by Erin Hunter
“Are you thinking of Cinderpelt?” Flametail knew of the close bond between the two medicine cats.
Littlecloud’s eyes glistened.
Flametail leaned closer. “She’s dead,” he murmured. “Jayfeather is ThunderClan’s medicine cat now. He’s not Cinderpelt. He’ll want to fight alone if StarClan wishes it.”
“Jayfeather can do what he likes!” Littlecloud propped himself up with a groan. “Cinderpelt saved my life once. That act bonded us closer than friends. I will not abandon the Clan she loved until that debt is repaid.”
The stems around the entrance rustled, and Rowanclaw poked his head in. “Flametail?” he called. “Blackstar wants to see you.”
Littlecloud tried to clamber out of his nest.
“Just Flametail,” Rowanclaw told the medicine cat. “Blackstar heard you coughing. He wants you to rest.”
Littlecloud growled with frustration but sank back into the soft moss.
“I’ll tell you what he says,” Flametail promised, and hurried after Rowanclaw. As he crossed the clearing, he felt pelts brush either side of him. He slowed, puzzled. Rowanclaw was leading. No other cat was near.
Warm scents wreathed his pelt. Russetfur and Sagewhisker! He heard their voices, a soft wind in his ears.
“Stay strong!”
“We are with you!”
He nodded and padded into Blackstar’s den, leaving the ghostly warriors to the breeze.
“Have you had any more signs?” Blackstar was pacing the cramped den. His tail whipped behind him.
Flametail leaned out of the way. “Nothing,” he reported.
“Then why am I having such bad dreams?” Blackstar fixed him with a troubled gaze. “Every night I toss and turn, my dreams filled with blood and violence and death.”
Flametail blinked. The old leader looked haunted, darkness rimming his eyes.
“What dangers do we face?” Blackstar demanded. “Will ShadowClan be destroyed?” He peered through the entrance, anguish sharpening his mew. “When you visited the Moonpool after the battle with ThunderClan, you spoke of a war coming. Who threatens us? ThunderClan? WindClan? RiverClan? All of them? How should we face them? What do our ancestors say?”
Flametail dipped his head. “I told you what they said. We must face the danger alone. Allies will weaken us. So long as we stand alone, we’ll be safe.”
Hope lightened Blackstar’s eyes. “Really?”
“Yes.” Flametail looked down at his paws. “We’ll be fine.” The words sounded hollow, but he had to calm Blackstar. How could they face any battle if their leader lost his nerve?
Blackstar turned away. “We can fight this. We’ll be fine.” The ShadowClan leader had disappeared into his own thoughts. Flametail backed out of the den.
“I hear you found herbs.”
Rowanclaw’s mew made him jump. “Herbs?” he echoed.
“This morning,” Rowanclaw pressed. “Tawnypelt said you brought borage back. Do you want help to collect more?”
Flametail shook out his pelt, clearing his mind. “Yes,” he meowed. “That’s a good idea.”
Rowanclaw scanned the snowy clearing. “Toadfoot! Dawnpelt!” The two warriors were patching the nursery wall with leaves. Rowanclaw signaled to them with his tail. “I have a task for you.”
“What is it?” Dawnpelt reached her father first.
Rowanclaw purred. “Flametail’s found a supply of borage. We should collect it while the leaves are still green.”
“There may be other herbs that have been protected from the snow,” Flametail added. “We must hunt under every bramble.”
Toadfoot shuddered. “We’ll be sleeping with scratched pelts tonight.”
“Not if we’re careful.” Dawnpelt was staring into space. “In fact, I have an idea.”
“Lift it higher!” Dawnpelt called from beneath a clump of brambles.
Toadfoot groaned as he heaved the stick up with his front paws, balancing on his rear legs and levering the prickly stems from the ground until they were high enough for Flametail and Dawnpelt to squeeze underneath.
“Don’t let it drop!” Dawnpelt warned as she wriggled farther under the brambles.
“I won’t,” Toadfoot puffed.
Flametail followed his sister, his belly scraping the frozen earth. The top brambles were weighted with snow, but here at ground level the stems were bare, and he could see green shoots sprouting among them. “Can you reach?” he mewed to Dawnpelt.
“I think so.” She stretched out her forepaws and began plucking the leaves. “Here.” She passed a pawful back to Flametail. It was coltsfoot. Even if he couldn’t cure Littlecloud, he’d have some way to ease his breathing.
