Pinestar dreamed he was back in the nursery, watching his kits nestle into their mother’s fur. The she-cats slept peacefully, but Tigerkit’s cold yellow eyes blinked open and he scowled up at Pinestar. He was growing now, faster and faster until he covered his sisters and Leopardfoot, filling the nest, filling the nursery, pressing Pinestar against the bramble walls. And now Pinestar’s paws were sinking into the moss—no, not moss, some kind of liquid, thick and red and lapping at his belly. Blood! The nursery was drowning in blood!

Pinestar scrabbled desperately at the brambles, trying to get out. Behind him, Tigerkit’s breath was hot on his neck, and he could hear his son growling from deep in his belly. The blood rose higher, splashing against Pinestar’s muzzle, pulling him down…

He was lying on icy stone, somewhere high up, with only the starlit sky above him. Silver-furred cats surrounded him, their faces obscured by mist. Pinestar tried to sit up but he was pressed down by invisible paws.

“Your son is evil!” hissed one of the cats; Pinestar couldn’t see which one because the fog was too thick.

“He’s only a kit!” Pinestar protested.

“He won’t be a kit forever!”

“Your Clan is in danger!”

“What can I do?” Pinestar wailed.

There was a moment of silence, when even the wind dropped. Then a voice murmured, “Kill him.”

Pinestar flinched in horror. “No!”

“Kill him.”

“Kill him.”

“Kill him! It is the only way to save your Clan!”

Pinestar flung off the unseen paws and leaped to his feet. “I cannot kill my own son!”

The mist and the mountaintop vanished. He was standing in his den, shreds of moss clinging to his fur, his flanks heaving. Goosefeather’s face appeared in the entrance.

“Having a bad dream, were you?” he rasped. His watery blue eyes seemed to look right through Pinestar and see into his mind.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pinestar mewed, shaking off the leaf dust and trying to tidy his nest.

“Oh, I think it does,” growled Goosefeather, taking a step into the den. “Sweetpaw is dead.”

Pinestar blinked. “But… but it’s been nearly a quarter-moon since she ate that mouse! Bluefur and Rosepaw got better ages ago!”

“And Sweetpaw didn’t,” Goosefeather snapped. “Another death, and your kits are still so weak…”

“They have nothing to do with Sweetpaw,” Pinestar retorted. He stared bleakly around his den. “I thought the Clan was getting stronger,” he murmured. “The fresh-kill pile has been full for days. I thought everything was going to be okay.”

“Did you really?” sneered Goosefeather. “Don’t be a fool, Pinestar. I think StarClan has told you exactly what is going on.”

He turned and limped out of the den. Pinestar took a deep breath. Sweetpaw’s death is not an omen. I will not kill my own son!

He padded into the clearing. A knot of sad she-cats was gathered around Sweetpaw’s little body. Judging by the emptiness of the rest of the clearing, Sunfall must have taken most of the young cats out on patrol. Pinestar was relieved. He wanted to spare them the grief that seemed to shroud the Clan every moon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tiny shape playing with a piece of moss. Tigerkit!

The tom had survived, and not just survived but grown swiftly and strong, unlike his sisters, who were still too frail to leave the nursery. With the gaze of his Clanmates burning his pelt, Pinestar forced himself to go over to his son.

Tigerkit looked up at him. “Sweetpaw’s dead,” he announced.

“I… I know,” Pinestar mewed.

“Are you really sad?” Tigerkit asked.

“Of course!” Pinestar replied.

The little brown tom tipped his head on one side. “As sad as if I died? I mean, you’re my father, so you must love me more than Sweetpaw or any of the other cats.”

Pinestar stared at his son in horror. Why is he talking about dying? “Y-yes, of course I love you and your sisters the most. But I care for every cat in ThunderClan.”

Tigerkit seemed to lose interest in speculating about his death. “Play with me.” He pushed the ball of moss toward Pinestar. It rolled against his paw and he looked down at it.

Kill him!

But he is only a kit!

You have to protect your Clan!

