by Erin Hunter
She pictured going to Sunstar and Tawnyspots and telling them about Thistleclaw’s visits to the Dark Forest. Would they even believe her? And what could they do? No cat could guard another in his sleep. There was no way to stop Thistleclaw from pursuing his murderous path; but there was something Spottedpaw could do to help her Clanmates.
The other nests in the den were empty and Spottedpaw guessed her denmates were on the dawn patrol. She pushed her way out through the brambles and almost collided with Stormtail, who was being propped up by Bluefur.
“I’m taking him to the dirtplace,” Bluefur explained.
Stormtail focused his gaze on Spottedpaw. “Thank you,” he rasped. “Featherwhisker says I would have died if you hadn’t found me.”
Spottedpaw dipped her head.
Stormtail shifted his weight from Bluefur’s shoulder. “I’m not so feeble that my own daughter has to watch me make dirt,” he grunted. He limped away.
Bluefur looked at Spottedpaw. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday,” she meowed. “I should have seen that Stormtail was sick.”
Spottedpaw twitched her ears. “I made a lucky guess,” she mewed with a shrug.
“No, you didn’t. You’re very smart, Spottedpaw. You always see so much.”
Too much, thought Spottedpaw, picturing the old cat fading away in the Dark Forest.
Bluefur stared at the bushes that shielded the dirtplace. The leaves were still trembling from where Stormtail had pushed through. “I’ve lost my mother and my sister,” she whispered. “I couldn’t bear to lose my father as well.”
There was so much sadness in her voice that Spottedpaw wanted to press her cheek against Bluefur’s muzzle and promise she would never leave her. Instead, she meowed, “You are a ThunderClan warrior. You will never be alone.”
Bluefur nodded. “You’re right. Thank you, Spottedpaw. Take care of yourself. There are difficult times ahead for us, I can feel it.”
Spottedpaw opened her mouth to ask what Bluefur meant. But Stormtail was emerging from the bushes and Bluefur trotted to meet him, her tail kinked high over her back. Spottedpaw watched the gray she-cat, wondering if her dreams were also filled with the sounds of screeching, clawing cats.
If Thistleclaw achieved his ambition to become Clan leader, so many blood-soaked battles lay ahead. There would be so many injures, so many lives lost. For what? A moment of victory, until the next time warrior was pitched against warrior?
These were not the kind of battles Spottedpaw had trained to fight. Her destiny lay on a different path.
She marched through the ferns to Featherwhisker’s den. The medicine cat was at the mouth of the cleft in the rock, laying out some herbs to dry in the sun. He pricked his ears when he saw Spottedpaw.
“Can I help you?” he mewed.
“Yes,” she replied. “I want to become your apprentice.”
CHAPTER NINE
“From this moment, you will be known as Tigerclaw. ThunderClan honors your courage and your skill at fighting, and we welcome you as a warrior. May StarClan light your path, always.” Sunstar bowed his head to the dark tabby tom and stepped back. His paws left sharp black prints on the light dusting of snow, and his fur was speckled with white flakes.
“Tigerclaw! Whitestorm!” yowled the Clan.
Tigerclaw lifted his head and stared around at his Clanmates as they filled the ravine with the names of the new warriors. Beside him, Whitestorm’s eyes shone.
“Snowfur would be so proud of him,” Spottedpaw heard Bluefur meow.
“Not so many moons until you’ll be watching your own kits become warriors,” commented Poppydawn with a pointed glance at Bluefur’s rounded belly, clearly visible under her thick fur.
“But will we know who the father is by then?” whispered Rosetail.
“Surely it’s Thrushpelt?” hissed Fuzzypelt.
“I can’t see who else it would be,” Rosetail agreed, keeping her voice low. “But do you ever see the two of them together?”
Spottedpaw looked across the clearing at her former mentor. She knew he had always been fond of Bluefur, enough that she thought they might become mates. Spottedpaw felt a pang of regret that she had denied Thrushpelt the chance to watch her become a warrior. He had been a good mentor. But it would be a long time before Spottedpaw received her medicine cat name. There was so much to learn from Featherwhisker, more than could be fitted into six moons, or even a lifetime.
