by Erin Hunter
Moth Flight’s pelt grew hot. “Of course!” She remembered now. Reed Tail had told her yesterday when he’d taken her out collecting herbs. Why couldn’t she remember the simplest things?
White Tail stared at her with wide eyes. “I thought you were our medicine cat?”
“Maybe Reed Tail should be the medicine cat,” Silver Stripe suggested.
Moth Flight shifted her paws uneasily. Perhaps the kit was right. How was she ever going to learn everything she’d need to know? She wondered for a moment if the spirit-cats had made a mistake choosing her. I’m too featherbrained.
Reed Tail shooed White Tail toward the entrance and nudged Silver Stripe and Black Ear after them. “Go and find Swift Minnow. Tell her I sent you.”
“It’s not fair,” Silver Stripe complained.
“We were only helping,” added Black Ear.
As the kits disappeared, grumbling, from the cave, Moth Flight looked gratefully at Reed Tail. “You know so much more than me about herbs and healing. Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps you should be WindClan’s medicine cat.”
Reed Tail gazed at her fondly. “The spirit-cats chose you for a reason. I think they wanted someone who could do more than remember herbs.”
“Like what?” Moth Flight felt lost. She was up to her ears in plants and names and had no idea how she’d ever know the right herb in an emergency. What if a Clanmate died because she couldn’t remember? Panic sparked in her paws.
“You’ve only just begun,” Reed Tail told her softly.
Outside, Holly’s yowl rang across the clearing. “Where do you three think you’re going?”
“The kits!” Reed Tail headed for the entrance. “They’re probably trying to sneak out of camp again.” The gorse swished as he squeezed out of the den.
Moth Flight looked back at her herb piles, and began pushing the scattered leaves back together.
A cough sounded outside.
Rocky.
The old tom had been coughing for a few days. Moth Flight glanced at the empty nest at the side of the den, freshly woven from heather by Storm Pelt and Eagle Feather. It would be cozier than Rocky’s nest in the long grass. Even though newleaf was warming the moor, the nights were still chilly and the wind relentless. Perhaps a few nights’ sleep in the shelter of her den was all Rocky needed to recover. She hoped so; the tansy she’d given him last night clearly hadn’t worked and she didn’t know any other herb that might cure him.
“Rocky!” Moth Flight slid out of her den and crossed the clearing.
Rocky was weaving slowly among the tussocks, heading for the prey pile. He paused as she stopped beside him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not bad. I thought I might feel better if I had something to eat—” Rocky broke off, coughing. His shaggy shoulders heaved with the effort. Struggling to catch his breath, he looked at her, his gaze clouded with exhaustion.
Moth Flight pushed away worry. She must focus on curing Rocky; fretting wouldn’t help. Her thoughts quickened. He’d been heading for food. A hungry cat is a healthy cat. Her mother used to say that when she returned home with prey for Moth Flight and Dust Muzzle. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.” Rocky shrugged. “I just thought a small bite of shrew might help.” He gazed at her bleakly.
“I think you’d better move into my den,” Moth Flight mewed briskly. “There’s a nice, clean nest for you and it’ll be warm.” And I can keep an eye on you. His lack of appetite worried her. Perhaps I need to give him more tansy. She wished Dappled Pelt were here. Or Pebble Heart. They might know what to do. I bet even Micah knows more than me. As she steered Rocky gently toward her den, she thought of the yellow tom. Her pelt prickled with warmth. She’d be seeing him before long, at the half-moon gathering at Highstones. She paused and waited for Rocky to squeeze into her den. Following, she pointed her muzzle to the heather nest. “Rest there while I fetch you more tansy.”
As Rocky climbed in and began to knead the heather, Moth Flight turned toward her herbs. Perhaps I gave him the wrong one. She sniffed at the curly green leaves she’d shredded for him last night. It was definitely tansy. She felt sure. She grabbed a bunch between her jaws and crossed the den. Dropping it on the edge of Rocky’s nest, she leaned close and felt heat pulsing from his pelt. He has a fever. “Eat these.” She pushed the tansy closer and headed back to her herbs. Frustration tightened her belly. She knew there must be something here to help his fever, but what?