He gathered the leaves Dawnpelt passed him until he was holding a satisfying, green-scented wad between his paws. “Any more?” he called.
“That’s it,” Dawnpelt answered.
Flametail squirmed backward, out from under the brambles, and shook the prickles from his pelt. Toadfoot was panting with the effort of levering the bush up. Flametail dropped the coltsfoot and put his paws under the stick, next to his Clanmate. Together they held the brambles high until Dawnpelt wriggled out.
Flametail gazed happily at the pile of coltsfoot. “That supply should keep us going for a moon, so long as there aren’t too many coughs.”
“Let’s try another bush!” Dawnpelt circled excitedly, scanning the trees. “What about that one over there?” She hared toward another snow-covered thicket.
Toadfoot rolled his eyes. “I guess I’m carrying the stick.” He picked up the sturdy pine branch in his teeth and began to drag it after Dawnpelt.
Suddenly, Flametail heard a sharp crack. Dawnpelt stumbled as ice split underneath her paws. As she started to fall, Flametail felt a rush of dread.
Plunged into a vision, he found himself floundering in freezing black water. It sucked him down, clutching at his fur, filling his ears and mouth. He gasped for breath, and water flooded his chest. Gagging and coughing, he fought his way up, flailing for the surface. His claws hit ice. It blocked the air, trapping him underwater, forcing him back into the sucking depths. Terror roared in his ears as he scrabbled to break it. He felt his claws rip against the smooth surface, and his lungs screamed.
“No!” Flametail hurled himself at Dawnpelt before she could sink through the ice. He knocked her into the snow at the side of the trail.
“What in the name of StarClan are you doing?” she yelped, and pushed him off, scrabbling to find her paws. “Have you gone crazy?”
In the center of the path, a small circle of ice had cracked to reveal a muddy puddle, barely more than a leaf’s thickness deep.
“Were you afraid I was going to get my paws wet?” Dawnpelt demanded.
Flametail stared at the puddle, his flanks heaving. “I . . . I . . .” The vision crowded his thoughts, and he could think of nothing but being trapped under that ice in freezing, choking water.
Flametail backed away. Why had a puddle triggered such a vivid vision? He shivered. First fire, now water. He was seeing danger everywhere.
“I know,” he whispered to StarClan. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.”
He must concentrate on what was important right now. Littlecloud was sick. He had to find herbs to keep his Clanmates strong and healthy. Visions could wait.
Chapter 18
Sandstorm was coughing. Lionblaze broke off from his work patching the elders’ den and glanced at her as she crouched with her shoulders hunched beneath Highledge. She’d been coughing last night, too.
Firestar leaped down the rocks and touched his mate’s head with his muzzle. “Are you okay?”
“Just swallowed a snowflake,” Sandstorm rasped.
Lionblaze pushed another pawful of leaves into a gap in the branches. Though it was sunhigh, the hollow was gray under a gray sky. More snow had fallen in the past days, weighing down the beech tree so that the freshly built walls creaked and buckled, sprouting holes and cracks. Lionb
laze had been working all morning to fill them in and stop the icy drafts that sliced through the new dens. Toadstep and Birchfall had been bringing leaves into camp, their paws muddy where they’d dug through the snow to scrape them from the frozen forest floor.
Birchfall dropped another pile at Lionblaze’s paws. Toadstep paced behind him, trying to keep warm. “Do you need more?”
Both warriors were out of breath. Their pelts clung to their bones. Prey had been scarce for nearly half a moon, and the Clan was lucky to eat a few mouthfuls a day.
Lionblaze scooped up a pawful of frostbitten foliage. “If you can find more, I’ll be able to patch the back of the den, too.”
Birchfall nodded and led Toadstep back out of camp.
“Make sure you patch it up well!” Mousefur’s reedy mew sounded through the den wall. “I hardly slept last night, the den was so windy.”
Lionblaze purred. The fat water vole Ivypaw had brought back had restored Mousefur’s spirits. He scooped up another pawful of leaves and walked gingerly over the branches to the back of the den.
“Is Lionblaze in here?” Brambleclaw had stuck his head through the entrance.
“I’m in back.” Lionblaze dropped his leaves, jumped down to the ground, and hurried to meet the ThunderClan deputy. “What is it?”