Her fur tingled, and she knew Thistleclaw was watching her. She stiffened, refusing to meet his gaze. Every cat knew he planned to become deputy after Tawnyspots. The gray tabby tom was well liked but it was no secret that he was becoming too frail to succeed Sunstar as leader. He would retire to the elders’ den and Sunstar would choose another deputy before reaching his ninth life. Thistleclaw was the obvious choice, and he had already started to organize the patrols when Tawnyspots was too weak to leave his nest.
Only Spottedpaw knew what kind of leader Thistleclaw would be once he had clawed his way to power. Her heart had not turned to stone, however. It still hurt to look at him, especially when she glimpsed him being gentle or playful, and she recalled the cat she had once loved. But she had made her choice, and there was no turning back. My heart is no longer foolish, she told herself.
Paw steps crunched over the snow behind her, and Featherwhisker murmured, “Time to get back to the den, Spottedpaw. I’d like you to empty the store completely so we can see what herbs we have to last us until the end of leaf-bare.”
Shivering, Spottedpaw followed her mentor through the frost-nipped ferns. Every day seemed colder than the last, and the sky was a dull shade of yellow, promising more snow.
“Kits are always welcome,” Featherwhisker meowed as they settled down in the shelter of the cave. “But great StarClan, couldn’t White-eye and Bluefur have waited until newleaf? I don’t know if I have enough milk thistle for another nursing queen.”
White-eye had kitted two moons ago, when the days were still warmed by a generous leaf-fall sun. Mousekit and Runningkit had grown quickly, and were strong enough to see through the cold weather now. But Bluefur’s kits would face a much tougher fight, and Spottedpaw had been gathering feathers from every bird on the fresh-kill pile to line the nest in the nursery.
“Don’t worry, they’ll have the whole Clan looking after them when they arrive,” Featherwhisker purred as if he could see into Spottedpaw’s thoughts. “ThunderClan never gives up its kits easily.”
“Get your paws off!” Bluefur hissed as her belly rippled under Spottedpaw’s forelegs.
Spottedpaw sprang back as if she had been bitten, almost colliding with Featherwhisker, who was crouched just behind her.
“Sorry,” Bluefur grunted. “I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”
“Did I hurt you?” Spottedpaw mewed.
Featherwhisker touched her flank with the tip of his tail. “No. Queens can be a bit crabby when kitting.” He glanced sideways at Bluefur. “Some are crabbier than others.”
“You’d be crabby if you’d been kitting since dawn!” Bluefur retorted, then winced as another spasm wracked her body.
“Is she all right?” White-eye called anxiously from the other side of the nursery.
“She’s fine,” Spottedpaw replied. Though it would be easier if there weren’t so many cats in here! Mousekit and Runningkit were staring huge-eyed from their nest, as if they couldn’t believe they had joined the Clan the same way. Spottedpaw tried to shift in front of them so that Bluefur had more privacy.
“Here comes the first one,” Featherwhisker announced from beside Bluefur’s tail. “Spottedpaw, when it arrives, nip the kitting-sac with your teeth to release it.”
A dark wet shape slithered onto the feathers and Spottedpaw craned her neck to break the delicate sac and release a tiny muzzle, already gulping for air.
“A tom!” Featherwhisker meowed.
Bluefur tried to sit up. “Is he okay?” she mewed weakly.
The
little shape beside Spottedpaw’s nose lay ominously still.
“Quick, Spottedpaw!” Featherwhisker ordered. “Lick him fiercely!”
Spottedpaw ran her tongue over the tiny creature as if she could pummel life into him.
“Is he breathing?” Bluefur wailed.
“He is now,” Featherwhisker meowed. He nuzzled the kit into Bluefur’s belly.
Bluefur curled around him and licked his head. “He’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“He truly is,” Spottedpaw agreed, marveling at the miniature perfection of Bluefur’s son.
There was another ripple across Bluefur’s belly, and one more shape slid into the nest.
“A she-kit,” Featherwhisker announced as he pushed the little cat to join her brother. He ran his paw over Bluefur’s flank. “One more, I think.”
Bluefur’s eyes rolled with exhaustion. Spottedpaw bent down to her head. “You can do it!” she whispered. “You’re being incredible!” She held Bluefur’s gaze as the she-cat strained once more. “That’s it!”
“Well done!” Featherwhisker cried. “Another she-kit! And all three look healthy and strong.”
