“That’s a good reason,” Firestar commented.
“Does that mean you’d let them join the Clan? Permanently?” Brambleclaw’s tone was clearly challenging. “Four kittypets?”
Squirrelflight felt a growl rising from the back of her throat. Had Brambleclaw forgotten that Firestar had been a kittypet, and she shared his kittypet blood?
“You only have to look at Daisy to tell she probably never killed a mouse in her life,” Brambleclaw went on, before Squirrelflight could challenge him. “She’ll need a lot of help to live out here.”
“True,” Firestar admitted. “But ThunderClan needs more young cats. We only have two apprentices, and although Sorreltail’s kits will be very welcome, they won’t begin their warrior training for moons.”
Brackenfur and Sorreltail, who had emerged from the nursery to stand beside her mate, blinked proudly at each other.
“But these are kittypets,” Brambleclaw objected. “How are they going to learn—”
“What did you say?” Cloudtail whirled around to face Brambleclaw, his blue eyes slitted with anger. “Have you forgotten that your Clan leader was a kittypet? That I was a kittypet? I’ll show you that a kittypet can claw your ears off any time.”
Brambleclaw took a step back, his eyes flaring. The rest of the cats looked shocked too, including Cloudtail’s mate, Brightheart. Squirrelflight hadn’t realised the white warrior was still so sensitive about his kittypet origins; they were never mentioned by his Clanmates, and he had arrived in ThunderClan as a tiny kit, long before Squirrelflight was born.
“If Cloudtail doesn’t claw you, I will,” she hissed, padding forward to stand beside the white warrior and glaring furiously at Brambleclaw.
“That’s enough.” Firestar thrust between the bristling antagonists. “Sheathe your claws. There’ll be no fighting here.”
“Thank you for standing up for us.” The quiet voice came from behind her. Squirrelflight turned to see that Daisy had appeared at the entrance to the nursery. “I couldn’t help hearing what you were saying. I didn’t intend to join anyone when I left home. I only wanted to save my kits from whatever happened to Floss’s litter. If it’s a problem having us here, we’ll leave as soon as my kits are strong enough to travel.”
“It’s not a problem,” Cloudtail assured her instantly.
“You can stay as long as you want,” Firestar added, padding across to stand in front of Daisy. “But if you decide to leave you need to think very carefully about where you’ll go. The life of a loner is tough. Are you used to catching your own food?”
“I bet she can,” Squirrelflight put in, before Daisy could answer. “Barley and Ravenpaw catch mice in their barn, so why shouldn’t Daisy and the others?”
Daisy shook her head, looking a bit embarrassed. “No, we—”
“No, she’d be too fat and lazy to run fast enough,” Sootfur interrupted, loud enough to be heard. Squirrelflight was glad when Mousefur hissed at him and gave him a clout around the ear with a sheathed paw; she would have done the same if she’d been close enough.
“The Nofurs fed us,” Daisy explained, blinking anxiously. “We did catch mice sometimes, in the barn. But there aren’t very many mice there—and anyway, I expect it’s harder out here.”
“You’re right. It is,” Firestar meowed. “But we’ll show you how, if you decide to stay. And we’ll train your kits in our ways.”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Cloudtail put in. “Why don’t you go back to your kits now? You need to rest.”
“And we won’t make any decisions without talking to you,” Firestar added. He turned to the apprentices, who were hovering on the edge of the group with eyes like full moons. “Birchpaw, fetch Daisy a piece of fresh-kill from the pile, please.”
The young apprentice bounded off.
“Come on, Daisy,” Cloudtail meowed. “Everything will seem better when you’re not hungry and tired.”
Squirrelflight saw Brightheart looking a little disconcerted as her mate touched his nose to Daisy’s flank. The ginger and white she-cat watched them walk back to the nursery, then murmured to Whitepaw, “Your father’s doing exactly the right thing. Daisy’s exhausted, and she must be scared out of her wits.”
Brightheart hurried forward to catch up with Cloudtail and Daisy. “Do you need any help with the kits?” she offered.
Daisy glanced around and let out a little squeak of alarm. “What happened to your face?”
Squirrelflight was so used to seeing the injuries Brightheart had received from the dog pack that she didn’t notice them any more. But she could understand how Daisy, confronted by the bald pink scars and empty eye socket for the first time, might be frightened.
