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Firepaw’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “Are you going to see Brindleface’s new litter?” he asked.

Yellowfang stiffened and she shook her head. “I don’t think I’d be very welcome,” she growled.

“But they know you saved-” Firepaw began.

“A she-cat is very protective of her newborns. Especially when it’s her first litter. I think I’ll stay away,” Yellowfang replied in a tone that invited no argument.

“As you wish. But I’m going to see them. It must be a good sign, having new kits in the camp.”

Yellowfang shrugged. “Sometimes,” she muttered darkly.

Firepaw turned and trotted back to the nursery. Clouds had covered the sun, making the air turn fresher. A fierce breeze tugged at his fur and rustled the leaves around the clearing.

Bluestar was sitting outside the nursery. Behind her, Graypaw’s tail was just disappearing into the narrow entrance. “Firepaw,” she greeted him. “Have you come to see ThunderClan’s newest warriors?” The ThunderClan leader sounded tired and sad.

Firepaw was surprised. Surely the kits were good news for ThunderClan?

“Yes, I have,” he replied.

“Well, when you’ve finished, come and see me in my den.”

“Yes, Bluestar,” Firepaw mewed as she walked slowly away. He felt his fur prickle. Here was another chance to speak to Bluestar alone. Perhaps StarClan was on his side, after all.

Graypaw crawled out of the nursery entrance. “They’re really cute,” he mewed. “But I’m starving now. I’m off to find some fresh-kill. I’ll save some for you if I find any!” He blinked affectionately at Firepaw and bounded away.

Firepaw purred a good-bye and looked up at Whitestorm, who nodded his permission for him to enter the nursery. Firepaw squeezed through the tiny entrance.

Four tiny kits huddled warmly in Brindleface’s deeply lined nest. Their fur was pale gray with darker flecks, just like their mother, except for one tiny dark gray tom. They mewled and squirmed beside Brindleface’s belly, their eyes shut tight.

“How are you feeling?” Firepaw whispered to her.

“A little tired,” answered Brindleface. She looked down proudly at her litter. “But the kits are all strong and healthy.”

“ThunderClan is lucky to have them,” Firepaw purred. “I was just talking about them to Yellowfang.”

Brindleface didn’t answer, and Firepaw couldn’t miss the look of worry that flashed in her eyes as she nudged a straying kit closer to her.

Firepaw felt a tremor of anxiety in his belly. Bluestar may have accepted Yellowfang into ThunderClan, but it looked like the old cat was still not trusted by all of the Clan. He touched his nose affectionately to Brindleface’s flank, then turned and made his way out into the clearing.

The Clan leader was waiting for Firepaw at the entrance to her den. Longtail sat at her side. The pale tabby warrior stared hard at Firepaw as he approached. Firepaw ignored his gaze and looked expectantly at Bluestar.

“Come inside,” she meowed, turning to lead the way. Firepaw trotted after her. Longtail immediately stood up as if to follow them.

Bluestar looked back at him over her shoulder. “I think I’ll be safe enough with young Firepaw,” she meowed. Longtail looked uncertain for a moment, then sat down again outside the entrance.

Firepaw had never been inside Bluestar’s den. He padded after her through the lichen that draped its entrance. “Brindleface’s kits are lovely,” he purred.

Bluestar looked serious. “Lovely they may be, but they mean more mouths to feed, and the season of leaf-bare will soon be here.” Then she glanced at Firepaw, who was unable to hide his surprise at her melancholy tone. “Oh, don’t listen to me,” meowed Bluestar, shaking her head impatiently. “The first cold wind always worries me. Come; make yourself comfortable.” She tipped her head toward the dry, sandy floor.

Firepaw dropped onto his belly and stretched his paws out in front of him.

Bluestar circled slowly on her mossy nest. “I’m still aching from our training session yesterday,” she admitted when she had finally settled herself and curled her tail around her paws. “You fought well, young one.”

For once, Firepaw didn’t stop to bask in her praise. His heart was thumping. This was the perfect moment to tell his leader his fears about Tigerclaw. He lifted his chin, ready to speak.

But it was Bluestar who spoke first, staring past him at the far wall of her den. “I can still smell the stale stench of ShadowClan in the camp,” she murmured. “I hoped never to see the day when our enemy broke into the heart of ThunderClan.” Firepaw nodded in silent agreement, sensing Bluestar was going to say more.