A Warrior's Spirit

by Erin Hunter

  A thrill shot up Mothwing’s spine. Whether she quite understood about StarClan or not, she valued Mudfur’s opinion of her. I’m already becoming a medicine cat!

  A few days later, a full moon glowed above the forest as RiverClan left the Gathering. Mothwing couldn’t stop shaking. The Clans had been so angry.

  Leopardstar had introduced her and Hawkfrost to the Clans, and for a moment, Mothwing had been proud: in front of cats of all four Clans, while the full moon shone overhead and the shadows of Fourtrees fell over them, Leopardstar had called out Mothwing and Hawkfrost’s names.

  And they hated us!

  “Rogues!” some cat had yowled, and even a few RiverClan cats had growled at Mothwing and Hawkfrost in disapproval. But Leopardstar had stood up for them, pointing out that there were former rogues in ShadowClan, too, and that ThunderClan’s leader, Firestar, had once himself been a kittypet. As the gathered cats settled, Mothwing and Hawkfrost had exchanged a look of half-frightened relief.

  And then Leopardstar had announced that Mothwing had begun training to be a medicine cat. The cats had howled in protest.

  “What do rogues know of StarClan?” Blackstar, the ShadowClan leader, had growled, outraged, and a chorus of snarls had echoed him. Surrounded by glaring eyes and unsheathed claws, Mothwing had been afraid. What if they attacked her? Mudfur sat beside her, silent. Would he protect her? Could he?

  Hawkfrost, among the warriors, had been quivering with rage, digging his claws into the dirt.

  At last, Mudfur had gotten to his feet, and the other cats had quieted—no matter how angry they were, they would listen when a medicine cat spoke. He had said that Mothwing was talented, and pride had warmed her, protecting her from the cold sneers of the warriors. And then he had said that, because she was not Clanborn, he was waiting for a sign before making her his apprentice.

  This wasn’t the first time that Mudfur had said that he wanted a sign from StarClan about her. But it hadn’t really struck her that if he didn’t get one, there was no chance of becoming Mudfur’s apprentice. No matter how hard she worked.

  As she followed Leopardstar toward RiverClan territory, Mothwing’s paws felt heavy and cold.

  Mudfur laid his tail across her back, and she looked up at him. “I’m sure you will be a medicine cat, Mothwing,” he meowed comfortingly. “You’ll prove them all wrong.”

  “What if StarClan doesn’t give you a sign?” she asked, her voice sounding small and afraid to her own ears. “What happens then?” Maybe there was a way around this.

  “I’m sure they’ll give me a sign,” Mudfur told her briskly. As they reached camp, he dropped his tail from her back. “I’ll see you bright and early in the medicine den. We’ll make a sore-throat poultice.”

  As she watched him disappear into the medicine den, Mothwing’s heart sank. Mudfur seemed so confident, but what if that sign from StarClan never came? What if StarClan doesn’t even exist? Quickly, Mothwing shook off the idea, glancing around as if some cat could have heard her thoughts.

  If StarClan was real, she needed to be careful not to make them angry. I need to become a medicine cat. I can’t let my Clan down. And Mudfur stood up for me. I can’t let him down either.

  Chapter 3

  Before long, Mothwing managed to push her worries away. Surely, if she worked hard enough, StarClan would decide she should be a medicine cat.

  And she loved working in the medicine den. Happily, she inhaled the mixture of scents, many of which she could identify now: marigold, ragweed, borage, tansy, feverfew. Each plant had its own smell, appearance, and use, and Mothwing was proud at how quickly she was learning them. Tansy for cough, marigold for infection, she thought, sorting them into their places.

  There were no sick cats in the medicine den now that Blackclaw had recovered, but Mudfur had told her that, in quiet times like these, it was the medicine cats’ job to prepare for the patients who would inevitably come. So Mothwing packed mixtures of herbs into beech leaves so that they would have the perfect amounts of catmint and tansy ready if greencough broke out in camp. She put fresh moss into the nests each day and laid herbs out in the sun to dry for storage. She foraged around the territory, looking for strong cobwebs to slow the bleeding of wounds. She listened as Mudfur told her how best to take a thorn out of a kitten’s paw or strap reeds to a broken bone to keep it in place.

