by Erin Hunter
As she clambered up again Raggedpelt popped out from behind the tree and pounced on her, throwing her to the ground again and landing on top of her among the crackling leaves.
“Stop it, mouse-brain!” she gasped. “I can’t breathe!”
Raggedpelt’s face was close to hers, his amber eyes gleaming. “Admit defeat, then.”
“Okay, okay. Just get off me!”
Raggedpelt rolled over with a purr. “You can’t escape me,” he meowed. “I’ll always be here.”
“I should be looking for herbs,” Yellowfang told him, sitting up and shaking scraps of dried leaf from her pelt. “What’s Sagewhisker going to say if I come back empty-pawed?”
“There’s plenty of time,” Raggedpelt assured her, stretching out lazily.
“But it’s leaf-fall already. We have to build up our stocks of herbs before the first frosts. Remember how short of supplies we were last leaf-bare?”
“We’ll go back soon. I should be preparing Cloudpaw for his final assessment.” Raggedpelt let out a snort of amusement. “Do you know, that scatterbrained apprentice still hasn’t learned that squirrels can climb trees faster than he can? I have to keep reminding him to stalk them in the open.”
Guilt flooded over Yellowfang. “Then we have to go now.”
Raggedpelt gave her a gentle nudge. “We aren’t hurting any cat,” he reassured her. “We meet all our responsibilities. The Clan is as safe and protected as it can be.” He pressed his muzzle against her shoulder. “This is still our secret.”
Yellowfang couldn’t suppress a rising purr. It’s true. These times with Raggedpelt are the happiest moments I’ve ever known.
“Don’t forget,” Raggedpelt went on, leaning close to her again, “you’re only an apprentice. You can still change your mind. I would make sure that you would never have to fight in a battle. I’ll be leader soon, after all, and I’ll do everything to keep you safe.”
Curled warmly into his fur, Yellowfang was tempted for a heartbeat. But then she thought of everything she had learned from Sagewhisker, and she knew again that this was a path she had to follow, at least for a while. She shook her head.
Raggedpelt gave her a gentle nudge. “I’ll persuade you yet,” he murmured.
Before Yellowfang could respond, a terrible screeching filled the forest. Together the two cats leaped to their paws.
“It’s one of our patrols!” Raggedpelt exclaimed. “They’re being attacked!”
Shoulder to shoulder, Yellowfang and Raggedpelt bolted through the trees, following the sound. Heartbeats later they came to a clearing. Staring across the open space, Yellowfang saw four of her Clanmates grappling with four huge rogues. The stink of Twolegplace caught her in the throat, making her gag.
Raggedpelt let out a roar of fury and leaped into the battle. He flung aside a rogue who was pinning Rowanberry down, and crashed into the flank of another who was lunging for Blizzardwing’s throat. They fled screeching, and the other two, realizing they were now outnumbered, raced after them.
“Don’t come back!” Raggedpelt yowled after them.
Yellowfang padded into the clearing. Rowanberry scrambled to her paws and helped Blizzardwing up. Wolfstep flung himself in pursuit of the rogues, only to come back at a sharp order from Raggedpelt. All three of them looked battered, but Yellowfang could see that their injuries weren’t serious.
“It was my fault!” Rowanberry gasped. “I was leading the patrol. I should have scented them, but they jumped out on us.”
“They were just looking for trouble,” Raggedpelt snarled.
Yellowfang scanned the clearing. She had seen four of her Clanmates fighting, but she could only account for three. Where’s the fourth cat?
Then she caught a glimpse of white fur among a clump of ferns, and raced over to see Cloudpaw, lying ominously still.
“Oh, no!” she yelped.
“What’s he doing here?” Raggedpelt gasped as he came to stand beside her and look down at his motionless apprentice.
“He … he couldn’t find you,” Rowanberry admitted. “So he asked if he could come on the border patrol to practice his scenting skills before his final assessment.” She hesitated, then added reluctantly, “I let him take the lead. He didn’t pick up the scent of the intruders until it was too late.”
Trying to ignore the stricken look in Raggedpelt’s eyes, Yellowfang bent over the apprentice. At first she couldn’t see anything wrong with him, so she carefully let go of her control so that she could feel his pain. At once agony surged through her. She felt as if some fierce creature was inside her, trying to claw its way out through her belly. Her head reeling from it, her legs beginning to buckle, she reached out and gently turned Cloudpaw over. His belly had been slashed open; the grass underneath him was scarlet from his blood.
