Oh, so it's Maggotkit's turn, now? It glances its mother way. She's still sleeping (she sleeps a lot), flanks rising and falling steadily. Does this mean it's the only one of its friends with a mom? Lucky Maggotkit. Instead of telling the maggot story right away, it assures Morningkit: "Well if you're my friend then I have to help. That's my job. I will help." It doesn't want her thinking it'll be so easily shaken off. Maggotkit is an awfully pushy little thing, when it wants to be.

In the interest of stalling just a bit longer, it fixes a look on Frogkit, who's woken from her short nap. She looks uneasy about something, and Maggotkit realizes that they've jumbled the order; it wanted Morningkit to go, then Frogkit, then maybe itself. But here's Frogkit, looking all worried now. It wouldn't be right to make her do something she doesn't want to do—something that's making her look so fretful. Right?

Part of Maggotkit wants to ignore that, though. Part of it wants to pretend that it doesn't understand, to shine a spotlight on Frogkit and watch her squirm all so it doesn't have to do what it doesn't want to do. It lets that mean feeling hang for a moment, holds it carefully like some living thing between its jaws, before breathing it out and away. Not today. Maybe some other day...but not today.

"Once," it starts up, distant and and narrative, "Whiterabbit from Windclan ate a piece of yucky prey. Only she didn't know it was yucky until a teeny-tiny, squirmy-wormy maggot fell out. And she felt so bad for the little maggot that she scooped it up and carried it to her nest. Every day she slept and played with the teeny-tiny, squirmy-wormy maggot until it looked more and more like a kit! It grew little kit whiskers and little kit feet. And she named it Maggotkit. The end!"

It is hardly the truth, but it's the story that Maggotkit likes the best, and it's the story that it wants to share.