Rocky lapped at the leaves, swallowing, then coughing harder than ever.
Moth Flight stared at him anxiously. The tansy wasn’t helping!
Catmint. The name flashed in her mind. Micah had mentioned it! He’d said it would help Tiny Branch’s cough! It looks a bit like nettles but the leaves are smaller and they don’t sting. You’ll know if you ever see some. It smells great. He’d said it grew by the Twoleg barn. Rocky began to wheeze. The farm was too far to travel. She needed to find some quickly. Would there be any around the Twoleg nests beyond the forest?
“Try to rest,” she told Rocky. “I’m going to hunt for herbs.” She watched the old tom settle stiffly into his nest. His pelt was clumped and his gaze dull. I wish I knew how to make him feel better. “Shall I fetch you something from the prey pile before I go?”
Rocky grunted. “I don’t think I can swallow.”
“Is your throat sore?”
“Like I swallowed hot nettles.” Rocky laid his muzzle on the edge of his nest and shook as he fought back a cough.
“I won’t be long!” Moth Flight raced from her den. She’d be lucky if she made it to Twolegplace before sunhigh. She bounded over the tussocky clearing.
“Moth Flight!” Dust Muzzle called from rocks near the entrance. He was chewing on a vole. Spotted Fur lay beside him, washing his face.
She slewed to a halt. “What?”
“Where are you going?” Dust Muzzle padded toward her.
“I need to find catmint.”
“For Rocky?” Dust Muzzle looked toward her den. “I saw you take him to your den.”
“It will help his cough,” Moth Flight explained.
Spotted Fur crossed the grass toward them. “Where are you going to look?”
“Twolegplace,” Moth Flight told him.
An excited squeak sounded from behind the rocks and Black Ear scrambled onto the highest stone. “Can we come?”
Moth Flight blinked at him. “No! It’s too far.”
“But I’m bored,” the kit complained.
Reed Tail stuck his head up from behind the rocks and nudged the kit with his muzzle. “I’ll take you out on the moor when Slate wakes up,” he promised.
Moth Flight blinked at him. “Was Swift Minnow busy?”
“She was tired from hunting,” Reed Tail told her. “She said a tom was as good as a—”
Black Ear interrupted. “Perhaps Slate will come with us!”
“No way. She’s always too tired.” Silver Stripe scrambled up beside her brother. “Can we hunt on the moor?”
“Teach us some hunting moves!” White Tail leaped onto the rock. “I want to catch a rabbit.”
“They’re bigger than you!” Reed Tail teased.
“Reed Tail!” Holly called from the prey pile. “There are three fat mice here. Do you know any cat who might want one?”
“Me!” Silver Stripe leaped from the rock and began scrambling over the tussocks.
“I want the fattest one!” Black Ear chased after his sister.
“You are the fattest one!” White Tail hared after them.
Reed Tail glanced at Moth Flight. “I hope Slate says it’s okay to take them out of camp. They have more energy than a nest of squirrels.”
Moth Flight watched him trudge after the kits, grateful that he’d taken them off her paws. She turned back to Spotted Fur. The tom’s amber gaze clouded with worry.
“Twolegplace is a long way. You’ll have to cross Clear Sky’s forest.”
“I’ll
be okay,” Moth Flight reassured him. “Clear Sky doesn’t mind cats crossing his borders anymore. Besides, I’m a medicine cat now. I’m only hunting for herbs.”
Dust Muzzle frowned. “What if you run into rogues in Twolegplace?”
“And there are Thunderpaths,” Spotted Fur added anxiously.
“We’d better come with you.” Dust Muzzle shook out his pelt.
Moth Flight blinked at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be hunting today?”
Spotted Fur paced around her. “We can hunt on the way back.”
Moth Flight wondered if she’d travel faster alone, but it made sense to take help. When she reached Twolegplace, she’d have to sniff out catmint, and three noses would be better than one. “Okay!” She whisked her tail. “Thanks.” Heading for the entrance, she broke into a run.
As she burst out of camp, relishing the fresh breeze that streamed through her whiskers, heather scent filled her nose. Happiness surged beneath Moth Flight’s pelt as she raced downslope. She would find catmint and cure Rocky! She pushed harder against the grass. Paw steps thumped behind her as Spotted Fur and Dust Muzzle caught up.