“Is he dead?” Rowanberry whispered.
Yellowfang shook her head; she had already spotted the faint rise and fall of Cloudpaw’s chest. Forcing herself to block off the pain again, she turned to the other cats. “Wolfstep, run back to camp and warn Sagewhisker. Blizzardwing, find me some cobwebs—try under those bushes. I have to stop the bleeding before we can move him.”
“I’ll carry him,” Raggedpelt mewed hoarsely.
Once Yellowfang had covered the wound with cobwebs, Raggedpelt insisted on taking Cloudpaw on his shoulders, even though the apprentice was nearly full-grown. Staggering under his weight, with Yellowfang and Blizzardwing on either side, he struggled back to the clearing.
Wolfstep had already alerted the Clan, who gathered around as Raggedpelt carried his apprentice through the tunnel. Nettlespot let out a piteous wail when she saw her son.
“My precious kit! Save him! You must save him!”
“We’ll do our best,” Yellowfang promised her.
The two newest apprentices, Nightpaw and Clawpaw, watched in alarm as Raggedpelt progressed slowly across the clearing, until their mentors, Foxheart and Crowtail, came up and swept them away.
At last Raggedpelt reached the medicine cat’s den and laid Cloudpaw gently down on a bed of moss. Sagewhisker flicked him with her tail as he tried to settle down beside his apprentice.
“No, Raggedpelt,” she mewed. “You’ve done all you can. It’s time to let us take over.”
Raggedpelt looked as if he was about to argue, then rose to his paws in silence. With one last look at Cloudpaw he left the den, his head and tail drooping.
Yellowfang watched as Sagewhisker bent over Cloudpaw and eased the cobwebs away from his wound. When she had laid the gash bare, the medicine cat looked up, meeting Yellowfang’s gaze.
“It’s very serious,” she mewed. “It might be kinder to let StarClan take him now.”
“No!” Yellowfang hissed. “This cat will not die! I’ll care for him myself, if you’re willing to give up.” Furious with Sagewhisker for admitting defeat, Yellowfang went to the entrance of the den and stuck her head out. “Hey!” she called to Nutwhisker, who was padding past. “Fetch me some wet moss—as quickly as you can!”
Her brother dashed off and Yellowfang went to the herb stores and uncovered horsetail, goldenrod, and marigold, which she mixed together in a poultice. Crouching beside Cloudpaw, she licked the wound until it was as clean as she could make it, then bound the poultice in place with strands of cobweb from the thornbushes. After a moment she felt Sagewhisker beside her, holding the leaves in place while Yellowfang secured the cobweb.
“I won’t stop you from trying to help him,” the old medicine cat told her. “But you must be prepared for the worst.”
By the time the wound was dressed, Nutwhisker was back with a jawful of dripping moss. Yellowfang squeezed some water into Cloudpaw’s mouth. He was still unconscious. She watched the slight movement of his chest, the only thing that told her he was still alive. Icy fear froze Yellowfang from ears to tail-tip at the thought that those feeble breaths might stop altogether. The sun was going down behind the trees and a chilly wind rose.
“I
’ll stay with him,” Yellowfang told Sagewhisker. She settled down beside him. “I’ll keep him warm.”
Sagewhisker nodded and went out to check the scratches of the other cats who had been in the fight. Darkness had fallen by the time she returned. She came over for another look at Cloudpaw, then curled into her own nest.
“Call me if there’s a problem,” she mewed to Yellowfang before closing her eyes.
Yellowfang sat beside the injured apprentice, gazing up at the sky as the warriors of StarClan emerged. “Was this our fault?” she whispered. “Did it happen because Raggedpelt and I were together? Please, StarClan, send me a sign, and if you’re angry with us, please don’t punish this apprentice. He’s too young to come to you yet.”
But the stars glittered coldly above her, and she didn’t know if her plea had been heard.