“I’m sorry, I can’t play with you today,” Pinestar meowed. The blood was roaring in his ears and his vision blurred. “I have to go somewhere.” He turned and padded quickly across the clearing.

“Tomorrow?” he heard Tigerkit call after him.

Pinestar didn’t answer. He pushed his way into the gorse, relishing the way the thorns clutched at his fur and pricked his muzzle. I cannot be a father to this kit! Oh Shanty, what should I do?

He blundered through the undergrowth toward Twolegplace. He had never missed Shanty more, never yearned more strongly that he had told her about the prophecy before she died. He had deliberately kept his dream from her, knowing that she would have no understanding of StarClan and the meaning of omens. But now he wished he had trusted her with everything so that she could give her honest opinion, let him consider all of the possibilities—and dismiss the idea that the only way to save ThunderClan was to kill a helpless kit.

When he reached the wooden fence, he stopped. He couldn’t go to Shanty’s home, not when he knew she wouldn’t be there. The emptiness would be too heartbreaking. He decided to look for Jake instead. He trotted through the long grass until he reached the edge of Jake’s territory. A quick leap over the fence and he was standing behind Jake’s Twoleg den. There was no sign of the ginger cat.

“He’s with Quince,” mewed a high-pitched voice. A strikingly elegant fawn cat with dark brown ears and paws was looking down at Pinestar from a tree on the other side of a wall. “You’re the wild cat, aren’t you?”

“Er, yes,” mewed Pinestar.

The stranger stood up and stretched each long, slender leg in turn. “I’m Tyr,” he meowed. “See you around, I expect.” He sprang out of the tree and vanished behind the wall.

Pinestar stood on the grass, feeling the sun warm his pelt. The scents of Twolegplace wafted around him, flowers and leaves and the faint hint of monsters. There was no stench of blood here, no hiss of fear or fury as cats fought over who was allowed to walk where. Some kittypets were more bad-tempered than others, Pinestar had learned, but they never fought to the death. They are better at following the warrior code than we are!

There was a noise behind him, and Pinestar turned to see Jake’s female Twoleg coming out with something in her front paw. It rattled, and Pinestar knew that it was something Jake called his food bowl, containing the brown pellets that Jake ate. He pricked his ears, feeling a worm of curiosity stir in his belly. Was kittypet food really that bad?

The Twoleg saw him and made a soothing sound. She reached out with her empty paw and Pinestar padded close enough for her to touch him. He had done this enough times with this Twoleg to know that he didn’t need to be frightened. He meowed in delight when she smoothed his fur from head to tail tip. She made more friendly noises, then put the food bowl onto the white stone path that surrounded the Twoleg den. Pinestar took a step forward and stretched out his neck to sniff the pellets. They didn’t smell too awful; there was a hint of rabbit, even. He licked one of the pellets, then jumped back to consider the taste. Definitely rabbit, and something else, a bit like pigeon…

The Twoleg murmured and bared her teeth at him. Pinestar knew this wasn’t a sign of hostility; quite the opposite. He bent his head and crunched up a mouthful of pellets. The Twoleg ran her paw along his back again, just the way he liked it. He purred, sounding rather muffled around the food.

When the bowl was empty, Pinestar looked up at the Twoleg and pressed himself against her hind legs. “That was delicious!” he mewed. “Is there any more?”

“Pinestar! What are you doing?”

Pinestar felt his belly flip over in horror, and the pellets stuck in his throat. How long had Lionpaw been standing on top of the fence? He ran across the grass, thinking furiously. “You shouldn’t be here! What if that kittypet comes back?” He hoped Lionpaw would remember Pinestar telling him about the ferocious kittypet who had been causing trouble, and needed a close watch.

“RiverClan is invading!” the apprentice meowed. “You have to come!”

Another battle! Time seemed to slow down around Pinestar, and his mind whirled. At this very moment, his Clanmates were fighting to defend a few paw steps of territory, a couple of fox-lengths of trees and grass that would provide prey for whichever Clan was prepared to shed the most blood. I cannot do this any longer. No matter what he did, brave cats would die. He pictured Shanty’s housefolk, bent double with grief over her death, and then the solemn, calm atmosphere in the camp that morning around Sweetpaw’s body.