  Mudfur moved around the medicine den with confidence: he never forgot the name of an herb and could put his paw on any one of them with instant accuracy. He seemed to know everything, and Mothwing could not wait to become just like him.

  As Mothwing sorted the herbs, he curled beside her, his eyes half-closed and his voice content. “Now, helping a queen birth kits is one of the most important jobs a medicine cat does, and it can also be the happiest—or the saddest. You need to be sure to have a good supply of chervil on hand, and raspberry leaves if you can get them. The first sign . . .” A cloud must have swept across the sun, because the medicine den went dark for a moment, and Mudfur stopped talking.

  I hope it rains, Mothwing thought. The drought had gone on too long. RiverClan had the river, but water sources were drying up in the other Clans—WindClan had even gotten permission from Leopardstar to come to the river to drink.

  Mudfur was still silent, and Mothwing looked up from the herbs to find him thoughtfully staring out the door of the den at the sky.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Mudfur blinked at her as if she was a long way away. “I have to ask you to leave the den,” he told her after a moment. “I think this darkness may have been a sign from StarClan, and I need to be alone to interpret it.”

  “But it was just a cloud,” Mothwing protested, and then, at Mudfur’s look, hunched her shoulders in embarrassment. I don’t sound very much like a medicine cat. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

  She hurried out of the medicine den, almost tripping over her own paws. By the time she reached the fresh-kill pile, she had gotten over her embarrassment. But when she thought of Mudfur, trying to decide the meaning of a cloud, she still felt uncomfortable, as if she had earth stuck between her paw pads.

  Hawkfrost was picking through the prey, just back from a patrol, and he looked up at her in surprise. “What’s up?”

  Mothwing told him, glancing around first to make sure that no cat could overhear them. “It just seems so stupid to me,” she confessed. “And Mudfur’s the smartest cat I know. It was just a cloud passing over the sun. That happens every day! It can’t always mean that StarClan has something to tell us!”

  Hawkfrost shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “Mothwing, you can’t talk like this.”

  Mothwing’s pelt prickled with annoyance. “Well, what do you think? Is StarClan in charge of everything that happens?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Hawkfrost mewed firmly. “I don’t know if StarClan is real, but if I have to pretend to believe in them to be part of RiverClan, I will.”

  “You will?” Mothwing felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. She had never considered lying about believing in StarClan. Reflexively, she flinched and glanced at the sky—what if even talking about this made StarClan angry?

  “And you will, too.” Hawkfrost stepped closer to her, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “It was mouse-brained of you to become an apprentice again after you’d already been made a warrior. But we can still make this work. Every cat respects a medicine cat. If Mudfur decides to make you his apprentice, they’ll all forget we weren’t born in the Clans.” His blue eyes met hers. “We’ll belong. If you’re a medicine cat, we can stay here forever. We can be important. You don’t want to be thrown out to be a rogue again, do you?”

  Mothwing shook her head slowly. The threat beneath his words was unmistakable. She didn’t want to deceive any cat, yet what Hawkfrost said was true. Their place in the Clan depended on her now. She’d chosen this path, and she had no choice but to see it through—and there was only one way forward that wou
ld satisfy her brother without forcing her to lie. Hawkfrost was right. I have to believe in StarClan.

  “Okay,” she said, the weight of responsibility falling on her shoulders.

  “I’m not sure how much this will help, Loudbelly,” Mudfur said sadly. “The most we can do is ease your pain a little.”

  It had been two days since the cloud had passed over the sun, and if Mudfur had decided it was a sign from StarClan, he hadn’t told Mothwing what it meant. Now Mudfur was carefully feeling along Loudbelly’s legs and hips, purring sympathetically as the dark brown elder groaned.

  “I’m not expecting to jump like a kit again,” Loudbelly grumbled. “But anything that lets me walk across camp without falling over will be much appreciated.”

  Mothwing gnawed at the comfrey root, trying not to swallow its bitterness. Finally, she spat out the chewed bits and pounded them into a poultice. “Should I put it on?” she asked shyly, but Mudfur shook his head.

  “Not until you’re my apprentice,” he meowed. Mothwing backed away obediently as Mudfur began to smear the poultice in long, even strokes across Loudbelly’s hips. “This will ease your joints,” he told the elder.

