empty leaf-bare branches, and a cold wind lifted the fur along his spine. But there were tiny green buds appearing on the trees, and the mornings no longer dawned with frost that made clouds of the cats’ breath as they set out on patrol.

Pineheart thought he would never be happier to see the end of leaf-bare. He had been forced to watch his Clanmates starve around him as first floods then snow destroyed what little prey there was. Goosefeather’s idea of burying fresh-kill to preserve it had failed dismally when rain turned the clearing to mud and rotted the food before the cats could take a single mouthful. As the deputy of ThunderClan, Pineheart had felt painfully helpless, and as terrified as a kit.

Now Pineheart was aware of cats watching him and murmuring, the voices growing louder as the rest of his patrol entered the camp laden with prey. Look! Feast your eyes, then your bellies! Pineheart thought, unable to speak with his jaws full of fresh-kill. The hungry moons have passed!

He heard Larksong warning her kits to take tiny mouthfuls. “Don’t rush, or you’ll give yourself bellyache. Flamenose caught this squirrel just for you! You must thank your father when you have finished eating.”

Cloudberry took a piece of prey over to Mistpelt. “Your belly has been empty for so long, too much food will make you ill,” the medicine cat told the only surviving elder. “Why don’t we share this mouse that Mumblefoot brought?”

Mistpelt grunted in agreement, and Pineheart felt a pang of sorrow for his former mentor. She had watched her denmate Nettlebreeze starve to death, along with many others in the long, harsh leaf-bare. Pineheart knew his bones stuck out as much as his Clanmates’, and all the cats had added more moss to their nests because lying down was so uncomfortable.

But the weather had turned at last. The snow was melting so fast that every tree in the forest dripped like rainclouds. The air felt warmer, and there was a faint scent of greenness in the brittle undergrowth. Today was the first properly successful hunting patrol Pineheart had led since the previous leaf-fall, with every cat making a catch. The fresh-kill pile had returned, and he listened to his Clanmates’ paws squelching in the mud as they crowded around to take their share.

Pineheart didn’t add his squirrel to the pile. Instead he carried it straight to Highrock and brushed past the brambles to duck inside the leader’s den. He may have grown scrawny, but he was still one of the tallest cats in ThunderClan, and his ears brushed the roof of Doestar’s cave.

“Fresh squirrel, just for you!” he declared, setting it down in front of the cream-and-white she-cat. Curled in her nest, she blinked at him with clouded, unfocused eyes.

Cloudberry’s apprentice, Goosefeather, stood up. “Look what Pineheart brought!” he meowed. He nudged Doestar with one paw. “Come on, don’t you want to try it?”

Doestar turned her head away. “Put it on the fresh-kill pile,” she rasped.

Pineheart crouched beside her. “There is plenty of food to feed the Clan,” he told her. “I caught this for you.”

The leader shifted so that she was looking up at Pineheart. “The fresh-kill pile is full?”

Pineheart nodded. “Every cat on my patrol caught something. New-leaf is here, Doestar! Everything is going to be okay.” He pushed the squirrel closer and Doestar bent to take a bite. Goosefeather met Pineheart’s gaze over the leader’s head, and nodded in satisfaction.

Pineheart left Doestar eating and backed out of the cave. In the clearing, his Clanmates had gathered in little groups to share the fresh-kill. The pile had vanished, but Pineheart forced down the jolt of alarm in his belly. We will catch more tomorrow, he told himself. And the day after, and the day after that. ThunderClan does not have to starve anymore.

Mumblefoot padded alongside him and brushed his tail against Pineheart’s flank. “We did well today,” the old warrior murmured. “Thank StarClan that they have spared us.”

“Not all of us,” Pineheart mewed, looking through the leafless branches to the mounds of earth halfway up the ravine, beyond the walls of the camp. As well as Nettlebreeze, they had lost Harepounce, Stagleap, Hollypelt, and Flashnose; all starved to death in the bitter rains and endless, preyless leaf-bare moons.

A scuffle beside the apprentices’ den dragged Pineheart back to the present. Rabbitpaw and Moonpaw were squabbling over the ears of a rabbit. Pineheart trotted over and placed his paw on the contested scraps. Before the great hunger, prey ears would have been buried in the dirtplace or used as playthings for kits. Long moons of starvation had turned them into highly prized treats.

“Two ears, two of you,” he declared, pushing a scrap of skin and fur toward each apprentice. “And we are not starving anymore. There is plenty for every cat!”