Brambleclaw was shuffling backward out of the den. “I want you to lead a hunting patrol.”
Lionblaze wiped his leaf-clogged claws in the snow. “Great. Where?”
“In the woods near the WindClan border.”
Mousefur’s head appeared in the den entrance. “What about the drafts?”
Brambleclaw dipped his head. “Birchfall and Toadstep can finish the job.”
Lionblaze narrowed his eyes. “Is it wise to hunt near the border?” he ventured. “WindClan has been touchy about it since they started hunting there themselves.”
Brambleclaw snorted. “That’s precisely why we should make our presence felt. They’ve chased prey across the scent line before. We don’t want them to make a habit of it.”
“I guess not.” Lionblaze saw the sense in what the deputy was suggesting.
“We’re not looking for trouble,” Brambleclaw went on. “But WindClan needs to know that ThunderClan is never far from the border line.”
Mousefur flexed her claws. “I don’t know why they couldn’t stick to hunting the moors like they did in the old days.” She turned and headed back into the warmth of the den, still grumbling. “WindClan hunting in woodland. What next? ShadowClan fishing in the lake?”
Brambleclaw waited for her to vanish inside. “Don’t look for trouble,” he told Lionblaze again. “But don’t hide from it either.”
Lionblaze fluffed out his pelt. “With any luck, we’ll catch a rabbit.” Rabbits sometimes strayed into the shelter of the forest when the weather hardened.
“A rabbit would be good.” Brambleclaw’s gaze strayed to the mouse and the scrawny robin that formed the fresh-kill pile. “Take Leafpool, Cinderheart, and Dovepaw,” he ordered.
Lionblaze’s heart sank. He’d been avoiding Cinderheart. Why had he told her his secret? Why had he believed she’d just accept it? Why couldn’t she just accept it? His tail twitched. I haven’t changed! I’ve always had this power. He glanced across the clearing. He knew Cinderheart was there, sharing tongues with Leafpool. He stiffened as she whispered in Leafpool’s ear. What if she told someone? Would she give his secret away?
No! Lionblaze pushed away the worry. Cinderheart hadn’t changed, either—he still trusted her. “Is Ivypaw coming?”
Brambleclaw shook his head. “Jayfeather says she’s still fighting the infection in her scratches. He wants her in camp till she’s recovered.”
Lionblaze headed toward Cinderheart and Leafpool. He called to Dovepaw as he passed the medicine den. She’d gone to keep Briarlight company. She nosed her way out of the brambles and ran to catch up to him. “What is it?” she asked breathlessly as he reached Cinderheart and Leafpool.
“We’re hunting beside the WindClan border.”
Leafpool got to her paws. “And checking WindClan hasn’t strayed over it, I presume?”
Cinderheart stretched, her pelt ruffled from washing. She twisted to smooth a clump of fur with her tongue.
“We may as well get going.” Lionblaze glanced at Leafpool, surprised to find that she met his gaze. She seemed more confident lately. She was quick to offer help to Jayfeather, unflinching whether he accepted or rejected her advice. And she was stronger on patrols, too, often the first to catch prey or to point out where a border scent had grown stale.
Lionblaze scowled. Was she a medicine cat or a warrior now? How should he treat her? He shifted his paws. Was she his mother or his mother’s sister? He knew she’d kitted him, but she hadn’t raised him. Squirrelflight had done that. At least she had when Clan duties hadn’t kept her from the nursery. He shrugged. Daisy and Ferncloud had so often been the queens to warm and wash him; they felt as much like his mother as Squirrelflight, and far more so than Leafpool.
“So?” Leafpool’s mew shook him from his thoughts. “Are we going or not?”
“We’re going.”
Dovepaw was yawning.
“Why are you so tired all the time?” Lionblaze flashed with irritation.
Dovepaw blinked at him. “Sorry.” She scampered away and followed Cinderheart out of the camp. As Leafpool headed after them, Lionblaze felt a pang of guilt. He shouldn’t have snapped at Dovepaw. She was young. Perhaps her power was too strong for her.
He followed his patrol out of the camp. The smell of the forest pushed away his worries. Fresh snow had smoothed the trails and bushes. The woods looked untouched, and he plunged ahead of his Clanmates, giving in to the kitlike urge to be the first to spoil the soft snow. Cinderheart, Leafpool, and Dovepaw followed him in silence, their paw steps muffled.