She doesn’t have to show it like that, though, Squirrelflight thought crossly. Poor Brightheart!
“I was attacked by dogs.” Brightheart lowered her head and turned the injured side of her face away from Daisy. She stepped back to let Cloudtail and Daisy go into the nursery alone, then she headed across the clearing to the warriors’ den.
“Want to hunt?” Squirrelflight jumped at the sound of Ashfur’s voice behind her. “It doesn’t sound as if your patrol had much chance to bring back fresh-kill.”
“No, we didn’t,” Squirrelflight admitted. “Let’s go now.”
“We’ll need plenty of prey from now on,” Ashfur remarked as they headed to the thorn tunnel. “Four more mouths to feed!”
Squirrelflight was pleased by the warmth in his tone. He was much more welcoming to the new arrivals than Brambleclaw had been, with his scathing comments about kittypets. I’m half kittypet myself, she thought. Do you think I shouldn’t be a warrior either, Brambleclaw?
Ducking her head to follow Ashfur through the brambles, Squirrelflight pushed thoughts of Brambleclaw out of her mind. It didn’t make any difference where Daisy came from. ThunderClan was desperately short of young cats, after so many had died during the famine and the journey to the lake. Daisy’s arrival could be exactly what they needed.
CHAPTER 10
Leafpool dropped the herbs she was carrying and looked down at the creamy-furred she-cat. “Cinderpelt says you need to eat these.”
Daisy blinked up at her from sleepy blue eyes, lifting her head from where she lay among the thick moss in the nursery. In the two days since they came to the camp, she and her kits had almost recovered from their exhausting journey. Daisy had groomed her fur back into soft silkiness, while her three kits were curled up together in a purring heap. “You’re all so kind,” Daisy murmured. She chewed up the herbs obediently, wrinkling her nose against the pungent scent.
Careful not to disturb them, Leafpool bent to check the three kits. “They’re beautiful,” she mewed. “Have you given them names yet?”
“Yes. The one with cream fur like mine is Berry, the bigger grey one is Mouse, and the smallest one is Hazel.” Daisy rested her tail softly on each kit as she named it.
“Those will work very well as Clan names,” Leafpool told her. “Here they’ll be Berrykit, Mousekit, and Hazelkit. I’ll let Firestar know.”
She thought Daisy looked a bit doubtful, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted her kits to be part of the Clan, but before she could say any more Ferncloud crept in through the entrance with a mouse in her jaws.
“I’ve brought you some fresh-kill,” she meowed to Daisy, placing the mouse next to her. Purring, she settled down in the moss beside the kits. “They look fine now. I’m sure you have enough milk.”
Leaving them to discuss the kits, Leafpool said goodbye and emerged into the clearing. The weather was still grey and cold, and the trees above her head clashed in the wind.
More than a half moon had passed since their encounter on the hillside, but there had been no word from Crowfeather. Half the time, Leafpool drifted around in a haze of happiness, remembering the look in his eyes and the scent of his pelt.
But for the rest of the time she was clawed by guilt that she had agreed to meet him again.
If she was a true medicine cat, she wouldn’t even be thinking about him. She tried harder than ever to concentrate on her tasks, so that she could become the cat she had always longed to be. Besides, she didn’t want Cinderpelt to scold her, or suspect that the WindClan warrior was occupying her thoughts.
Leafpool padded towards her den, but stopped short as a tortoiseshell cat hurtled through the thorn tunnel and skidded to a halt in the middle of the clearing. For an instant Leafpool thought it was Sorreltail, and her heart lurched at the thought of any harm coming to the kits she was carrying. Then she looked more closely and recognised Mosspelt, a warrior from RiverClan.
“Leafpool!” she gasped. “Thank StarClan you’re here!”
“What’s the matter?” Leafpool asked.
“Mothwing sent me.” Mosspelt’s chest heaved. “There’s sickness in RiverClan. It’s bad—very bad.”
“And Mothwing wants me to come?”
Mosspelt nodded. “Mothwing said you would understand what the trouble is.”
