“You’ve made the right choice there,” Smallear commented, flicking a midge off his pelt with his tail.

“Hmm? What?” Pinestar lifted his head. The sandy ground was warm beneath his shoulder, and he had been dozing off after a long hunting patrol.

Smallear gestured toward a mottled black she-cat who was nibbling on a starling outside the warriors’ den. “Leopardfoot, I mean,” he meowed. There was a glint in his eye. “Cats are starting to talk, you know.”

“I didn’t think you were one for listening to gossip,” Pinestar retorted. His fur felt hot. He did like Leopardfoot, and he had been spending time with her recently, but he didn’t want to make a statement to the entire Clan about it.

Smallear pricked his ears. “Then the rumors aren’t true? We won’t be hearing the patter of tiny paws in the nursery anytime soon?”

Pinestar stretched out and rolled over. “New kits are always a blessing,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to have this conversation with one of his warriors. Just because he was Clan leader, he wasn’t allowed any kind of private life? He told himself that he was feeling prickly because of Smallear’s curiosity—and not because he was waiting until the clearing was quiet enough for him to slip out and visit the Twolegplace again.

He opened his eyes a slit and watched Bluepaw and Snowpaw carefully dividing a squirrel between them. They deserved to be made warriors soon. They had been so brave since watching their mother die in the battle with WindClan. Pinestar shut his eyes and tried to ignore the wave of pain that swept through him. So many more battles since that day, so many vigils for fallen Clanmates…

He had fought alongside his warriors every time, plunging himself into the thickest action, losing more lives than he could keep count of. In fact, Goosefeather had reminded him recently that he had only two left, and had told him to take more care. Inside his mind, Pinestar shrugged. He had more lives to lay down than his Clanmates; why should he treat himself with any more care? Sunfall would make an excellent leader in his place; there would always be more Clan leaders, more battles to be fought and lives to be lost.

“Hey, Smallear!” Sweetpaw was calling to him from the tunnel of gorse. “You promised to take me battle training after sunhigh!” The white patches on the little cat’s pelt gleamed in the sun, and her tiny ears were pricked.

Smallear heaved himself to his paws. “StarClan save me from overenthusiastic apprentices,” he muttered, and Pinestar purred with amusement. For a moment he wondered if Leopardfoot would have his kits, and if she did, would he take one of them as his own apprentice.

And teach my own son or daughter how to attack and wound and frighten our enemies, for the sake of these invisible walls we have built around our home? Could I really do that, knowing I might have to watch them die in battle one day?

The clearing fell silent as cats headed out for patrols or training, or to take advantage of the cool forest while the sun was at its height. Pinestar stood up and walked over to the entrance. No cat called after him to ask where he was going, or whether he had any orders. He ducked through the gorse tunnel, raced up the side of the ravine, and plunged into the trees. He took a less direct route so that he avoided a hunting patrol led by Sunfall, entering treecutplace close to the Thunderpath instead. He trotted through the long grass at the foot of the wooden fence, enjoying the feeling of cool stalks brushing his belly fur.

When he drew level with a stunted pine tree that had a broken branch trailing on the ground, he scrambled up the fence and dropped down on the other side. There were no kittypets living here, but Pinestar had seen a pink-faced Twoleg watching him through one of the openings in the side of the den. He crossed the grass in two bounds, then leaped over the wall and ran along a narrow stone path. Nothing about this place resembled his home in the forest—not the scents in the air, the hard red dens, the rumble of monsters and shriek of young Twolegs—and yet it felt safe and familiar to Pinestar now. He avoided kittypets he hadn’t met yet, and he knew which dens had noisy dogs, but there was nothing here that frightened him. Monsters weren’t interested in him as long as he stayed out of their way; even Twolegs ignored him, except for the time he had stopped to make dirt beneath a bush and been chased off with a low yowl and waving pink paws.

He crossed over an empty Thunderpath and headed for a low, glossy-leaved hedge. As he passed, a small brown head popped out. “Pinestar!”

He stopped and looked back. “Hello, Shanty. Is this where you live?”

Shanty stepped out of the hedge. “Yes. Would you like to come and look around?”

Pinestar glanced along the Thunderpath. “I was on my way to see Jake.”

“He’s mooning over Quince today.” Shanty tipped her head on one side. “She lives by the main road. Have you met her?”

Pinestar shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m sure you’d like her,” Shanty mewed dryly. “All the toms seem to.” She turned back to the hedge.

“Wait!” Pinestar called. “I… I’d love to see where you live, if that’s okay.”

He squeezed into the hedge behind her and wriggled through the branches. The grass surrounding this den was soft and short and dazzlingly green like the rest of the grass in Twolegplace. There was a small round pool in the middle of the space with a spray of water splashing into it. Shanty beckoned to Pinestar with her tail and trotted over to the edge of the pool.

Following more cautiously so that he dodged the flying droplets, Pinestar crouched down and peered in. Two bright orange shapes glided just below the surface.

“Fish!” Pinestar exclaimed. “Can you catch them?”

Shanty shook her head. “I tried once, but I fell in. My housefolk had to rescue me.”

