“From this moment, you will be known as Tigerclaw. ThunderClan honors your courage and your skill at fighting, and we welcome you as a warrior. May StarClan light your path, always.” Sunstar bowed his head to the dark tabby tom and stepped back. His paws left sharp black prints on the light dusting of snow, and his fur was speckled with white flakes.

“Tigerclaw! Whitestorm!” yowled the Clan.

Tigerclaw lifted his head and stared around at his Clanmates as they filled the ravine with the names of the new warriors. Beside him, Whitestorm’s eyes shone.

“Snowfur would be so proud of him,” Spottedpaw heard Bluefur meow.

“Not so many moons until you’ll be watching your own kits become warriors,” commented Poppydawn with a pointed glance at Bluefur’s rounded belly, clearly visible under her thick fur.

“But will we know who the father is by then?” whispered Rosetail.

“Surely it’s Thrushpelt?” hissed Fuzzypelt.

“I can’t see who else it would be,” Rosetail agreed, keeping her voice low. “But do you ever see the two of them together?”

Spottedpaw looked across the clearing at her former mentor. She knew he had always been fond of Bluefur, enough that she thought they might become mates. Spottedpaw felt a pang of regret that she had denied Thrushpelt the chance to watch her become a warrior. He had been a good mentor. But it would be a long time before Spottedpaw received her medicine cat name. There was so much to learn from Featherwhisker, more than could be fitted into six moons, or even a lifetime.

Her fur tingled, and she knew Thistleclaw was watching her. She stiffened, refusing to meet his gaze. Every cat knew he planned to become deputy after Tawnyspots. The gray tabby tom was well liked but it was no secret that he was becoming too frail to succeed Sunstar as leader. He would retire to the elders’ den and Sunstar would choose another deputy before reaching his ninth life. Thistleclaw was the obvious choice, and he had already started to organize the patrols when Tawnyspots was too weak to leave his nest.

Only Spottedpaw knew what kind of leader Thistleclaw would be once he had clawed his way to power. Her heart had not turned to stone, however. It still hurt to look at him, especially when she glimpsed him being gentle or playful, and she recalled the cat she had once loved. But she had made her choice, and there was no turning back. My heart is no longer foolish, she told herself.

Paw steps crunched over the snow behind her, and Featherwhisker murmured, “Time to get back to the den, Spottedpaw. I’d like you to empty the store completely so we can see what herbs we have to last us until the end of leaf-bare.”

Shivering, Spottedpaw followed her mentor through the frost-nipped ferns. Every day seemed colder than the last, and the sky was a dull shade of yellow, promising more snow.

“Kits are always welcome,” Featherwhisker meowed as they settled down in the shelter of the cave. “But great StarClan, couldn’t White-eye and Bluefur have waited until newleaf? I don’t know if I have enough milk thistle for another nursing queen.”

White-eye had kitted two moons ago, when the days were still warmed by a generous leaf-fall sun. Mousekit and Runningkit had grown quickly, and were strong enough to see through the cold weather now. But Bluefur’s kits would face a much tougher fight, and Spottedpaw had been gathering feathers from every bird on the fresh-kill pile to line the nest in the nursery.

“Don’t worry, they’ll have the whole Clan looking after them when they arrive,” Featherwhisker purred as if he could see into Spottedpaw’s thoughts. “ThunderClan never gives up its kits easily.”

“Get your paws off!” Bluefur hissed as her belly rippled under Spottedpaw’s forelegs.

Spottedpaw sprang back as if she had been bitten, almost colliding with Featherwhisker, who was crouched just behind her.

“Sorry,” Bluefur grunted. “I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”

“Did I hurt you?” Spottedpaw mewed.

Featherwhisker touched her flank with the tip of his tail. “No. Queens can be a bit crabby when kitting.” He glanced sideways at Bluefur. “Some are crabbier than others.”