Weariness eventually overcame Yellowfang and she fell into a doze. Then she felt a cat gently nudging her; she started up, thinking that Cloudpaw needed her, only to find herself standing in a windswept marsh. The cat beside her was holding out a leaf of comfrey. Yellowfang didn’t recognize him, but he bore the scent of ShadowClan, and the scent of herbs too in his thick gray pelt. As she took the leaf, Yellowfang heard a thin wailing by her paws and looked down to see a tiny tabby kit with blood trickling from a scratched ear.
Yellowfang bent her head and chewed up the comfrey leaf so that the juice trickled onto the kit’s ear. At once the wound closed up as if it had never been there, leaving no scar.
Raising her head again, Yellowfang saw the gray cat was holding out a different leaf. Beyond him was another cat and another, a line stretching out into the distance as far as Yellowfang could see. They were passing herbs to one another, sending the leaves along the line to Yellowfang in a hushed silence.
They’re all medicine cats! Yellowfang realized with astonishment. And I’m one of them. At the end of the line, treating this cat, but with all of their support and wisdom to help me. A feeling of deep peace crept over her.
She took another leaf, catmint this time, and held it out to a little brown kit who was coughing badly. The kit swallowed it, stopped coughing, and faded away. A mist rose and blotted out the other cats and the marshland where they stood.
Yellowfang was roused by a whimpering noise close by. Cloudpaw squirmed in his nest, letting out feeble cries. His whole body was burning with fever. Yellowfang dripped more water into his mouth, and laid a paw gently on his shoulder in an effort to stop the movement. “Keep still, little one,” she murmured. “You’ll open your wound again.”
The moment he settled, she got up to visit the herb stores again, finding what she needed more by scent than touch in the faint starlight.
Sagewhisker stirred behind her. “How is he?” she asked, her voice blurry with sleep.
“Feverish,” Yellowfang responded, finally finding the herb she was looking for.
“Cloudpaw!”
The yowl startled Yellowfang, and she turned to see Nettlespot pushing her way between the boulders into the den. “I have to see my son!” she meowed.
Sagewhisker rose from her nest and blocked Nettlespot before she could reach Cloudpaw. “It’s the middle of the night,” she told her. “Cloudpaw mustn’t be disturbed. Come back tomorrow.”
“But I need to see him!” Nettlespot insisted.
“Not now.” Sagewhisker’s voice was gentle. “Cloudpaw needs his rest. I promise you, if he gets worse, we will call you.”
Nettlespot hesitated, then turned and left the den, her tail drooping. Yellowfang was glad to see her go, though she could understand her fear.
“It’s hard for her,” Sagewhisker commented, as she padded over to look down at Cloudpaw. Her expression grew even more worried. “Yellowfang,” she whispered, “you can’t save every cat.”
“No, but I can save this one,” Yellowfang growled. “I’m giving him dandelion. That should bring the fever down and help him to sleep.”
Sagewhisker nodded. “Mix in a couple of borage leaves,” she suggested.
Yellowfang chewed up the herbs and thrust the pulp between Cloudpaw’s jaws. As the night wore on she repeated the treatment, not caring how low the stocks of the herbs were growing. Cloudpaw must live! Nothing else matters!
As dawn light began to seep into the sky there was movement at the entrance to the den, and Raggedpelt pushed his way between the boulders. “How is he?” he croaked.
“Holding his own,” Yellowfang replied. She felt her heart ache as she watched the tabby warrior bend over the motionless form of his apprentice. As Raggedpelt drew away, she met his gaze. “I will save him,” she vowed.
She couldn’t speak of what they had been doing when Cloudpaw was hurt, and she could see that Raggedpelt would never speak of it either. Their guilt ran too deep.
“I’ve ordered more border patrols,” Raggedpelt told her, “to make sure those rogues don’t come back.”
Yellowfang nodded. “Don’t let the apprentices patrol there until we’re sure it’s safe,” she advised.
Raggedpelt gave a brusque nod. “Of course not.”
He left, and Yellowfang remained by Cloudpaw’s side. Throughout the day, one by one, the members of ShadowClan crept into the den to visit him. Yellowfang kept guard over the apprentice, not letting any of his visitors stay for long—even Nettlespot, whose panic over her kit was no help at all.