Pinestar reached out with one paw and dabbed at the water. With a flash of gold, the fish vanished among some thick green plants. “You need to make sure RiverClan doesn’t find these,” Pinestar joked.

But Shanty was already trotting away toward the side of the Twoleg den. Pinestar ran after her, his wet paw cool against the grass. They plunged into a welcome stretch of shade, then out into the sun again behind the den. The grass here stretched farther, still short and soft and bright, bright green. A clump of silver birch trees stood at the far end, casting dappled shade onto a heap of logs with ferns growing over them. Pinestar padded over and sniffed at the cool fronds.

Behind him, Shanty mewed, “I don’t like it over here. It’s too cold.”

Pinestar arched his back and brushed against one of the drooping ferns. “I think it’s peaceful,” he murmured. He could hear a faint monster grumbling far away, and two sparrows quarreling on the other side of the fence that surrounded Shanty’s territory. But the ferns blotted out most of the sound, and the birch leaves rustled in the breeze, reminding Pinestar of the forest.

There was a noise close by and Pinestar jumped. An opening had appeared in the side of the den and a Twoleg was coming out. Pinestar shrank back against the logs. Had it spotted him? Shanty ran across the grass and stretched up to rub her head against the Twoleg’s front paw. Pinestar forced his pelt to lie flat. This must be one of her housefolk. From the tone of the Twoleg’s voice, he was pretty sure it was a female. She had brown skin and black fur on her head, and although her white teeth were bared, she was making soothing sounds.

Shanty called to Pinestar, “Come on over. I think she’ll like you.”

Pinestar took two steps toward the Twoleg, then stopped. He could feel his heart pounding, and his mouth felt dry. The Twoleg stopped petting Shanty and crouched down on its haunches, staring at Pinestar. Now he could see that her eyes were a shade darker than her skin, and her long straight fur was as glossy as a RiverClan pelt. She reached her front paw toward Pinestar and made a noise a bit like a dove, low and cooing.

Pinestar took another step. He kept his ears pricked and his tail low. He was a ThunderClan warrior; he didn’t want to frighten the Twoleg into running away. Which one of us is the most scared? he wondered.

Shanty bounced on her paws. “Let her stroke you!” she mewed. “She won’t hurt you, I promise!”

Suddenly the Twoleg was right in front of him and Pinestar froze. He felt a warm, naked paw rest on his head. With a hiss, he ducked away. Too close!

Shanty twitched her tail. “I thought warriors were braver than that!”

The Twoleg leaned toward him again, making more cooing sounds. Pinestar forced himself to stay still. The Twoleg put her paw lightly on his head and brushed it along his fur, all the way to his tail. Pinestar blinked. It felt odd, but not unpleasant, like a very large, dry tongue licking him. The Twoleg stroked him again, then tickled him under his chin. Pinestar stepped away. That wasn’t so pleasant, and made him feel too vulnerable.

Shanty came over and stood beside him, her flank warm and fluffy against his pelt. “You’re being really brave,” she purred, with a hint of teasing in her voice. “She’s nice, isn’t she?”

The Twoleg stood up suddenly and Pinestar leaped backward. There was a low, gruff sound and another Twoleg appeared in the entrance to the den. This one was taller, with darker skin and a more powerful scent. Pinestar guessed it was a male. The female Twoleg pointed at Pinestar and yowled something. Pinestar flattened his ears. The territory was starting to feel small and crowded.

Shanty nudged him. “It’s okay. That’s my other housefolk. He can be a bit loud but he’s safe, I promise.”

Pinestar backed toward the ferns. “I think I’ve made enough new friends today,” he mewed, trying to sound light-hearted.

Shanty nodded. “I’m impressed.” Pinestar glanced at her, but she sounded sincere. “I wouldn’t go into the forest and hang out with the wild cats,” she went on.

“You’d be safe if you were with me,” Pinestar mewed, though in his mind he couldn’t begin to imagine a time when he would introduce Shanty to his Clanmates. “You can trust my warriors.”

“And you can trust my housefolk,” Shanty replied. They had reached the ferns and were sitting at the foot of a sun-warmed log, their pelts lightly dappled with shade. “All my life, they have treated me kindly, fed me, sheltered me, given me space to play in.”

“Did your mother live with them?” Pinestar asked.

“No. I was born somewhere else, but I can’t really remember anything about it. I know I had littermates, but I don’t know where they are now.”

Pinestar was shocked. “Aren’t you worried about them?”

“Why should I be?” Shanty shrugged. “If they have found housefolk like mine, then I know they are safe and happy.”

“But… but aren’t you bored?” Pinestar blurted out. All the questions he had wanted to ask Jake came tumbling out. “What do you do all day? You don’t have to patrol your territory, or catch your food, or train any apprentices, or practice for battle…”

Shanty stared at him, her amber eyes huge. “Why would I want to live like that? You make it sound as if every day is a struggle to survive.” She gestured around her with her tail. “There is no cat here that I want to fight. I don’t want to worry about where my next meal is coming from. I am not a prisoner in my territory; I can visit my friends, just as they can visit me.” She sniffed. “Some are more welcome than others, but Quince is okay when she hasn’t got a tom hanging around her.”

