"No!" Graystripe yowled, launching himself after the drowning kit.

Nightshade lost sight of them in the churning water. The kit left on the mat squealed desperately, trying to cling to the twigs as they split apart in the current. With the last of her strength, Nightshade drove herself forward, sank her teeth into the little creature's scruff, and kicked out for dry ground.

Within moments she felt stones under her paws and managed to stand. Stone-limbed with weariness, she staggered out and dropped the black kit on the grass at the edge of the flood. Its eyes were closed; she was not sure if it was still alive.

Glancing downstream, she saw Graystripe splashing out of the shallows, with the gray kit gripped firmly in his teeth. He padded up to Nightshade and set it gently on the ground.

Nightshade nosed both kits. They were lying very still, but when she looked closer she could see the faint rise and fall of their flanks as they breathed. "Thank the shadow-walkers," she muttered. She began to lick the black kit as she had seen the queens in the nursery do to their little ones, rasping her tongue against the lie of the fur to rouse the kit and warm it. Graystripe crouched beside her and did the same for the gray kit.

Soon the black kit twitched and coughed up a mouthful of river water. It took longer for the gray kit to respond, but at last it too coughed up water and opened its eyes.

"They're alive!" exclaimed Graystripe, his voice filled with relief, momentarily free of the strange tension that had characterized his recent interactions with Nightshade.

"Yes, but they won't live long without their mother," Nightshade pointed out. She sniffed the black kit carefully. The river water had washed off much of the Clan scent, but she could still detect a faint trace. "RiverClan," she confirmed, unsurprised. "We'll have to take them home."

Nightshade's courage almost deserted her at the thought of crossing the swollen river again. She had nearly drowned rescuing the kits, and she felt exhausted. Her limbs were cold and stiff, her fur soaked, and even her shadow-essence seemed depleted from the effort of maintaining heightened awareness in the flood. She wanted nothing more than to return to ThunderClan territory and rest.

Graystripe, still crouched over the gray kit, looked as if he felt the same. His thick gray fur was flattened against his body, and his amber eyes were wide with anxiety. "Do you think we can get across?" he meowed.

"We've got to, or the kits will die." Forcing herself to her paws, Nightshade picked up the black kit again by its scruff and headed downstream. "Let's see if we can cross by the stepping-stones, like you suggested." Graystripe padded after her, carrying the gray kit through the wet grass at the edge of the floodwater.

When the river was at its usual level, the stepping-stones were an easy route across for RiverClan cats. The longest leap from rock to rock was no more than a tail-length, and RiverClan controlled the territory here on both sides of the river.

Now floodwater completely covered the stones. But where they had once broken the surface, a dead tree, its bark stripped away, lay across the river. Nightshade guessed that some of its branches had been caught on the submerged stepping-stones. "A stroke of luck," she murmured around her mouthful of kit. "We can use the tree to cross." She adjusted her grip on the kit and waded out into the flood toward the splintered end of the tree trunk. The kit, seeing the churning water barely a mouse-length below its nose, began to mewl and struggle feebly.

"Keep still, both of you," growled Graystripe gently, as he set down the gray kit for a moment to adjust his grip. "We're going to find your mother."

Nightshade wasn't sure if her terrified kit was even old enough to understand, but at least it went limp again so it was easier to carry. She had to lift her head high to keep the tiny creature clear of the water as she floundered toward the tree. She reached it without needing to swim and sprang upward, clawing for a grip on the soft, rotting wood. Once she had pulled herself up, her main concern was keeping a pawhold on the smooth, slippery trunk. Gingerly placing each of her paws in a straight line, Nightshade padded toward the opposite bank with the river churning beneath her, sucking at the tree as if it wanted to sweep it, and its burden of cats, away downstream. She glanced back to see Graystripe following with the gray kit, his face creased with determination.