“Slow down!” Dust Muzzle called. “You can’t run all the way!”
“We’ll have to walk in the forest.” Moth Flight kept her gaze fixed ahead. The roots and brambles under the trees would slow them down. They might as well make good time here, where they knew the terrain well. She ducked into a swath of heather, heading down a rabbit trail she’d followed countless times before.
Racing out the other side of the heather, she headed for the forest, Dust Muzzle and Spotted Fur following her.
They crossed the border gingerly, exchanging glances. The whole Clan told tales of the days when Clear Sky had challenged any cat he’d found in his forest. We’ll be fine. Moth Flight lifted her chin. Since the great battle, cats had crossed each other’s territory freely, but it was understood that no cat would hunt on another cat’s land. We’re not hunting. As the trees blocked the sun’s warmth, she shivered. What if a SkyClan cat challenged them the same way Willow Tail had challenged Red Claw about his “theft”? She pushed the thought away. Rocky needed catmint.
Dust Muzzle was staring between the towering trunks, eyes wide as he adjusted to the gloom. “SkyClan cats must have eyes like owls.”
Birdsong echoed eerily from the tree trunks, closed in by the canopy of branches. Sunshine filtered through the bright new leaves and dappled the forest floor. Brambles spilled from between the trees, and ferns unfurled in wide clumps.
Moth Flight tasted the air. The musty flavor of old leaves and damp wood bathed her tongue. “Don’t SkyClan and ThunderClan miss the sunshine?” she whispered.
“They must.” Spotted Fur fluffed out his pelt. “It’s weird not hearing the wind.”
Moth Flight realized that the pressing hum in her ears was the sound of stillness. High overhead the leaves swished, but down here, among the roots, no breeze stirred.
“This way.” Dust Muzzle padded forward, heading up a rise where the forest sloped toward a small clearing and sunlight broke through the canopy.
Tiny paws scuttled across the leaves to one side. Spotted Fur jerked his head around.
“Ignore it,” Dust Muzzle warned. “We can catch bigger prey when we’re back on the moor.”
Spotted Fur huffed and followed Dust Muzzle as he jumped over a fallen log. Moth Flight scrambled behind them, yelping as a bramble snagged her paw.
Dust Muzzle glanced back. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Moth Flight tugged herself free, wincing. “How do they hunt here?”
Spotted Fur shrugged. “Perhaps they wait for their prey to trip.”
At the top of the rise, Moth Flight relished the warmth of the sun for a moment before shadow swallowed it again. “Do you know which way to go?” she called to Dust Muzzle, who had pulled into the lead. He was following a trail smoothed by rabbit tracks, by the smell of them.
“I’m trying to find the Thunderpath,” he answered.
Spotted Fur fell in beside her. “It runs between SkyClan and ShadowClan territory.”
Dust Muzzle glanced over his shoulder. “And it leads straight to Twolegplace.”
Moth Flight shuddered. “I don’t want to follow a Thunderpath. It stinks.”
“Do you want to get lost among these trees?” Dust Muzzle argued.
“Can’t we just head away from the sun?” Moth Flight reasoned.
“We could if we could see it.” Dust Muzzle veered from the trail as brambles cut across it.
Spotted Fur paused. “Is that a gap in the trees over there?” He pointed his nose toward a lighter stretch of forest.
Dust Muzzle headed toward it.
Moth Flight padded beside Spotted Fur, her nose twitching as the sour scent of monsters touched it. She could see light spilling between the trunks. They cleared another log, leaped a ditch, and climbed another rise. Ahead, the trees opened onto a wide gap that cut through the forest like a claw mark. Black stone lined the gash, stinking of Twoleg stench and, on the far side, the trees turned from oak to pine.
Moth Flight felt dizzy from the scents washing over her. The sharp tang of pinesap and monsters made her queasy. “Let’s stay in the trees,” she begged.
“It’ll be easier to walk along the verge.” Dust Muzzle headed out onto the grass.
Spotted Fur followed. “It’s sunny here.”
Moth Flight peered at the black stone as a monster howled past. Dust Muzzle hardly flinched. Spotted Fur only narrowed his eyes against the stinking wind that billowed in its wake.
