In the ThunderClan nursery, two kits were wide awake. "The elders say the old warriors live in the stars," whispered Cinderkit. "They call them StarClan." Brackenkit's ears went up. "Which one?"
They crept out on soft paws. The camp was silver with moonlight. On top of Highrock sat a blue-grey shape. It was Bluestar, the leader of ThunderClan, and she had seen them.
Cinderkit froze. Brackenkit hid behind her tail. But Bluestar did not send them back to bed. "Come up," she said. "You can see more from here."
Bluestar showed them the cracks to climb, one paw at a time. At the top, the whole sky opened up. A river of stars ran across it. "That is Silverpelt," said Bluestar.
Brackenkit pointed his nose at a big bright star. "Which one?" Then at a little red one. "Which one?" Then at a wobbly one by the moon. "Which one?"
Cinderkit wanted to count them all, so she would find the right one. "One, two, three, four…" She got to forty-seven. Then she had to start again.
"Which one is yours, Bluestar?" asked Cinderkit. Bluestar looked up for a long time. "None of them," she said. "I'm not up there. I'm down here, with you."
Brackenkit was already asleep against her side. Bluestar lifted him gently by the scruff. Cinderkit climbed down after them, one paw, then the next.
In the nursery, Bluestar tucked them into the warm moss. She curled her long tail around them both. The stars could wait.
"Which one?" mumbled Cinderkit, nearly asleep. Bluestar touched her nose to the top of her head. "This one," she said.