“You did it!” Spottedpaw mewed softly into Bluefur’s ear. “Three perfect ThunderClan warriors! Or medicine cats,” she added, earning a faint purr of amusement from the worn-out queen.
There was a rustle of branches and a sandy-gray head appeared through the wall of the nursery. “How is she?” Thrushpelt called.
“Bluefur’s fine,” Featherwhisker told him. “She had three healthy kits. Two she-kits and a tom.”
Thrushpelt clambered into the den and crouched down to rub his muzzle on Bluefur’s ears. Spottedpaw wriggled back to let them speak alone. It looked like the she-cats of ThunderClan were right: Thrushpelt was the father of these kits. Yet they had never been affectionate in front of other cats the way that White-eye and Halftail or Robinwing and Patchpelt were.
“What are you going to call them?” White-eye asked, scrambling out of her nest to peer at the tiny bundles.
“The dark gray she-kit will be Mistykit,” Bluefur purred. “And the gray tom, Stonekit.”
“What about this one?” mewed Thrushpelt, touching the tiny gray-and-white kit with the tip of his tail.
“Mosskit,” Bluefur meowed firmly.
Featherwhisker twitched his ears. “So you’re not letting the father decide on any of the names?” he purred playfully. “You always were determined, Bluefur.”
There was a light in his eyes beyond mere teasing, however. Spottedpaw felt her fur begin to tingle. Did Featherwhisker suspect that Bluefur was hiding something about these kits? Could there be a chance that Thrushpelt wasn’t their father? But if not, who could it be? Which warrior in ThunderClan would want to keep a secret like that?
Spottedpaw forced her mind to stop chasing after wild imaginings. Right at this moment, nothing mattered more than these three perfect new Clanmates. She gazed down at them, feeling warm to the tips of her toes. I will protect you with my life, she vowed silently. Whatever happens, I will be your medicine cat. It will be an honor to serve you.
She let out a long purr. Being a medicine cat was better than she had ever imagined!
CHAPTER TEN
Spottedpaw stopped to catch her breath and wondered why she had ever wanted to be a medicine cat. Goosefeather had coughed himself hoarse and was demanding freshly soaked moss, which meant a slippery walk to a rivulet that had formed from recent rain near the top of the ravine. Spottedpaw had lost count of how many bundles of moss she had carried back from the tiny stream; she was close to telling all the elders to sit in the clearing with their mouths open next time it rained, to save her some time.
As she trudged back down the path, she saw Tawnyspots emerge from the dirtplace.
“Must have eaten a dodgy blackbird!” he mewed.
But Spottedpaw looked at his hollow flanks and the way each step made him flinch, and knew he was much sicker than that. Cats had started wondering how long he would be able to stay as deputy, and how soon Sunstar would appoint Thistleclaw instead. Spottedpaw braced her shoulders to push through the gorse and reminded herself to count out the herb supplies again, to see if there was any way of boosting them with the leaves that were available now.
“Spottedpaw! Did you bring me back a treat?” Mosskit bounced up on paws that seemed too big for her.
“And me! And me!” mewed Mistykit, trotting after her sister. Her stubby tail stuck straight up in the air and her dark gray fur was fluffed up around her ears. “Come on, Stonekit! Spottedpaw’s brought us a treat!”
Spottedpaw put down the sodden lump of moss as the little cats bounced around her. Bluefur’s kits were a moon old now, and growing fast in spite of the cold.
Stonekit stuck his nose into the moss and jumped back, shaking droplets from his muzzle. “Wet moss is a yucky treat!” he complained.
“That’s because it’s not meant for you,” Spottedpaw meowed, picking up the moss before any more kits attacked it, and carrying it to the elders’ den. Goosefeather was lying on his side in his nest, breathing laboriously. He started lapping at the moss at once, lashing his tail when Mumblefoot tried to crouch alongside to share it.
“I’ll get some more,” Spottedpaw promised wearily.
As she headed back across the clearing, she passed Thrushpelt, who was staggering under the weight of a plump squirrel.
“Good catch!” Spottedpaw called.
“Is that for us?” squeaked Mistykit, racing over to sniff at the squirrel. A piece of fur stuck to her muzzle and she sneezed.
“That’s a real treat!” mewed Stonekit.
“Of course it’s for you,” Thrushpelt purred. “Is there any cat more important to feed than you?”