  As Mothwing stood beside Mudfur and watched him work, worry curled in her belly. Mudfur let her clean the medicine den and sort herbs, but he wouldn’t let her touch a patient. Not until StarClan gave him a sign.

  What will happen if he never gets a sign? Would she grow old putting fresh moss in nests and chewing up herbs and never actually being a medicine cat, or even a medicine-cat apprentice? Or would he send her back to being a warrior? Would the rest of RiverClan even want her as a warrior, knowing her heart was in the medicine den?

  The next morning, Mothwing huddled outside the warriors’ den, watching the sun rise. It was going to be another hot greenleaf day, but she felt cold. She hadn’t slept well, and when she’d finally dozed off, Hawkfrost had accidentally woken her as he came back from the dirtplace. She yawned, her mouth dry.

  Would Mudfur even notice if I spent the whole day in my nest? Well, he’d notice, of course, but would it matter? The other warriors were starting to talk about her to one another in low voices—she’d felt their eyes on her when they didn’t think she was looking. They thought StarClan didn’t want her. It had been more than a moon. Maybe I should leave RiverClan, she thought grimly. If I’m not a medicine cat, I don’t belong here. Listening to the familiar, soothing rustle of the reeds outside camp, she felt hollow. I don’t want to go.

  Looking up, she saw Mudfur outside the medicine den, his body taut with something—surprise? Expectation? He stared directly at her for a moment, and Mothwing lifted her chin in greeting, but he didn’t respond. Bending, he picked up something small from the ground in front of his paws and hurried over to Leopardstar’s den. Mistyfoot and Shadepelt, sitting near the fresh-kill pile, raised their heads in surprise as he passed.

  A soft murmur of voices came from Leopardstar’s den, and then the leader poked her head out—she still looked sleepy, as if Mudfur had woken her—and called to Mistyfoot to join them.

  Mothwing’s eyes met Shadepelt’s. The dark-furred elder looked just as confused as Mothwing was.

  After a few moments, Leopardstar stepped out of her den and strode to the center of the clearing, Mistyfoot and Mudfur padding beside and a little behind her. “RiverClan!” she called. “All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather to hear my words!”

  A confused cacophony of voices came from the warriors’ den.

  “What’s going on?” yowled Heavystep.

  “It’s so early!” Mosspelt mewed.

  “Is something wrong?” Blackclaw cried, and, one by one, the cats, stretching and blinking sleepily, streamed out of the den. Skyheart and Dawnflower poked their heads out of the nursery, Skyheart’s kits crowding around her legs curiously, while Swallowpaw hurried out of the apprentices’ den.

  As Hawkfrost came out of the warriors’ den, Mothwing followed him, and they joined the others in a wide circle around Leopardstar. “Do you know what’s going on?” he asked, and she shook her head.

  RiverClan quieted, looking at their leader expectantly. When the clearing was silent except for the rustling of the reeds and a jay crying overhead, Leopardstar spoke.

  “StarClan has given Mudfur a sign.”

  She gestured with her tail, and the medicine cat stepped forward. “I’ve been sure for a while that Mothwing is suited to become a medicine cat, even though she isn’t Clanborn. But we decided to wait for a sign from StarClan, so that no cat could argue against her. We’ve been waiting for more than a moon.” He paused, and Mothwing held her breath, excitement swelling inside her. Had it finally happened?

  “This morning,” Mudfur went on, the sun giving a glow to his pale brown fur, “I discovered a moth’s wing outside my den. An unmistakable sign that StarClan approves of Mothwing becoming a medicine-cat apprentice.” He blinked proudly at Mothwing, and she dipped her head to him. Her heart was beating hard. At last . . .

  A chorus of excited congratulations broke out as Mothwing’s Clanmates crowded around her, nuzzling her cheeks and purring. Hawkfrost knocked his side against hers. “See?” he meowed cheerfully. “You were worried about nothing.”

  Mothwing was so full of joy that she felt for a moment as if she might lift right off the ground. StarClan had chosen her. And her Clanmates were glad! A sense of belonging rushed through her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she sent a quick thought to StarClan. Thank you. I’m so sorry I doubted you.