As the sun was going down again, Sagewhisker tapped Yellowfang on the shoulder with her tail. “It’s time you got out of here for a while,” she meowed. “No,” she went on, forestalling Yellowfang’s protest. “You can’t care for Cloudpaw if you fall ill yourself. Go for a walk around the camp, have some fresh-kill and a drink, and you’ll feel much better. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Reluctantly Yellowfang stumbled into the clearing and wandered around in a daze, aware of the glances of other cats. Every one of them knew how ill Cloudpaw was.
Brightflower bounded up to her and steered her toward the fresh-kill pile. “Here’s a good juicy vole,” she mewed, pushing it toward Yellowfang. “I’m going to sit with you and make sure you eat every bite!”
Yellowfang was sure she couldn’t choke down a single mouthful, but as soon as she tasted the prey she realized how ravenously hungry she was. She gulped down the fresh-kill and went for a drink at the tiny stream at the edge of the camp before making her way back to her den.
Another long night’s vigil with Cloudpaw stretched in front of her. The apprentice still had not recovered consciousness, but Yellowfang, watching him as if he were a piece of prey she was about to pounce on, thought that his breathing seemed a little stronger. Once again she raised her eyes to StarClan, shining in frosty splendor above her. “Take me, if you must,” she prayed with all her heart. “But save him. None of this is his fault. I’m so sorry.”
Eventually, worn out by grief and guilt, Yellowfang dropped into a light, troubled sleep. She woke to find Sagewhisker prodding her in the shoulder. Panicking, she sprang to her paws. “Is it Cloudpaw?” she demanded. “Is he worse?”
Sagewhisker’s eyes were gleaming. “No,” she purred. “He’s waking up. He’s still in a lot of pain, but he’s asking for water.”
Yellowfang gazed down at the apprentice. His blue eyes were glazed, but his breathing was normal and the fever was down.
“I’m so thirsty!” he mewed. “And my belly hurts!”
“It will hurt for a while yet,” Yellowfang told him, while Sagewhisker brought him more wet moss. “But it means you’re getting better. Now keep still and I’ll put a fresh dressing on your wound.”
Once Yellowfang had fastened a new poultice in place, she left Sagewhisker to look after Cloudpaw while she went in search of Raggedpelt. She found him in the clearing, organizing the day’s patrols. He turned away from the other cats and bounded up to her with a desperate question in his eyes.
“Cloudpaw has woken up,” Yellowfang meowed before he could say anything. “He’s not out of trouble yet, but the wor
st of the infection has cleared.”
Raggedpelt closed his eyes and let out a vast sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“A short walk, mind you,” Sagewhisker instructed. “Just as far as the fresh-kill pile and back. You don’t want to tire yourself out on your first time out of the den.”
Two more days had passed. Cloudpaw was recovering fast, and was well enough to be allowed into the clearing for a little while. He scraped the earth of the den floor impatiently, though Yellowfang guessed he would be glad to get back to his nest before he had walked many paw steps.
“I’ll go with him,” she offered.
Outside in the camp lots of his Clanmates were waiting to greet the apprentice. “Cloudpaw! Cloudpaw!” they yowled as he appeared.
Cloudpaw gave Yellowfang a bewildered look. “Why are they calling my name?”
“Because you fought bravely,” Cedarstar told him, padding up. “We’ll make you a warrior as soon as you’re better.”
Cloudpaw stumbled as he tried to give an excited bounce. “Thank you,” he mewed, dipping his head to his Clan leader.
Nettlespot dashed up, brushing past Cedarstar in her haste to get to her son. “My precious kit!” she purred. “Oh, Yellowfang, thank you, thank you!”
“I only did my duty,” Yellowfang murmured.
Cloudpaw looked almost overwhelmed as Rowanberry and the other cats in the patrol clustered around him.
“Cloudpaw, it’s great to see you again,” Rowanberry meowed.
Before Cloudpaw could respond, Yellowfang pressed closer to his side, fixing Rowanberry and the others with a stern glance. “Give him space,” she ordered. “He’s barely back on his paws.”
She spotted Raggedpelt on the edge of the crowd and steered Cloudpaw over to him, away from the others. Raggedpelt looked down at him, then bowed his head. “I’m sorry I let you get hurt,” he meowed.
Cloudpaw looked baffled. “It wasn’t your fault!” he protested. “I should have scented those rogues before they ambushed us. I let you down!”
“Not at all,” Raggedpelt murmured, turning away.