Have we lost the ability to grieve? he wondered. Do we watch so many cats die that we cannot let ourselves feel true loss? Does any cat’s life really matter at all?

Then he thought of Tigerkit, his own son, innocently playing with a bundle of moss with a cruel and terrible destiny hanging over him. StarClan must have known that he would never be able to kill this kit, whatever warnings they gave. If Pinestar could not prevent the threat, perhaps another cat would; a different leader, one who was able to guide Tigerkit’s paws to a brighter destiny.

Every leader faces difficult choices, whispered a voice in Pinestar’s ear. And yours will be the most difficult of all.

Thunderstar! The cat who had given him one of his nine lives. And here is my choice, Pinestar thought. To stay with my Clan, or leave and follow a different path. He knew there was a place where he belonged, where he would be needed and loved and kept safe in return for a different kind of loyalty and honor.

There was no choice at all, or if there had been, Pinestar had made it already, without even noticing. Still, he could not meet Lionpaw’s eye as he spoke. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Did the kittypet hurt you?”

“There is no kittypet. Only me.”

“You’re just pretending to be a kittypet,” Lionpaw mewed in confusion. “So the Twoleg doesn’t chase you away.”

Pinestar looked back at Jake’s Twoleg. She was holding the food bowl and watching them. “She won’t chase me away. She likes me.”

“But… but you’re our Clan leader! You can’t be friends with Twolegs!”

Oh, Shanty! This is the hardest thing I have ever done! I wish you were here with me.

Pinestar took a deep breath. “Then I can’t be your Clan leader anymore. I’m sorry, Lionpaw. I tried so hard, but I can’t keep the Clan safe. I’m too old, too scared of losing any more battles. Sunfall will make a better leader than me. Tell… tell ThunderClan that I am dead.”

The apprentice narrowed his eyes in anger. “No! I will not lie for you! You might not want to be our leader anymore, but you could at least be brave enough to tell the Clan yourself. They deserve to know the truth, that you are leaving to become a kittypet.”

Pinestar hung his head. He couldn’t blame Lionpaw for his fury. And the apprentice was right: His Clanmates deserved a proper good-bye. They had done nothing wrong; only served him loyally and courageously and to their deaths, like all good warriors. It wasn’t their fault that Pinestar couldn’t bear it anymore.

Lionpaw was already racing across the grass and hurling himself over the fence. Pinestar followed, his paws suddenly light as he realized that this was the last time he would have to enter the forest, the last time he would have to take responsibility for these cats who were so much braver, so much better able to fight for their survival, than he was.

And so much stronger to deal with Tigerkit.

“Pinestar!” Sunfall’s call greeted Pinestar as he entered the clearing.

Pinestar winced as he noticed the fresh blood on his deputy’s ear. Adderfang and Stormtail stood behind him, deep claw marks on their fur. Oh, my Clanmates. I am sorry that I did not fight alongside you today. You deserve more than this, I promise.

“Where were you?” Sunfall meowed.

Pinestar blinked. “Did you win?”

Sunfall nodded. “We chased those fish-faces back as far as the river. They still have Sunningrocks—that is a battle for another day—but they won’t set foot across the border for a while.”

One more tiny victory. Until the next battle.

“Good,” Pinestar mewed out loud. It is time. The last time I will summon my Clan. The last time I will call myself a warrior. The last time I will breathe the air in this place that has been my home for so many seasons.

The smooth gray stone felt familiar beneath his paws as he took his place on Highrock. He looked down at his Clanmates, knowing he would dream about this sight for the rest of his life. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather to hear what I have to tell you!”

Warriors and queens turned tired, grief-stricken eyes to face him. Pinestar felt a fresh wave of sadness roll in his belly. I wish I could take you all with me! he thought for one wild moment.

“Cats of ThunderClan, I can no longer be your leader. From now on, I will leave the Clan and live with housefolk in Twolegplace.”

There was a pause of horrified silence, then Stormtail hissed, “You’re going to be a kittypet?”

Sunfall looked as if a hedgehog had just sprouted wings. “Why?”