Mosskit shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she replied with a serious expression in her blue eyes. “The warrior code says kits and elders have to be fed first. And that’s us!”
Bluefur padded over from the tree stump, where she had been talking to Rosetail. “Actually, I just fed them,” she mewed to Thrushpelt. “You can put that squirrel on the fresh-kill pile.”
“That’s not fair!” wailed Mistykit. “Thrushpelt said he caught it for us!”
“I’m your mother,” Bluefur meowed. “If I say you’ve had enough to eat, then you have.”
Spottedpaw waited for Thrushpelt to remind Bluefur that he was their father, and if he wanted to catch fresh-kill for them, that was his right. But Thrushpelt said nothing, simply picked up the squirrel with a murmured apology to the kits and carried it away.
“That’s not fair!” Stonekit pouted, turning his back on Bluefur.
“Life isn’t fair,” Bluefur retorted, but her attention was drifting away and her gaze was fixed on the gorse tunnel.
Thistleclaw was returning at the head of a border patrol, with Tigerclaw bouncing beside him. Their pelts were fluffed up and Tigerclaw’s muzzle bore signs of claw marks.
“Those kittypets won’t be coming back into ThunderClan territory again!” Thistleclaw declared. “Tigerclaw will be picking their fur from his claws for the next moon!”
Sunstar pricked his ears from where he sat beneath Highledge. “More intruders?” he asked. “I renewed the scent markers beside Twolegplace yesterday. I can’t believe those kittypets have crossed them already!”
“Don’t worry,” Thistleclaw assured him. “Our borders are safe now.”
The rest of his patrol entered the clearing, and Spottedpaw noticed that Fuzzypelt was limping. She went over to the black warrior and asked if he was okay.
Fuzzypelt twitched his ears. “It’s nothing. Just a splinter.”
“Let me have a look.” Spottedpaw steered him to the edge of the clearing and bent down to study his paw. Sure enough, a shard of wood was stuck in the soft part of his pad. “I can get this out, but it might sting a bit,” she mewed. Before Fuzzypelt could object, she gripped the tip of the splinter in her teeth and tugged it free.
“O
w!” Fuzzypelt jumped backward, but then tested his paw on the ground and nodded. “Much better. Thanks, Spottedpaw.”
Spottedpaw was studying the splinter. It was very pale and straight, and had a strong, distinctive smell. This hadn’t come from a tree or a fallen branch. “Where did you get this?” she meowed.
Fuzzypelt shrugged. “I don’t know, somewhere in the forest, I guess.” He sounded evasive, and when Spottedpaw looked up at him, he wouldn’t meet her eye.
“I recognize this scent,” she murmured. “You got this splinter from a Twoleg fence, didn’t you? Did Thistleclaw lead a patrol into Twolegplace looking for kittypets?” She felt cold beneath her pelt.
Fuzzypelt’s yellow eyes filled with confusion. “He said we weren’t to say anything. Those kittypets need to be taught a lesson! They keep crossing our borders!”
“But they didn’t cross them today,” Spottedpaw pointed out. “Not since Sunstar renewed the scent markers. Thistleclaw should not have gone into Twoleg territory.”
“No harm done,” Fuzzypelt mewed uneasily.
“I wonder if the kittypet whose fur is underneath Tigerclaw’s claws would agree.”
Fuzzypelt backed away, looking relieved when Thistleclaw summoned him to the fresh-kill pile.
“My warriors need to eat!” the gray-and-white warrior declared.
“They are not his warriors,” growled a voice beside Spottedpaw.
She jumped, and turned to see Bluefur beside her, scowling at Thistleclaw. “He took that patrol into Twolegplace, didn’t he?” the gray she-cat hissed. “That was not his decision to make!”
“Are you going to tell Sunstar?” Spottedpaw asked.
Bluefur lashed her tail. “What would be the point? Ever since our victory in the battle with RiverClan, which Thistleclaw claims he fought single-pawed, Sunstar listens to everything he says. You know he’s taken over organizing all the patrols now?”
Spottedpaw meowed, “We’re going to have to get used to him being in charge. Sunstar is bound to make him our next deputy.”
Bluefur’s eyes darkened. “Not if I can help it,” she rasped, and Spottedpaw flinched.