As they neared the narrow stream that separated the territories, Lionblaze tasted the air, making sure that no WindClan cat had strayed over the scent line. The stream was hardly more than a frozen ditch filled with snow that left nothing except a dent in the forest floor, but the scent line was fresh, pungent with both WindClan and ThunderClan markers.
“Should I take Cinderheart and hunt up past the brambles?” Leafpool offered.
“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Cinderheart put in.
“Okay.” Lionblaze felt relieved. “Take Dovepaw, too.” She was yawning again. He’d be better off hunting alone.
As the patrol headed away, bounding past the brambles, Lionblaze sniffed a hawthorn bush on the edge of the ditch, hungry for signs of prey, watchful for WindClan scent.
Frosted snow cracked beyond the ditch, and Lionblaze jerked his head up. Breezepelt was snuffling his way along a trail of small paw prints. Crowfeather followed, ears pricked, fur bristling along his spine.
Lionblaze ducked lower behind the bush. They didn’t know he was there. Through the bare stems of the hawthorn, he watched the WindClan cats, skinny and shivering, as they followed the tracks. They weren’t even trying to keep low. Did they imagine they were hidden by heather here? Mouse-brains!
A shower of snow spattered from the branches overhead. The WindClan cats looked up, their eyes gleaming. Lionblaze could hear the flicker of feathers, and without looking he knew that a thrush was near. He opened his mouth and let the scent bathe his tongue. More snow dropped. Then the thrush fluttered down. It landed beside a larch cone and began to peck for bugs between the bracts. Crowfeather stiffened. Breezepelt tensed. Only their tail-tips twitched. The thrush carried on pecking.
Then Breezepelt leaped. His paws thrust snow out behind him. The thrush exploded into the air, squawking an alarm. Breezepelt shot after it, paws outstretched. He leaped into the air, batting the thrush with a deadly swipe. It bounced from his grasp and shot across the ditch.
Lionblaze sprang out to meet it and swatted at the thrush mid-flight. It fell to the ground, dead.
“Hey!” Breezepelt�
��s outraged mew shrieked across the ditch. “That was mine!”
“It’s on my territory.” Lionblaze crouched over his catch, his mouth watering. One less piece of fresh-kill for WindClan, one more for ThunderClan. He looked at Crowfeather, the cat who’d made Leafpool betray her Clan. Lionblaze would never admit that this cat was his father. Your WindClan son couldn’t even keep hold of his catch.
“I killed it.” Breezepelt’s growl sounded like a challenge.
“Are you sure?” Lionblaze lifted his chin and stared at the WindClan warrior. “Why don’t you come and fetch it, then?”
Breezepelt flicked his tail. In one jump, he had crossed the ditch and slammed into Lionblaze.
Lionblaze suddenly felt alive. His fur bushed up as he fell under the WindClan warrior’s weight. When Breezepelt’s claws tried to hook into his flesh, Lionblaze reared and shook him off like a fly. Then he turned and leaped on top of him, trapping him between his front paws.
“ThunderClan slime!” Breezepelt slithered out of his grip, swiping wildly with all four feet.
Lionblaze’s whiskers twitched. This was too easy. Swinging a paw, he thumped Breezepelt heavily across the cheek. The WindClan warrior staggered and fell, then heaved himself up. “That was my thrush,” he spat. With a lightning-fast swipe, he knocked Lionblaze’s hind paws from under him.
Lionblaze gasped, taken by surprise, and collapsed into the snow. He felt Breezepelt’s teeth land in his shoulder. Raging, Lionblaze thrashed like a fish on the slippery snow. Finding a paw hold, he heaved himself to his paws and thrust Breezepelt clear with another hefty blow. Blood spattered onto the snow like crimson rain.
“Stop it!”
Leafpool’s high-pitched shriek shattered the freezing air as she plunged through the bracken with Cinderheart and Dovepaw behind her. “How can you watch your sons fight?” she screeched at Crowfeather.
Before Crowfeather could reply, his mate, Nightcloud, stalked from the shadows beyond the border. Her black pelt matched Breezepelt’s, and her amber eyes glittered with the same venom. “He only has one son.” Hatred laced her hiss. “Crowfeather is Breezepelt’s father. No one else’s!”