“How could you?” wailed Poppydawn from where she crouched beside Sweetpaw’s body.

Pinestar bowed his head. I love you all! Please believe me! “I have been honored to serve you this long,” he explained. “The rest of my life will be spent as a kittypet, where I have no battles to fight, no lives depending on me for food and safety.”

“Coward,” Adderfang snarled.

Pinestar avoided the warrior’s gaze. “I have given eight lives to ThunderClan—each of them willingly. But I am not ready to risk my ninth.”

“What could be more honorable than to die for your Clan?” rasped Weedwhisker.

“You would live among StarClan,” Poppydawn mewed. “And share tongues with Clanmates you have lost.”

Pinestar forced himself to keep still and not run into the welcoming bracken behind him. “I am doing this for ThunderClan, I promise.”

“You’re doing it for you,” Stormtail muttered.

Then a small golden-striped shape moved to the front of the cats and turned to face them. Pinestar stared down in surprise. What was Lionpaw doing now?

The apprentice raised his head boldly. “Do we really want a leader who no longer wishes to lead?” he demanded.

Thank you, Lionpaw. Pinestar watched his Clanmates’ eyes flicker with uncertainty. They shot fleeting, baffled glances at him, light as a butterfly’s wings, as if he was a stranger who had blundered into the camp by mistake.

“Sunfall will lead you well, and StarClan will understand,” Pinestar promised.

“The other Clans might not,” Sunfall suggested. There was a flash of anger in his eyes, and his fur bristled along his spine. “You won’t be able to come back to the forest, you know.”

Pinestar shrugged. “Oh, I can imagine the names they’ll call me. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the leaders suggests an addition to the warrior code, that all true warriors scorn the easy life of a kittypet. But you’ll make ThunderClan as strong as it ever was, Sunfall. My last act as leader is to entrust my Clan to you, and I do so with confidence.”

Sunfall bowed, though his gaze still burned. “I am honored, Pinestar. I promise I will do my best.”

Pinestar jumped down and studied his Clanmates. Former Clanmates? For a moment he wondered if they would treat him as a kittypet from this moment, if he would have to claw his way out of his own home. But Sunfall padded forward and rested his tail against Pinestar’s flank.

“You have led us well, Pinestar,” he murmured.

Larksong joined him. “We will miss you.”

“Sunfall will make a good leader,” White-eye insisted, and the cats around her nodded.

“Thank you,” Pinestar murmured. He turned to face Lionpaw, and felt a purr rising inside him. ThunderClan was lucky to have this young cat among them. “You were right,” Pinestar told him. “I had to tell the Clan myself. It would not have been fair to them, or to you, to do anything else. You have a good spirit, young one. When it is time for you to receive your warrior name, tell Sunfall I would have called you Lionheart.”

Lionpaw’s eyes glowed, and Pinestar knew he had judged well. Not everything I have done was a mistake.

He started toward the gorse tunnel but Leopardfoot blocked his way. “Pinestar, what about our kits?” she pleaded, her voice high with disbelief. “Won’t you stay to watch them grow up?” She had brought the kits out of the nursery; Mistkit and Nightkit were huddled on the ground, barely any bigger than the day they had been born, their eyes cloudy and unfocused. Tigerkit loomed beside them, broad and strong, crouching down to pounce on Pinestar’s tail.

Pinestar twitched his tail out of harm’s way. This is the hardest part of all. I can never tell this Clan about the warning StarClan gave me. Tigerkit deserves to grow up being treated fairly, given the best chance to succeed. It is not my duty to taint his reputation forever. “They’ll be fine with you, Leopardfoot. I’m not a father they could be proud of, but I will always be proud of them. Especially you, little warrior,” he forced himself to add.

Tigerkit stared up at him and let out a tiny growl.

“Be strong, my precious son,” Pinestar whispered. “Serve your Clan well.” Prove StarClan wrong, whatever happens.

There was nothing more to say. It was time to leave. He gazed around the clearing once more, committing every branch, every paw print to memory. Then he pushed his way into the gorse tunnel and left everything behind.