Twilight

by Erin Hunter

  “We found what the problem is,” Leafpool told Mothwing. She described the shiny Twoleg thing and the greenish liquid that was seeping out from it.

  Mothwing shuddered. “So it was Twolegs who brought the trouble!” Her blue gaze locked with Leafpool’s. Then she flicked her tail. “Come and check the cats.”

  Leafpool had hardly begun to sniff Dawnflower when she glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye. A kit was standing at the other end of the line of sick cats; in the twilight Leafpool could only just make out her greyish-white pelt. At first she thought she must be one of Dawnflower’s litter making a spectacular recovery, but this kit was older, and she didn’t look ill at all.

  “Mothwing, over here!” the kit called urgently.

  “Who’s that?” Leafpool asked, following Mothwing as she began to pick her way around the sleeping bodies.

  “Willowkit,” Mothwing replied; her eyes glowed with affection as she reached the pale grey kit and looked down at her. “Mosspelt’s daughter. She often comes to help me, and she already knows nearly all the herbs. Willowkit, this is Leafpool from ThunderClan.”

  Willowkit dipped her head. “Mothwing, I think you ought to look at Beechpaw,” she urged.

  The apprentice was lying on his side, his limbs splayed out, his claws scraping feebly at the ground. His chest heaved and he was struggling to breathe. His wide-open eyes were glazed.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Willowkit asked, her eyes huge with anxiety. “None of the others are like this.”

  Mothwing hesitated, and it was Leafpool who spoke first. “Did you give him juniper?”

  “Yes, for the bellyache,” Mothwing replied. “It ought to help his breathing as well. I wish we had coltsfoot,” she added with a frustrated lash of her tail. “The flowers are up, but it’s the leaves we need, and they won’t appear for another moon.”

  Leafpool couldn’t see the point of wishing for a herb that wasn’t in season. Beechpaw’s efforts to breathe were already growing weaker; if they didn’t think of something soon he would die in front of them.

  Suppose this wasn’t caused by the Twoleg stuff at all? It might be a completely new problem, and Beechpaw didn’t have much time for them to find the answer.

  “Could there be something stuck in his throat?” she suggested. This didn’t look like ordinary choking, but with Beechpaw weakened already by the poison he might not be able to cough up an obstruction.

  Mothwing prised open the apprentice’s jaws, holding him firmly as he writhed to free himself. Leafpool peered down his throat. “There’s something there, but so far down …”

  “Let me try.” Instantly Willowkit poked a slender paw down Beechpaw’s throat, let out a faint sound of satisfaction, and withdrew it to show a wad of half-chewed yarrow leaves hooked into her claws.

  “Well done!” meowed Leafpool.

  As Mothwing released him, Beechpaw collapsed, trembling and drawing in great gasping breaths.

  “Willowkit, fetch him some water,” Mothwing directed.

  The kit darted to the edge of the stream, tore off a clump of hanging moss, and dipped it in the water. Within heartbeats she was back, squeezing a few drops into Beechpaw’s mouth. Gradually his sides stopped heaving, his trembling died away, and he shifted into a more comfortable curled position with his eyes closed.

  Mothwing touched Willowkit on the shoulder with the tip of her tail. “You saved Beechpaw’s life,” she mewed. “I’ll make sure he knows it when he wakes up.”

  Willowkit’s eyes blazed with happiness. “Is this what it feels like to be a medicine cat?” she asked. “It’s the best thing ever!”

  “I know.” Leafpool let out a sympathetic purr. “I remember the first time I put burdock root on a rat bite. I could hardly believe it when the wound started healing!”

  “And don’t forget how you saved Reedwhisker when he nearly drowned,” Mothwing meowed. “You were only an apprentice then.”

  Leafpaw blinked warmly at her friend, grateful that Mothwing was generous enough to remind her. “There’s no feeling like being able to help your Clanmates,” she told Willowkit. “I can’t think of any other way I’d rather live my life.”

  “But you can’t save lives every day,” Mothwing teased, with an affectionate glance at Willowkit. “There are routine jobs to do too.”

  “But those jobs are important, aren’t they?” Willowkit mewed.

  “Of course they are,” Mothwing assured her. “And I want you to do an important job for me now. Stay here with Beechpaw, and call me right away if there’s any change in his breathing.”

  “Yes, Mothwing.” Willowkit sat beside the apprentice, her tail wrapped around her paws and her eyes fixed intently on him.

  Mothwing and Leafpool left her while they checked the other cats. Leafpool couldn’t help wondering whether Mothwing had already found the perfect apprentice, and then she asked herself how Mothwing could train an apprentice at all, when she couldn’t pass on any knowledge of StarClan.

  She forced the problem to the back of her mind as she and Mothwing examined the sick cats. All of them were sleeping. Leafpool started to believe that they would all recover, though Dawnflower was still very weak.

  Last they came to the three kits in the mossy nest by Mothwing’s den. The little grey tom was sleeping, but Minnowkit had her eyes open. “I’m hungry!” she wailed.

  “That’s a good sign,” Leafpool commented to Mothwing. “It means the poison’s gone.”

  “Your mother can’t feed you now,” Mothwing meowed, with a glance at Dawnflower’s unmoving shape. “You can have a drink of water if you want one.”

