Picking his way around his Clanmates, who were beginning to stir, Hawkwing blundered into the open.
The morning was damp and misty, but the sun was already breaking through the foliage above the camp, and every drop of dew glittered with light. At first everything seemed peaceful; then the yowling came again and Hawkwing spotted Curlypaw standing outside the entrance to the nursery, her eyes wide with distress.
“What’s happening?” Hawkwing asked, bounding over to her.
“It’s Plumwillow,” Curlypaw replied. “Her kits are coming, but something is going wrong!”
For a moment Hawkwing felt as though his fur was tightening around his flanks. He could barely breathe, imagining all too clearly what Plumwillow must be suffering, to go through her kitting without a mate. A pang of renewed pain passed through him as he wondered whether Pebbleshine would have any cat to help her when the time came for their kits to be born.
It’s not really my place to help Plumwillow, he thought, but I can’t let her face it alone.
Slipping into the nursery, he found Echosong there with Fidgetpaw, both of them bending over the motionless body of Plumwillow. The tense argument with Leafstar the day before might as well never have happened; Echosong was back to normal again, the calm, efficient medicine cat.
“What’s the matter?” Hawkwing asked.
“The first kit is coming out feetfirst,” Echosong replied with a brief glance over her shoulder. “Plumwillow can make it through if she has the energy for it, but she’s weak. Plumwillow, you’ve got to try.”
“I can’t,” Plumwillow murmured. Her eyes were glazed and her voice was blurred, as if she had withdrawn far into herself.
Hawkwing’s instincts told him what was wrong.
“Plumwillow,” he mewed, moving to stand beside the gray she-cat’s head, “I know you can do this.”
Plumwillow looked up at him, startled and almost hostile.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked. “You have no—”
“I’m the perfect cat to help you through this,” Hawkwing interrupted, resting his tail-tip on Plumwillow’s shoulder. “I know what it feels like to lose your mate. How it feels like there’s no reason to go on…”
Slowly Plumwillow nodded. “All this time, I’ve been going on for the sake of the kits. But if there’s something wrong with them, there is no reason.”
“You’re wrong!” Hawkwing tried to put all the strength into his voice that he wanted to give to Plumwillow. “You have a big reason coming. Sandynose’s lovely kits! They can still be born healthy if you stay strong. And every time you look at them, you’ll see the best of both you and your mate.”
Hawkwing had to struggle to keep his voice steady on the last few words, remembering the kits from his dream. I’ll never see my own kits, never sit with Pebbleshine while she gives birth.
“You look so sad,” Plumwillow whispered.
“That’s why you have to pull it together,” Hawkwing told her.
“You have to be strong, because you’re lucky enough to have something I will never have.”
Understanding began to dawn in Plumwillow’s eyes. “Why do you care about what happens to me?” she asked.
“Because I know what it feels like to be alone.” Trapped in a dark cave, with no light and no way out.
Plumwillow gritted her teeth and Hawkwing realized that another powerful pain was rippling through her belly. This time she didn’t cry out, but flexed her muscles to push her kits into the world.
“Yes!” Echosong meowed. “That’s right—it’s coming!”
Within heartbeats, as Hawkwing watched in wonder, a tiny gray kit slid out onto the mossy bedding of the nursery. Its pelt was wet, plastered to its body, and Echosong nudged it toward Plumwillow, who began licking it vigorously.
“A little tom—and very strong and healthy,” Echosong meowed.
Plumwillow’s belly spasmed again, and almost before Hawkwing realized it, a second and then a third kit were born: another tom, light brown with ginger legs, just like his father, Sandynose, and a pale tabby she-kit.
Plumwillow couldn’t stop purring as she nuzzled and licked them, and guided them toward her belly so that they could suckle.
“They’re so beautiful!” she whispered, her eyes shining with joy.
Hawkwing gazed down at the happy family, an ache in his heart so deep that he almost cried out with the pain of it. I’m not really part of this… “You’re okay now, so I’ll just go… ,” he began.
Plumwillow raised her head to look at him. “No, don’t,” she mewed. “I could never have managed this without you. Losing Sandynose still feels so raw, and I could never take another mate, but I’ll need help with these kits—if I’m not presuming too much, would you want to help me?”
Gazing down at the kits, Hawkwing felt the empty places in his heart begin to fill again. They’re not mine, and they never will be, he thought, but they’re so tiny, so perfect…
“Of course I’ll help you, Plumwillow,” he promised.
Hawkwing padded into the camp with a rabbit dangling from his jaws. At once excited squealing came from the nursery and Plumwillow’s three kits came tumbling out, tripping over each other in their eagerness to greet him first.
“Uh-oh!” Firefern mewed around her vole as she followed Hawkwing into camp, her eyes glinting with amusement. “It looks like you’re wanted.”
The three kits were a moon old now, and already developing into healthy, energetic cats. Dewkit, the sturdy gray tom; Finkit, who looked exactly like his father, with the same brown pelt and ginger legs, and Reedkit, the little tabby she-kit. Hawkwing loved them all, and loved every moment that he spent with them.
Firefern carried her prey to the fresh-kill pile, along with Harrybrook and Birdwing, the other members of the patrol.
Hawkwing glanced sharply around until his gaze fell on his apprentice, Curlypaw, who was grooming herself outside her den.
“Curlypaw!” he called, beckoning with his tail.
His apprentice sprang up and padded over to him, stumbling over Finkit, who was bouncing around Hawkwing, along with his littermates. “Yes, Hawkwing?” she mewed.
“Don’t ‘yes, Hawkwing’ me,” he snapped. “Where were you this morning? I wanted to take you for battle practice, and you were nowhere to be found.”
Curlypaw blinked innocently. “Oh, sorry, Hawkwing,” she responded. “I was awake early, so I thought I’d go hunting on my own for a while. I caught two mice,” she finished proudly.
“That’s all very well, but—” Hawkwing began, then broke off as all three kits jumped on him, digging their tiny claws into his pelt. “Okay, Curlypaw,” he meowed, struggling to make himself heard over the joyful squealing of the kits. “Just ask first, next time. And take this rabbit to the fresh-kill pile.”
As Curlypaw snatched up the prey and carried it off, Hawkwing flopped over on his side with the three kits swarming all over him. “Dewkit, take your paw out of my ear,” he protested.
“And Finkit, that’s my tail you’re biting!”
“You’re a rabbit, and we’re hunting you,” Reedkit informed him.
“Oh, no!” Hawkwing let out a pretend wail of terror. “You’re such good hunters! I can’t escape!”
As the kits pummeled him with their soft paws, Hawkwing glanced across at the nursery to see Plumwillow sitting outside, watching their game with a happy expression. He rose to his paws and staggered across to her, with the kits still hanging on to him.