“You’d be crabby if you’d been kitting since dawn!” Bluefur retorted, then winced as another spasm wracked her body.

“Is she all right?” White-eye called anxiously from the other side of the nursery.

“She’s fine,” Spottedpaw replied. Though it would be easier if there weren’t so many cats in here! Mousekit and Runningkit were staring huge-eyed from their nest, as if they couldn’t believe they had joined the Clan the same way. Spottedpaw tried to shift in front of them so that Bluefur had more privacy.

“Here comes the first one,” Featherwhisker announced from beside Bluefur’s tail. “Spottedpaw, when it arrives, nip the kitting-sac with your teeth to release it.”

A dark wet shape slithered onto the feathers and Spottedpaw craned her neck to break the delicate sac and release a tiny muzzle, already gulping for air.

“A tom!” Featherwhisker meowed.

Bluefur tried to sit up. “Is he okay?” she mewed weakly.

The little shape beside Spottedpaw’s nose lay ominously still.

“Quick, Spottedpaw!” Featherwhisker ordered. “Lick him fiercely!”

Spottedpaw ran her tongue over the tiny creature as if she could pummel life into him.

“Is he breathing?” Bluefur wailed.

“He is now,” Featherwhisker meowed. He nuzzled the kit into Bluefur’s belly.

Bluefur curled around him and licked his head. “He’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“He truly is,” Spottedpaw agreed, marveling at the miniature perfection of Bluefur’s son.

There was another ripple across Bluefur’s belly, and one more shape slid into the nest.

“A she-kit,” Featherwhisker announced as he pushed the little cat to join her brother. He ran his paw over Bluefur’s flank. “One more, I think.”

Bluefur’s eyes rolled with exhaustion. Spottedpaw bent down to her head. “You can do it!” she whispered. “You’re being incredible!” She held Bluefur’s gaze as the she-cat strained once more. “That’s it!”

“Well done!” Featherwhisker cried. “Another she-kit! And all three look healthy and strong.”

“You did it!” Spottedpaw mewed softly into Bluefur’s ear. “Three perfect ThunderClan warriors! Or medicine cats,” she added, earning a faint purr of amusement from the worn-out queen.

There was a rustle of branches and a sandy-gray head appeared through the wall of the nursery. “How is she?” Thrushpelt called.

“Bluefur’s fine,” Featherwhisker told him. “She had three healthy kits. Two she-kits and a tom.”

Thrushpelt clambered into the den and crouched down to rub his muzzle on Bluefur’s ears. Spottedpaw wriggled back to let them speak alone. It looked like the she-cats of ThunderClan were right: Thrushpelt was the father of these kits. Yet they had never been affectionate in front of other cats the way that White-eye and Halftail or Robinwing and Patchpelt were.

“What are you going to call them?” White-eye asked, scrambling out of her nest to peer at the tiny bundles.

“The dark gray she-kit will be Mistykit,” Bluefur purred. “And the gray tom, Stonekit.”

“What about this one?” mewed Thrushpelt, touching the tiny gray-and-white kit with the tip of his tail.

“Mosskit,” Bluefur meowed firmly.

Featherwhisker twitched his ears. “So you’re not letting the father decide on any of the names?” he purred playfully. “You always were determined, Bluefur.”

There was a light in his eyes beyond mere teasing, however. Spottedpaw felt her fur begin to tingle. Did Featherwhisker suspect that Bluefur was hiding something about these kits? Could there be a chance that Thrushpelt wasn’t their father? But if not, who could it be? Which warrior in ThunderClan would want to keep a secret like that?

Spottedpaw forced her mind to stop chasing after wild imaginings. Right at this moment, nothing mattered more than these three perfect new Clanmates. She gazed down at them, feeling warm to the tips of her toes. I will protect you with my life, she vowed silently. Whatever happens, I will be your medicine cat. It will be an honor to serve you.

She let out a long purr. Being a medicine cat was better than she had ever imagined!