Pinestar lifted his muzzle. “What do you do to earn this life? Where is your loyalty, your courage, your honor? How do you know if you have lived your life well if you cannot judge it against the warrior code?” His fur prickled, and he heard a note of desperation in his voice. Do I want Shanty to prove to me that my life is worth more than hers?

The brown she-cat blinked. “I have loyalty and honor too. Look around you, Pinestar. What is keeping me here? I could climb that fence and be gone in a heartbeat. But I love my housefolk. I honor them. They feed me and care for me because they value me. They enjoy my company, they want to keep me safe, and they are afraid if I go away for too long.” She stood up and glared at him, as fierce as any warrior. “Isn’t this the same way you feel about your Clanmates, Pinestar? Just because I don’t look the same as my housefolk, don’t speak with the same words or eat the same food, doesn’t mean that we are not a Clan too. They are not my enemies. Not everything is predator or prey!”

She sat down, panting. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I think you hit a nerve.”

Pinestar reached out with his tail and stroked her flank. “I’m the one who should say sorry,” he mewed. “When I became leader of ThunderClan, a cat named Oakstar gave me a life for judgment. I should have learned to use it more wisely by now.”

Shanty looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. Pinestar rested his muzzle on the top of her head. “I judged you too quickly,” he explained. “You and all the kittypets. Forgive me.”

He felt the she-cat’s purr, rumbling through his body like far-off thunder. “You’re all right,” Shanty meowed. “I always heard wild cats were a bit dumb.”

Pinestar grunted. “But our claws are still sharper than yours!” he teased. He closed his eyes and shifted his weight so that he was lying beside Shanty. Patchy sunlight warmed his fur, and the scent of ferns filled his nose as he drifted into sleep.

Pinestar stood beneath Fourtrees, looking around. The hollow was empty and above, the sky was spattered with stars but no full moon. This wasn’t a Gathering, so what had brought him here?

“I did,” mewed a voice. A fawn-and-white she-cat stepped out from behind the Great Rock.

“Doestar!” Pinestar gasped. He trotted to meet his former leader, rubbing his head along her cheek.

Doestar stepped back and studied him. “Your time as leader hasn’t been easy,” she commented, nodding to the scars on his muzzle. “I am sorry I could not leave ThunderClan in peace.”

Pinestar twitched the tip of his tail. “None of the battles were your fault. This is a difficult time for all the Clans. If RiverClan would give up its claim to Sunningrocks, everything would be easier.”

“For cats who can swim, a river is no kind of boundary,” Doestar pointed out. “Your battle for those rocks is not over yet.”

“And lose more lives for the sake of warming our pelts on a heap of stones?” Pinestar growled. “I can’t wait.”

The she-cat blinked. “Those are not the words of a warrior. Where is your pride, Pinestar? Your promise to keep the boundaries of our territory safe?”

Pinestar flattened his ears. “I have not forgotten,” he mewed. “I will do everything to defend our Clan, of course.”

Doestar paced around him. “You will have even more reason to protect your Clan soon.” Her amber eyes gleamed in the starlight. “You are going to be a father. Leopardfoot is expecting your kits!”

“What?” Pinestar stared at her. “Are you sure?”

The she-cat nodded. Then her gaze darkened. “But you must be careful, Pinestar. One of your kits, a tom, has a shadow over his destiny.”

“What do you mean?” Pinestar demanded, letting his claws slide out and prick the earth. “What kind of shadow?”

Doestar turned away. “The worst kind,” she murmured. “He will be born with the power to destroy ThunderClan.”

“You can’t possibly know that! One kit, against a whole Clan? Don’t be ridiculous!” His heart was beating faster and his fur stood on end. What threat could one tiny cat offer to a Clan full of warriors?

The StarClan cat faced him again. “Listen to me, Pinestar. No cat knows your son’s destiny yet; only the possibilities he will be born with. It is up to you to teach him honor, loyalty, compassion—everything given to you for your nine lives. This cat will have the power to be a great leader, if you guide his paw steps well.”

Pinestar opened his mouth to ask more questions, but the starlight in Doestar’s fur was dazzling him and he screwed up his eyes against the brightness. Something was digging into his back. Was it the Great Rock?

“Wake up, Pinestar. You’re having a bad dream.”

Shanty was prodding him in the ribs. Pinestar opened his eyes to see her anxious brown face against pale green fern fronds.

“I have to go back to my Clan,” he mewed, sitting up. “I… I shouldn’t be here.”

Shanty looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Pinestar scrambled to his paws. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered. His pelt burned with shame and anger. Couldn’t he escape his duties for just one day?

Before he could race off, Shanty pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “Come back anytime,” she mewed. “You will always be welcome here, friend.”

Pinestar started running across the grass. The peace he had found with Shanty had been shattered. The needs of his Clan were dragging him back to the forest, back to blood and conflict and the desperate struggle to survive. And now there was a new threat, one he had created himself, which he already felt powerless to stop.

How am I going to protect my Clan from an unborn kit?