Erin Hunter - Sign of the Moon

Her fury, her sense of betrayal, crashed over Jayfeather like a wave. Overwhelmed, drowning in it, he murmured, “This has nothing to do with me. It’s your destiny! I’m sorry!”

For a heartbeat, Half Moon faced him, glaring; then she whipped around and stormed out of the cave.

“Wait—”

Jayfeather bounded after her; when he emerged from the tunnel he saw her racing across the cavern to the entrance. She mustn’t go out there alone! It’s dangerous!

“Stop!” he yowled.

Half Moon ignored him. But then a feeble wail rose from the side of the cave where Shy Fawn was lying. “Half Moon, help me! My kits are coming!”

Half Moon halted, then spun around, looking for Jayfeather. “Jay’s Wing! Over here!” she called.

Jayfeather hurried across the cave and met her in front of Shy Fawn. Owl Feather was heading in her direction, too, but she was held up by her kits tumbling around her paws.

“Stay back there,” the she-cat scolded her litter. “This isn’t for kits.”

“But we want to see!” Strong Pounce protested.

“No! Go over there and play, and don’t make too much noise. This is a hard time for Shy Fawn.”

Looking down at the pregnant she-cat, Jayfeather had to agree. Shy Fawn’s distended belly was huge for such a small cat, and he wondered how many kits she was carrying. Her eyes were wide and scared.

“Please help me,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

Anger clawed at Jayfeather as he realized how frightened she was. She should have given birth among the soft moss and bracken of a proper nursery, not here on this rocky floor without even the right herbs.

At least she’s got a medicine cat, he thought.

“Half Moon,” he began briskly, “you remember where we got the moss for Chasing Clouds? Can you get some more, and soak it with water so that Shy Fawn can have a drink?”

Half Moon nodded and sped off.

“Owl Feather, I need a stick. Something good and stout that Shy Fawn can bite down on when the pains come. You should find one by the bushes around the pool.”

Owl Feather blinked in surprise at being ordered around, but she didn’t protest, just called over her shoulder as she padded toward the entrance, “Make sure my kits don’t follow me out.”

Jayfeather turned his attention back to Shy Fawn. Powerful ripples were passing across her belly, and she gasped with pain.

“Relax as much as you can,” Jayfeather advised her. “It won’t be long now.”

Half Moon reappeared with a bundle of wet moss in her jaws and sat down beside Shy Fawn’s head, helping her to drink, then licking her ears gently to keep her calm.

Another ripple coursed over Shy Fawn’s belly, and she let out a sharp cry of pain as she began straining.

“That’s good,” Jayfeather reassured her. “You’re coming along nicely.”

Owl Feather bounded up with the stick Jayfeather had asked for, and dropped it on the ground so that Shy Fawn could grip it in her jaws. “How many kits, do you think?” she asked Jayfeather.

Jayfeather felt Shy Fawn’s belly with his forepaw. “Three, at least,” he replied, realizing how weird it was to be able to see as he delivered kits. “Hang on, I think the first one’s coming.”

Shy Fawn’s belly convulsed. Jayfeather heard the stick crack in her teeth, and a small bundle of wet fur slid out onto the cave floor. Half Moon cushioned it with her paws and nudged it over to Shy Fawn.

“It’s a little tom,” she mewed. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

Shy Fawn gazed down at her kit, all the fear gone from her eyes, swallowed up in overwhelming love. “He’s black, just like Dark Whiskers,” she murmured, bending her head to lick his fur.

Jayfeather gave her shoulder a prod with one paw. “Concentrate. There’s more to come.”

“Yes, I—oh!” Shy Fawn’s words ended in a yowl as the pain gripped her again.

Jayfeather massaged her belly, while Half Moon stroked her head. “Breathe deeply,” she encouraged her. “It’ll be over soon.”

As she spoke, a second kit slid out; Jayfeather trapped it gently between his forepaws and placed it beside its littermate. “Another tom,” he meowed. “And the next one’s right behind it.”

As Shy Fawn strained to bring her next kit into the world, Jayfeather heard jubilant yowls from outside the cave and turned his head to see the hunting patrol jostling through the entrance. Stone Song was carrying a vole, while Jagged Lightning was dragging an enormous snow-white hare.

“It worked!” Fish Leap bounded into the middle of the cavern. “A hawk swooped down on us, but it took one look at our claws and flew away again.”

“We should be able to work out a way to catch birds,” Dove’s Wing meowed. “An eagle would feed all of us for days!”

Then the hunting patrol fell silent as they realized what was going on. Stone Song dropped his vole and raced across the cavern to Shy Fawn. “Her kits are here!” he exclaimed. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” Jayfeather replied. Shy Fawn’s third kit—a little she-cat—had made her appearance. Looking down at the exhausted mother cat, he had his doubts about what he had just said, but he wasn’t going to voice them. Shy Fawn had been hungry and worn out by the journey before she ever got here, grieving for her mate, and life in the cavern still looked pretty bleak. But at least the hunting had been successful.

“Bring her something to eat,” he directed. “And when it’s ready, that hare’s pelt would be good to keep the kits warm.”

By now Shy Fawn’s three kits were beginning to squeak and wriggle. She guided them toward her teats, but Jayfeather fended them off with one forepaw while he ran the other over her belly.

“You’re not finished yet,” he told her. “There’s another kit in there.”

Shy Fawn made one last effort, letting out a high-pitched screech. The final kit slithered out and lay motionless on the cave floor.

“There!” Half Moon exclaimed. “Well done!”

Shy Fawn collapsed, exhausted, and Half Moon guided the kits into the curve of her belly. Each of them latched on to a teat, and their high-pitched complaints died away into silence as they began to suckle.

Jayfeather felt the fourth kit gently with one paw; it was another tom, this time with a golden tabby pelt, and though he was so small, he looked compact and strong. But he still didn’t move.

“Is he dead?” Half Moon whispered.

Jayfeather thought he could detect the feeble flutter of a heartbeat, but the kit didn’t seem to be breathing. “He’s not dead,” he replied. “And I’m not going to let him give up that easily!”

He pawed a little mucus out of the kit’s mouth, then began licking him vigorously, thrusting the fur the wrong way to warm the kit up and start his body working. Shy Fawn raised her head and watched anxiously. Suddenly the tiny kit convulsed between Jayfeather’s paws. He took a gulp of air and let out a loud yowl straight at Jayfeather, who stared at the familiar golden pelt and the set of the shoulders, and marveled at the strength in the tiny body.

“He has a roar like a lion,” some cat commented from behind Jayfeather.

“Then I’ll call him Lion’s Roar,” Shy Fawn murmured proudly.

No, Jayfeather thought. This is Lionblaze. Welcome, brother.

He gave the kit a lick between the ears and nudged him into the curve of Shy Fawn’s belly, where he began to suckle strongly next to his littermates. Jayfeather glanced over his shoulder to see Dove’s Wing among the cats who were crowding around. The gray she-cat’s eyes were wide with wonder as she watched Shy Fawn caring for her litter.

And there you are, as well, Jayfeather thought. How weird: She’s called Dovewing in our time, too. Glancing from Dove’s Wing to Lion’s Roar, he added to himself, The three of us are here now, even if the other two don’t realize it. The Power of Three has begun.