Moth Flight ducked back among the trees. She could still remember Gorse Fur’s close brush with death. “I’m staying here.”
“Walk where I can see you!” Dust Muzzle trekked along the grass verge, keeping pace with her as she pushed through a clump of bracken.
“I’ll keep an eye on her.” Spotted Fur bounded into the forest and fell in beside Moth Flight.
“You can walk with Dust Muzzle,” she told him. “I’m okay by myself.”
“I’d rather walk with you.”
She ignored the meaningful glance he gave her and wondered if Micah was nearby. Had the farm cat explored this part of the forest yet, or had Clear Sky been keeping him busy in camp?
She opened her mouth, tasting the air for a trace of his scent. But the stench of the Thunderpath drowned out any other smell. Tail drooping, she padded on, scanning the trees ahead for some sign of Twoleg nests beyond.
The forest grew warm as the sun climbed higher, until Dust Muzzle called from the verge. “I can see Twolegplace!”
Moth Flight’s heart lifted. “Is it far?”
“No!”
She quickened her pace, Spotted Fur breaking into a trot beside her. Picking her way past a bramble patch, she scanned the trees ahead. Sharp-cornered walls showed behind the trunks.
She broke into a run as she reached the edge of the woods. Dust Muzzle left the verge and hurried to catch up with her as she zigzagged through the undergrowth until she reached a sheer wooden wall. She stopped at the bottom, judging the height. Taking a breath, she leaped. She hooked her claws into the rough wood and scrambled like a squirrel to the top. Balancing on the narrow ridge, she gazed across the jumble of Twoleg nests and patches of grass, crisscrossed by a maze of wooden walls. The ridge wobbled as Dust Muzzle and Spotted Fur jumped up beside her.
“We should split up,” Moth Flight told them.
Dust Muzzle narrowed his eyes as he scanned the nests. “We don’t know what we’re looking for.”
“Micah says catmint looks like nettles,” Moth Flight told him. “Its leaves are smaller and don’t sting. He said that it smells so great, you’ll know if you find it.”
Spotted Fur’s pelt ruffled. “Does Micah know every herb?” There was an edge in his mew.
“Just catmint.” Moth Flight gazed down into the grassy clearing below. Unusual plants crowded the edge. She opened her mouth and let their scent touch
her tongue. Nothing smelled great. She nodded toward the wooden walls farther along. “You search there, I’ll head the other way,” she told Dust Muzzle.
“I’m sticking with you,” Spotted Fur told her.
Moth Flight dug her claws into the ridge. “We’ll find it quicker if we split up.” Spotted Fur was nice but she didn’t want him breathing on her tail everywhere she went.
Dust Muzzle whisked his tail, wobbling as he turned on the wall. “Call if you need help,” he told her, picking his way along it. “We won’t be far away.”
Spotted Fur caught Moth Flight’s eye. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” he asked hopefully.
“Dust Muzzle will need help searching for herbs. He’s used to hunting rabbits.” Moth Flight turned her tail on him and headed in the opposite direction.
The wall trembled beneath her and she had to concentrate to keep her balance. In the next clearing between the walls she saw huge white-plumed grasses towering around a patch of grass. The clearing beyond was covered with stone. She sniffed the air as she reached the next one, relieved to see countless plants crammed between the wooden walls. Excited, she jumped down among them and began snuffling through the leaves.
Like nettles. Micah’s words rang in her mind. If only she’d met him in the woods; he could have helped her find it. She paused. A wonderful scent was filling her nose. She blinked, gazing around.
There! A leafy plant, just like Micah had described, was crammed between a flowering shrub and a spiky grass. She hurried toward it, her pelt pricking as its scent reached inside her. Excitement flared in her belly. She stopped beside it and plunged her muzzle deep into the plant, dizzy as she breathed in the mouthwatering smell. It was just like Micah had said. You’ll know it when you find it!
She grabbed a clump of stems between her teeth and ripped them away from the plant. Laying them at her paws, she grabbed another mouthful, tearing away as much as she could. Delighted, she patted the broken stems into a tight bunch and bent to pick them up. Thanks, Micah.