"All this forest - ShadowClan territory - was hers. It was her clan's. It was her kin's. And no-one could take that away."
During a period of weakness for ShadowClan, a band of five rogues ask to join, and are accepted, with the sick clan eager to h...
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A dark ginger tom raced through the trees, his blue eyes flashing. Hanging from his jaws, were two kits - a tom and a she-kit.
"Sharpwhisker?!"
"Shadeheart, I can explain..."
"Don't bother. Not here - it's freezing, for StarClan's sake. Are they yours?"
"Yes. Yes, they're mine."
"Who's their mother?"
"She...I promised not to say."
"Is she a rogue?"
"She's a loner."
"...are you stupid?"
***
"Rogue kits in the clan?!"
"Oh, now he shows his face!"
Sharpwhisker unsheathed his claws. "They're my kits - I'm not abandoning them!"
"Maybe he should leave, and take them with them..."
"Everyone, quiet! Sharpwhisker is a ShadowClan warrior. These kits have ShadowClan blood."
"But Featherstar-"
"The warrior code says that we care for kits in trouble. I'm not turning them out into the snow."
Sharpwhisker gazed gratefully up at the young leader. The kits, almost two moons old, peered out from around his forepaws, watching anxiously. A dark ginger and white tom, and a dark brown tabby she-kit. "Are we safe now?" she mewed.
Sharpwhisker licked his forehead. "Yes. Yes, you're safe, little ones."
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