At the far end the trunk divided into a tangle of broken branches. Nightshade ducked down to squeeze through them, being careful not to let the kit's fur catch on the splinters. It was harder to find a pawhold as the branches tapered, and she ran out of anything that might bear her weight when there was still a gap of a couple of fox-lengths separating her from the far side of the river. Nightshade took a deep breath, flexed her hindlegs, and leaped. Her front paws hit the bank while her hind paws kicked madly in the rushing current. As water splashed up, the kit started to struggle again. Nightshade kept her teeth clenched in its neck fur as she sank her front claws into the soft earth and scrabbled upward until she stood safely on the bank. She lurched forward a few paces and set the kit down gently.

Glancing around, she saw Graystripe pulling himself out of the water a little way downstream. He lowered the gray kit to the ground and shook himself. "The river water tastes foul," he spat.

"Look on the bright side," Nightshade suggested. "At least it should disguise your scent. The RiverClan cats won't know that you've been trespassing on their territory. If they ever found out—"

She broke off as three cats crashed out of the bushes just beyond Graystripe. Nightshade tensed as she recognized Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy, and the warriors Blackclaw and Stonefur. Forcing her tired legs to move, she picked up the black kit and padded along the bank to stand beside Graystripe. The gray warrior hauled himself to his paws, and the two cats set down their burdens and faced the RiverClan patrol together.

Nightshade wondered if the RiverClan cats had overheard what she was saying to Graystripe. She knew that they were too exhausted to stand up to a patrol of strong, fresh warriors, and her shadow-essence was too depleted to offer any special advantage. But to her relief, the RiverClan cats halted a few tail-lengths away.

"What's this?" growled Leopardfur. Her golden-spotted fur bristled, and her ears were flattened against her head.

Beside her, Blackclaw stood with his lips drawn back in a snarl. "Why are you trespassing on our territory?" he demanded.

"We're not trespassing," Nightshade meowed quietly. "We pulled two of your kits out of the river and wanted to bring them home."

"Do you think we nearly drowned ourselves just for fun?" Graystripe blurted out.

Stonefur paced forward until he was close enough to sniff the two kits. "It's true!" His blue eyes widened. "They're Mistyfoot's missing kits!"

Nightshade stiffened in amazement. These were the kits of Mistyfoot—the RiverClan warrior who Graypool had revealed was actually born in ThunderClan. Nightshade recalled Bluestar's extreme reaction when confronted with this information. The connections were growing more tangled by the moment, but they mustn't let any of these cats know what they knew about Mistyfoot's origins.

Leopardfur did not relax the fur on her shoulders. "How do we know you saved the kits?" she snarled. "You might have been trying to steal them."

Nightshade stared at her. After risking their lives in the floodwater, she couldn't believe that they were actually being accused of stealing the kits. "Don't be ridiculous," she said coldly. "No cat from ThunderClan tried to steal your kits when we could walk across the river on the ice. Why do you think we'd try it now? We nearly drowned!"

Leopardfur looked thoughtful, but Blackclaw stalked up and thrust his head aggressively into Nightshade's face. She met his gaze evenly, her shadow-essence flickering weakly with warning despite her exhaustion.

"Blackclaw!" Leopardfur meowed sharply. "Back off! We'll let these cats explain themselves to Crookedstar, and see if he believes them."

Nightshade opened her mouth to protest, but left the words unspoken. They would have to go with the RiverClan cats; in their exhausted state she and Graystripe had no hope of winning a fight. Besides, this might be Graystripe's opportunity to check on whoever he was so concerned about in RiverClan. "All right," Nightshade meowed. "I just hope your Clan leader can see the truth when it's in front of his nose."

Leopardfur led the way along the bank, while Blackclaw picked up one kit and stalked threateningly alongside Nightshade and Graystripe. Stonefur brought up the rear, carrying the other kit.

When they reached the island where the RiverClan cats had their camp, Nightshade saw that a wide channel of racing water separated it from the ridge of dry ground, wrenching at the overhanging boughs of the willow trees. No cats were visible through the reeds, and she could see silver water lapping among the bushes that concealed the camp.

Leopardfur paused, her eyes widening with alarm. "The water has risen since we left camp," she meowed.

As she spoke, a yowl came from behind them at the top of the slope. "Leopardfur! Up here!"

