The night is dark, silent except for the hooting of a single owl. Along the swiftly flowing river, a red tabby sits, waiting.
At last, a silver she-cat emerges from the forest, acknowledging the tom with a nod of her head.
She is guiding along two minuscule kits, one silver like her, and another speckled red, rather like the cat beside the river.
"Not much longer, my kits, there he is now," the she-cat meows encouragingly. The tom rises to his paws, giving himself a good shake.
He lopes over to the trio, sniffing the air as he does so. He noses at the kits joyfully, seeming elated that he is meeting them at last.
"My kits! Oh, my beautiful kits, how strong you are to have made this journey!" The tabby is bounding in circles around them, pride shining in his eyes.
The she-cat remains standing, but her face betrays her happiness.
The kits seem bewildered, but somehow they are not scared. The speckled one manages a squeak and stumbles toward the tabby.
The silver kitten peeped and pressed her pelt against her mother's.
"I will take care of them, Moonpelt."
"As I know you will, Sparrowfur," the silver cat mews.