Leafpool swallowed, feeling as if a tough piece of fresh-kill were stuck in her throat. She understood too well. Feathertail’s warning—that Twolegs would put RiverClan in great danger—had come true. Her dream, her long journey to tell Mothwing, had all been in vain.
More cats had begun to gather in the clearing. Firestar appeared on the Highledge with Sandstorm, while Brightheart and several other warriors emerged from the warriors’ den. Daisy peered cautiously out of the nursery, then ran across to Cloudtail and began talking urgently to him, twitching her tail anxiously as she spoke.
Sootfur shot Mosspelt a hostile stare. “Why should we send our medicine cat all the way around the lake to help RiverClan? They should find help somewhere else.”
“Oh, come on!” Thornclaw argued. “WindClan aren’t likely to help, are they? And ShadowClan have never been exactly generous towards other Clans.”
Leafpool was relieved to see Cinderpelt padding across to them.
“What’s going on? Mosspelt, are you in trouble?”
“The whole of RiverClan is in trouble,” the she-cat answered. More calmly, now that she had caught her breath, she repeated what she had told Leafpool. “Mothwing’s den is full of sick cats,” she mewed. “None have died yet, but they will die, if we don’t have help.”
“May I go?” Leafpool begged. She was racked with guilt that she hadn’t tried to do anything else to find out what the trouble might be. Perhaps she really was losing her ability to speak with StarClan. “Please, Cinderpelt!”
Cinderpelt and Firestar exchanged a long glance. Then the medicine cat meowed, “If Firestar agrees.”
The Clan leader nodded. “We can’t refuse to help another Clan in trouble. Besides, this sickness, whatever it is, might come here. Leafpool, try to find out everything you can about it.”
“I will,” Leafpool promised. “Are you sure you can manage without me?” she asked Cinderpelt. Because of her lame leg, the medicine cat relied on Leafpool to collect most of the healing herbs they needed.
“Of course,” Cinderpelt replied. “ThunderClan is lucky to have two medicine cats.” A shadow flickered in her eyes.
Brightheart stepped forward. “I could help you, Cinderpelt,” she offered. “I think I know what most of the herbs look like—the common ones, anyway.”
“Thank you, Brightheart.” Cinderpelt turned back to Leafpool. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go with Mosspelt. But come back as soon as you can. And may StarClan go with you.”
Leafpool nodded and followed Mosspelt out of the camp. Already she had begun to run through a list of the herbs she might need: juniper, watermint, chervil root … She shook her head. She couldn’t tell what she needed until she’d had a chance to examine the sick cats. StarClan, I need you now, she prayed silently. Show me what I have to do.
A strong wind whisked across the surface of the lake as Leafpool and Mosspelt crossed WindClan’s territory, buffeting the two cats’ fur. After her frantic dash to ThunderClan, Mosspelt couldn’t manage anything faster than a trot, and Leafpool kept pace with her. There was no point in racing on to the RiverClan camp if she arrived too exhausted to help.
They were drawing near the horse place when Leafpool heard a yowl from somewhere above them. Glancing around, she spotted a patrol of four WindClan cats bounding down the hillside towards them. Her heart lurched as she saw Crowfeather’s lean grey shape racing over the turf.
She and Mosspelt stopped and waited for the patrol to catch up. Tornear was leading it; behind him, flanking Crowfeather, came Owlwhisker and Webfoot.
“Greetings.” Tornear dipped his head. “What are you doing on WindClan territory?”
His tone was formal, not aggressive, though Leafpool hardly registered his question. She was too conscious of Crowfeather’s eyes scorching into her fur, though she dared not speak to him or even look at him with so many other cats around.
“We’re on our way to RiverClan,” Mosspelt meowed. She did not tell Tornear why; Leafpool guessed she was in no hurry to let WindClan know that RiverClan had been weakened by sickness.
“We’re staying close to the lake,” Leafpool pointed out, “just as the leaders decided at the Gathering.”
“I can see you are,” meowed Tornear. “Carry on, then, and—”
“What are you staring at her for?” Webfoot growled. “Aren’t there enough cats in WindClan for you to be padding after?”
Leafpool froze. He was speaking to Crowfeather. She looked at the grey warrior and saw her own dismay reflected in his eyes.
“Great StarClan, Webfoot,” Tornear meowed. “Don’t be more mousebrained than you can help. This is Squirrelflight’s sister, remember? Squirrelflight who Crowfeather went on the journey with?”