  The half-moon sailed high overhead, shining a pale light through the trees of the forest as Mothwing and Mudfur walked side by side back toward the RiverClan camp.

  “So,” Mudfur asked, after a companionable silence, “how do you feel?”

  “That was amazing,” Mothwing burst out. “I feel really good. Excited.” Words weren’t enough to express what her first medicine-cat meeting had been like, but Mudfur gave a brief purr, as if he understood.

  They’d risen at dawn and left camp without even a glance at the fresh-kill pile: you couldn’t eat if you wanted to share tongues with StarClan. It had been a long, hungry walk to Highstones—Mothwing would have sworn the scent of prey in the distance had never been more tantalizing—and the sun was sinking by the time they and the other medicine cats stopped at the bottom of the steep, bare slope that led to the dark cavern that was Mothermouth.

  Mothwing had been that far before, accompanying Leopardstar on one of the leader’s trips to the Moonstone. But she’d never been inside.

  This time, she’d gotten to enter. At first she’d felt a little disappointed. It had been cold and damp, darker than the darkest night. She hadn’t been able to see even a tail-length in front of her as she walked with the other medicine cats through the twisting passages of Mothermouth. And then they had stepped through into a vast cavern where stars twinkled high above smooth walls of stone. There was a huge stone in the middle of the cave, and the other cats had made her sit before it for what seemed like moons. They’d waited in silence, in the dark, and Mothwing had thought: Is this all?

  And then the moon had appeared above the cavern, and the Moonstone had burst into brilliant, shimmering light.

  Her heart had pounded as if it would break out of her chest as Mudfur led her to the Moonstone and presented her to StarClan. He had told her to lie down and press her nose against it, and, one by one, the other medicine cats had joined her, their eyes closed, their bodies tense with expectation. With them, she had waited for the cats of StarClan to reveal themselves.

  As they crossed the river back to their camp, a flicker of doubt entered Mothwing’s mind. StarClan had spoken to her, hadn’t they? They had sent her a vision of her Clanmates? She’d pictured RiverClan’s future in her mind and felt happy and accepted. She’d seen—or imagined?—Hawkfrost, brave and strong, leading a patrol. Dawnflower’s kits growing, healthy and strong. A fine catch of fish on the fresh-kill pile.

  Was there supposed to be
more? From the way Mudfur talked, it seemed like there should have been something like a conversation.

  As they passed Mosspelt, who was guarding the camp and greeted them with a nod, Mothwing shook her pelt as if she could also shake off her worries. I just didn’t understand until it happened.

  The camp was quiet, most of the cats asleep. Soon the sun would rise again.

  “I’m going straight to my nest,” Mudfur told her, “but if you’re hungry, have some prey.”

  “I will,” Mothwing replied, her mouth watering. She’d walked a lot today, and the small vole she’d caught on their way back from Mothermouth hadn’t satisfied her.

  Mudfur flicked his tail across her back affectionately. “You did well today, Mothwing,” he mewed. “I’m proud of you. But try not to wake me when you come in.”

  “Sleep well,” Mothwing told him. Maybe she would sleep better in the medicine-cat den now that she was a full, StarClan-approved apprentice. Mudfur had given her a nest there as soon as he’d gotten the sign from StarClan, but she’d missed the scents and sounds of the warriors’ den. She’d missed Hawkfrost sleeping next to her. This was the first time in their whole lives that they hadn’t shared a den.

  As she approached the fresh-kill pile, she smelled his familiar scent before she saw him, a dark shape huddled near the prey. “What are you doing awake?” Mothwing asked, surprised and pleased.

  Hawkfrost stretched and purred, his eyes shining in the gray of the early dawn. “I wanted to see you,” he meowed. “How was it? Did StarClan accept you?”

  “I think so,” Mothwing answered proudly. “I’m an official medicine-cat apprentice now. All the medicine cats were so nice to me. Especially Leafpaw, the ThunderClan apprentice. We’re the only two apprentices.”

  “And now we really belong,” Hawkfrost added. There was something smug in his voice, and a little warning tickle began between Mothwing’s shoulder blades. That was the way Hawkfrost had sounded when they were kits and he’d gotten an extra piece of prey without Sasha noticing, or won a game of moss-ball by tricking Tadpole.