It's not real (closed)

Sablestrike pushed his way into the medicine den, golden eyes searching for the white pelt of his mother. She had been sick with whitecough for a while now, transforming his nonchalance of the situation into worry. "Snowfoot?" The tom called gently. Padding further into the den Sablestrike settled himself next to his mother. "How are you feeling? Has Heatherberry been treating you well?"

The black and white she-cat hadn’t gotten significantly worse, but she wasn’t getting any better either. “Hi, son,” she rasped, a smile flitting across the black and white she-cat’s face. “Don’t worry, I’m all right. I just remembered, we’ve all been so busy I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you properly. You’re truly living your grandfather’s legacy and I couldn’t be prouder of you. And I know Darkpelt and Tawnydapple, your biological parents, must be too.”