Leafpool went limp with relief, breathing out silent thanks to Tornear.
“That’s right,” Crowfeather choked out. “Er … say hi to Squirrelflight for me, will you, Leafpool?”
“Sure.” Leafpool dipped her head.
Mosspelt scraped her claws impatiently on the pebbles. “Can we keep going, please?”
Tornear nodded, waving Leafpool and Mosspelt away with a sweep of his tail.
Before Leafpool had taken a couple of paces she heard a hiss behind her and swung around to see Crowfeather following her.
“Meet me by the island at twilight,” he whispered, adding in a louder meow, “Remember to tell Squirrelflight what I said.”
“Yes, I will,” Leafpool replied. Guilt and excitement thrilled through her until she felt that every hair on her pelt must be sparkling with it. This couldn’t be wrong, could it? When it made her so happy?
“Crowfeather, are you coming?” Webfoot yowled.
The grey warrior darted away without another glance at Leafpool. She bounded along the lakeshore to catch up to Mosspelt, feeling as though her paws hardly touched the ground.
Long before she and Mosspelt reached the RiverClan camp, Leafpool could smell the sickness. It hung heavily in the air, a stench like rotting carrion. Then an eerie wailing rose above the gurgle of the stream that bordered the camp. Mosspelt shot Leafpool a terrified glance and bounded ahead, splashing through the stream and into the camp. Leafpool followed, hardly noticing the icy water that dragged at her paws and soaked her belly fur.
Leopardstar emerged from the ferns at the top of the bank and waited for Leafpool and Mosspelt to reach her. The terrible wailing went on and on.
“Ivytail is dead,” Leopardstar announced. Her voice was calm, but Leafpool could see stark terror behind her eyes. “Do you think you can do anything to help us?”
“I don’t know until I talk to Mothwing,” Leafpool answered. “I’ll go straight to her den—I know the way.”
“I will send some of my warriors to help you,” Leopardstar meowed.
Leafpool crossed the camp and picked her way down the bank to Mothwing’s den under the thorn bush. All thoughts of Crowfeather had vanished from her head. All that mattered was helping thes
e sick cats.
On the way, she met Heavystep and Hawkfrost bearing the limp body of a brown tabby Leafpool didn’t recognise. She stood aside to let them pass, her head respectfully bowed.
“Leafpool!” It was Mothwing’s voice, high and panicky. The RiverClan medicine cat flung herself out of the den and pressed her muzzle into Leafpool’s fur. “I knew you would come!”
Leafpool inhaled her friend’s fear scent, stronger even than the reek of sickness. “Tell me what the matter is,” she mewed.
“They’re all dying!” Mothwing’s wide blue eyes were distraught. “I don’t know what to do!”
“Mothwing, calm down,” she ordered. “Your Clan will give up completely if they see their medicine cat panicking. You must be strong for their sake.”
Mothwing took a couple of gulping breaths. “I’m sorry,” she meowed after a moment. “You’re right, Leafpool. I’m OK now.”
“Tell me what’s been happening,” Leafpool repeated.
“Come and see.”
Mothwing led Leafpool to her den. Close to the entrance, sheltered by the twisted branches of the thorn tree, a small black kit lay in a mossy nest. Its eyes were closed, and Leafpool had to watch closely for a few moments before she saw its shallow breathing.
Beside it were two other kits—another black one unconscious like the first but breathing more strongly, and a grey one thrashing back and forth, its jaws gaping in a feeble wail.
Farther along the bank, beyond the den, four warriors lay in rough nests of dried bracken, along with a younger cat who looked like an apprentice. Leafpool recognised Dawnflower’s pale grey pelt, and Voletooth, who had recently been made a warrior.
She crouched down beside Dawnflower, who was nearest, and extended one paw to pat her belly gently. Dawnflower moaned and tried to pull away from her. Leafpool gave her a soothing lick, then sat back and looked up at Mothwing.
“It reminds me of the time the elders were ill from drinking poisoned water,” she meowed. “But the scent isn’t quite the same. I wonder—”
“But that was my fault!” Mothwing wailed. “I should have smelled there was a dead rabbit in that pool.”