Nightshade turned to see the RiverClan leader, Crookedstar, emerging from the shelter of the bushes. His pale tabby coat was soaked, fur sticking out in all directions, and his twisted jaw gave his face a permanently fierce expression.

"What happened?" Leopardfur demanded as she reached her leader.

"The camp is flooded," Crookedstar replied. His voice was flat with defeat. "We've had to move up here."

As he spoke, two or three other cats emerged cautiously from the bushes. Nightshade noticed Graystripe's sudden tension when a beautiful silver tabby she-cat appeared among them. The warrior's posture shifted subtly, a mixture of relief and anxiety radiating from him. This, then, was his connection to RiverClan—and suddenly his recent erratic behavior made perfect sense.

"And what have you brought us?" Crookedstar went on. He narrowed his eyes at Nightshade and Graystripe. "ThunderClan spies? As if we didn't have enough trouble!"

"They found Mistyfoot's kits," Leopardfur told him, nodding to Stonefur and Blackclaw to bring forward the kits. "They claim they pulled them out of the river."

"I don't believe a word of it!" spat Blackclaw, setting down the kit he carried. "You can't trust a ThunderClan cat."

At the mention of the kit, the silver tabby had turned and disappeared rapidly under the bushes again. Crookedstar padded forward and sniffed the pathetic bundles. By now they had begun to recover from their ordeal and were trying to sit up, though they still looked completely waterlogged.

"Mistyfoot's kits went missing when the camp flooded," Crookedstar remarked, turning his cold green gaze on Nightshade and Graystripe. "How do you come to have them?"

Nightshade exchanged an exasperated glance with Graystripe, exhaustion making her sharp-tongued. "We waded and swam through your flooded territory," she replied evenly. "Risking our lives to save them after hearing their cries from the ThunderClan shore."

A loud yowling interrupted her. A sleek blue-gray she-cat broke out of the bushes and came racing over to them. "My kits! Where are my kits?" She crouched over the tiny scraps of fur, staring wildly around as if she thought the other cats would try to take them away from her. Then she began licking them furiously, trying to comfort both of them at once. Stonefur pressed up close against her and mewed comfortingly into her ear.

The silver tabby followed more slowly and stood beside her father, Crookedstar, eyeing the ThunderClan cats. Nightshade observed the carefully controlled way she looked at Graystripe—a deliberate indifference that seemed practiced rather than genuine. This confirmed her suspicions about Graystripe's secret connection.

More cats emerged after her and gathered curiously around. Nightshade recognized Graypool, who gave no sign that she had ever seen the shadow-walker before, and Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat, who crouched beside Mistyfoot to examine the kits.

All of the RiverClan cats were wet through, and the fur clinging to their bodies showed they were skinnier than ever. Nightshade had always thought of RiverClan cats as plump and sleek, well-fed on fish from the river. But it was clear they were suffering badly—first from the frozen river during leaf-bare, and now from the flooding that had driven them from their camp entirely.

In spite of her genuine sympathy, Nightshade could also see the unfriendliness in their eyes, the hostility in their flattened ears and twitching tail tips. She knew they would have to work hard to convince Crookedstar that they had really saved the kits.

The Clan leader was at least prepared to give them a chance to explain. "Tell us what happened," Crookedstar ordered.

Nightshade began at the point when she had heard the kits wailing and seen them stranded on the mat of debris in the river.

"Since when have ThunderClan cats risked their lives for us?" Blackclaw broke in contemptuously as Nightshade described how she had pushed the kits through the torrent to the riverbank.

Nightshade fixed him with a cold stare, but Crookedstar hissed at the warrior, "Quiet, Blackclaw! Let her speak. If she's lying, we'll find out soon enough."

"She's not lying." Mistyfoot looked up from where she was still nuzzling her kits. "Why should ThunderClan steal kits when all the Clans are finding it hard to feed themselves?"

"Nightshade's story makes sense," the silver tabby observed with careful neutrality. "We had to abandon the camp and shelter in these bushes when the water started to rise again," she explained to Nightshade. "When we came to move Mistyfoot's kits, we could find only two of them. The other two were missing. The whole nursery floor had been washed away. They must have been swept along the river to where you found them."