The young cats blinked up at him, a faint spark of hope in their eyes. Moonpaw’s silver-gray pelt hung loosely over her ribs, and her tail was dirty and matted.

“No chores for the rest of the day,” Pineheart announced. “Stay here and clean yourselves up. We are warriors of ThunderClan, not homeless rogues.”

As he turned away, he saw Cloudberry watching him. The medicine cat was so frail that Pineheart could hardly believe she had survived the hunger. Somehow she had clung to life, eating bark and dry leaves with the rest of the Clan when prey had vanished altogether. And here she was, still caring for them all, still fussing over her Clanmates as if they were her kits.

Pineheart stopped alongside the medicine cat. “Is Doestar all right?” he asked quietly.

Cloudberry blinked. “She is weak, like all of us.”

“That’s not an answer,” Pineheart meowed. “I’m her deputy. I need to know if she is going to lose a life.”

Cloudberry sighed. “This is her last life, and she knows it. She refuses to tell me how she is feeling, but I think she is more ill than any cat realizes. Prepare to say good-bye, Pineheart. StarClan will gather her to them soon.”

Pineheart stared at the cat in alarm. “Her last life already? I… I had lost count.” He shook his head miserably. “She can’t leave us! I still have so much to learn before I become leader.”

“You’ll be fine,” Cloudberry meowed. “You are a brave and skillful warrior, just like your father was. ThunderClan deserves to be led by a cat like you.” She touched Pineheart’s flank with the tip of her tail. “Have faith.”

She limped away, her tail dragging in the mud. Pineheart headed back to the den below Highrock. Grief weighed in his belly like a stone, and he fought down the wave of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t become leader yet! It was too soon!

Doestar was dozing, but she stirred when Pineheart settled down beside her. “Pineheart?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” Pineheart replied. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Ah, no,” sighed Doestar. She wriggled deeper into her nest, which was lined with glossy black rook feathers. “Deerpaw was here just now. Did you see her?”

Pineheart froze. Deerpaw was Doestar’s littermate, who had died during her apprenticeship. Had she come to take her sister to StarClan? “I don’t see her now,” he mewed carefully.

“Good,” Doestar grunted. “She was bugging me to go somewhere, but I don’t feel like leaving my nest today. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go with her.”

Please don’t! Pineheart thought. I’m not ready to become leader! Stay until the Clan is fit and strong again!

“The apprentices hunted well today,” he meowed, changing the subject. “Heronpaw caught a pigeon all by himself.”

Doestar let out a creaky purr. “He was always fast, even as a kit.”

Pineheart felt a flash of relief that his leader had returned to the present.

“I shall make them all warriors tomorrow,” Doestar announced abruptly. “They have served their Clan well through the hungry moons, and we all deserve to celebrate our survival.” She sat up, her eyes clearer now, looking more like her old self.

Pineheart dipped his head. “That’s an excellent idea,” he purred.

The she-cat reached out and rested her paw on Pineheart’s foreleg. “I am so pleased that you will take care of ThunderClan after me,” she mewed. “It was an honor to serve your father, and I am only sorry that I won’t be here to watch you lead the Clan as well.”

“But that won’t be for a long time…” Pineheart started to object, but Doestar silenced him by gently pricking his leg with her claws.

“We’ve known each other too long to tell lies now,” she meowed. “I have reached my ninth life sooner than I expected, but ThunderClan will be safe with you. All of the Clans suffered this leaf-bare, but this only means they will want to prove their strength as soon as the warm weather returns. You must guard the borders fiercely, do you understand? Especially Sunningrocks. Your father never trusted RiverClan, remember.” Her eyes blazed in the dusky light.

“I promise we will not lose Sunningrocks,” Pineheart told her. “ThunderClan will be as strong as it ever was, even if we have to fight all of our enemies in turn to prove it.” His heart started to pound and he unsheathed his claws into the hard earth floor of the den as he imagined leading his Clanmates into battle to defend their territory and their honor.

Suddenly he realized that Doestar had slumped down into her nest, and her breath was coming in ragged gasps. “Doestar? Doestar, are you okay?” The she-cat stirred but didn’t sit up.

Cloudberry entered the den behind Pineheart. She was carrying a bundle of soaked moss, which she set down beside the leader’s nest. “She’s okay, just tired,” the medicine cat mewed. “Leave her be, now.”

Pineheart backed out of the den, unable to take his eyes from Doestar. Please don’t leave me yet! ThunderClan still needs you!