Crookedstar nodded slowly, and Nightshade realized that the hostility of the RiverClan cats was fading—all except for Blackclaw, who turned his back on the ThunderClan warriors with a snort of disgust.

"In that case, we're grateful to you," meowed Crookedstar, though he sounded grudging, as if he could hardly bear to be in debt to ThunderClan cats.

"Yes," mewed Mistyfoot. She looked up again, her eyes glowing softly with gratitude. "Without you, my kits would have died."

Nightshade dipped her head in acknowledgment. Her shadow-walker instincts urged her to speak, sensing this moment was important beyond the simple rescue. "Is there anything we can do for you? If you can't go back to your camp, and if prey's scarce because of the flood—"

"We need no help from ThunderClan," growled Crookedstar. "RiverClan cats can look after themselves."

"Don't be such a fool." It was Graypool who spoke, with a glare at her leader. Nightshade felt a new surge of respect for her; she guessed that not many cats would dare to take that tone with Crookedstar. "You're too proud for your own good," the elder rasped. "How can we feed ourselves, even with the thaw? There are no fish to eat. The river's practically poisoned; you know it is."

"What?" Graystripe exclaimed; Nightshade was too shocked to respond immediately.

"It's all the fault of the Twolegs," Graypool explained to them. "Last newleaf, the river was clean and full of fish. Now it's filthy with Twoleg rubbish from their camp."

"And the fish are poisoned," Mudfur added. "Cats who eat them fall ill. I've treated more cats for bellyache this leaf-bare than in all the time since I've been the medicine cat."

Nightshade exchanged a concerned glance with Graystripe, then looked back at the hungry RiverClan cats. Most of them couldn't meet her eyes, as if they were ashamed that a cat of another Clan should know about their troubles. Her shadow-walker heritage had taught her that sometimes clan boundaries must be ignored for the greater good—that darkness and light existed in balance throughout the forest, not just within individual territories.

"Then let us help," she urged them. "We'll bring prey from our territory until the floods have gone and the river is clean."

Even as she made the offer, she knew that she was breaking the warrior code that demanded loyalty to her own Clan alone. Bluestar would be furious if she found out they were prepared to share ThunderClan's precious prey like this. But Nightshade couldn't bring herself to abandon another Clan in their need—especially knowing that Mistyfoot's kits carried ThunderClan blood, whether they knew it or not.

"Would you really do this for us?" asked Crookedstar slowly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Yes," Nightshade meowed firmly.

"And I'll help too," promised Graystripe, with a carefully controlled glance at the silver tabby.

"Then the Clan thanks you," grunted Crookedstar. "None of my cats will challenge you in our territory until the floods go down and we can return to our camp. But after that, we will fend for ourselves again." He turned and led the way back to the bushes. His subdued cats followed him, casting glances back at Nightshade and Graystripe as they went. Not all of them, Nightshade could see, trusted them or believed in their offer of help.

Last to go was Mistyfoot, nudging her kits to their paws and guiding them up the slope. "Thank you both," she murmured. "I won't forget this."

Nightshade and Graystripe were left alone as the RiverClan cats disappeared into the bushes. As they picked their way down the slope again toward the river, Graystripe shook his head in disbelief. "Hunting for another Clan? We must be mad."

"What else could we do?" Nightshade retorted. "Let them starve?"

"No! But we'll have to be careful. We'll be in serious trouble if Bluestar finds out."

Or Tigerclaw, Nightshade added silently. The deputy already showed unhealthy possessiveness toward her. If he discovered she was helping RiverClan, he would likely use it as evidence of disloyalty. But as they made their way cautiously back across the fallen tree, Nightshade knew she had made the right decision—not just for the starving RiverClan cats, but for the balance of the entire forest.

And perhaps, she thought as she observed Graystripe's relieved expression, this arrangement would give her an opportunity to better understand the gray warrior's connection to RiverClan. Knowledge was power, and in the complex web of Clan politics and Tigerclaw's suspicious activities, she needed every advantage she could find.