  Minnowkit looked ready to complain again, then staggered to her paws and tottered the few pawsteps to the stream, where she crouched down to lap. Leafpool kept an eye on her in case she lost her balance and fell into the water.

  “Leafpool.” Mothwing’s voice was tight and quiet.

  Leafpool glanced around. Mothwing had bent to sniff the weakest kit. She looked up, grief dulling her blue eyes. “We must have been too late with the yarrow. She’s dead.”

  Leafpool nosed the tiny body, but Mothwing was right. The kit had gone to join the ranks of StarClan. Take care of her, Leafpool prayed. She’s so little.

  Minnowkit had finished drinking and was staggering up the bank again.

  “Don’t say anything,” Leafpool whispered urgently to Mothwing, pulling up a covering of moss to hide the motionless scrap of fur. “They’ll be stronger in the morning, and maybe Dawnflower will be awake to comfort them. Minnowkit,” she went on, as the tiny black she-cat settled herself again in the soft moss, “did you and your littermates find something unusual, that day you ran away from camp? Something Twolegs left behind?”

  Minnowkit’s eyes stretched wide. “You know about that?”

  Leafpool nodded. “I’ve seen it too. Did you touch the sticky stuff?” When Minnowkit hesitated, she added, “Don’t worry, you won’t get into trouble.”

  The black kit hesitated for a heartbeat longer. “OK, we did touch it,” she admitted. “We played at running through it and making pawmarks on the grass. Then I dared Pebblekit to drink some.”

  Mothwing drew in a shocked breath. “How could you be so mousebrained?”

  “And did he drink it?” Leafpool prompted, silencing Mothwing with a swift glance.

  “We all did.” Minnowkit’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “It was yucky.”

  “You know that’s what made you ill, don’t you?” Mothwing mewed.

  Minnowkit stared at her in dismay. “We didn’t know!”

  “That’s why you must never touch anything strange,” Leafpool told her. “When you’re an apprentice and you’re allowed out of camp on your own, you must report anything you find to your mentor. Even in your territory, not everything is safe. Promise?”

  “OK,” Minnowkit mewed. Her eyes closed and then blinked open again. “Is this all my fault?”

  Leafpool shook her head. There would be tim
e enough for Minnowkit to blame herself when she discovered her sister was dead. “No, little one. Go to sleep now.”

  “I don’t know how you can be so kind to them!” Mothwing hissed when the kit was asleep again. “I’d like to claw their ears off. All this trouble, and cats dead!”

  “You know you wouldn’t really hurt them,” Leafpool replied. “They’re only kits. They didn’t know what they were doing. And anyway, it’s not all their fault. Dawnflower probably got the poison from them, but the rest of the cats must have picked it up by themselves, or eaten prey that was tainted with it.”

  “I know.” Mothwing sighed. “But you’d think they’d have more sense!” Her jaws parted in an enormous yawn.

  “You’re worn out,” Leafpool meowed. “Why don’t you get some sleep too? I’ll keep watch and wake you at moonhigh.”

  Mothwing yawned again. “OK. Thanks, Leafpool—thanks for everything.”

  She padded into her den under the roots of the bush. Leafpool took one last look at the sick cats; all of them were sleeping quietly, even Beechpaw.

  “He’s doing fine,” she murmured to Willowkit. “I’ll look after him now. You can go back to the nursery to your mother. Make sure you tell her how well you did.”

  Willowkit dipped her head, eyes shining, and dashed off up the bank. Leafpool settled down beside the sleeping apprentice, tucking her paws under her. Above her head the stars of Silverpelt blazed down, scattered around the bulging shape of the moon, which was almost full. Leafpool sent up a wordless prayer to StarClan, a surge of thankfulness that at last RiverClan’s sickness seemed to be under control.

  Only then did she realise that she had completely forgotten to meet Crowfeather at twilight.

  CHAPTER 11

  Squirrelflight stopped underneath a tree and listened. The woods were silent except for the wind rustling in the trees. When she tasted the air, the scents were faint; the cold weather must have sent all the prey deep into their holes. Shrugging, she padded on, letting her paws decide where to take her.

  She hadn’t left the camp intending to hunt. She had set out with Ashfur and Birchpaw on the way to the mossy clearing Brightheart had discovered. But when they emerged from the thorn tunnel they met Brambleclaw on his way back from a training session with Spiderleg and Rainwhisker.

  “Where are you going?” he asked Squirrelflight, gesturing for the two younger warriors to go on without him.

  “Ashfur’s going to teach Birchpaw some fighting moves,” Squirrelflight meowed, ignoring the tabby warrior’s aggressive tone. “I thought I’d go along and help.”

  “Well, you thought wrong,” Brambleclaw snapped. “Ashfur is Birchpaw’s mentor, not you. If you’re looking for something to do, the elders need their pelts checked for ticks.”

  Squirrelflight drew her lips back in the beginning of a snarl. “Don’t order me around!”

  “Then stop being so irresponsible,” Brambleclaw retorted. “There’s still a lot to do.” He flicked his tail angrily and vanished into the tunnel.

  “We’d better go by ourselves,” Ashfur meowed. He glanced at Birchpaw, who had listened to the exchange with wide, scared eyes. “There’s no point making trouble.”

  “It’s Brambleclaw who’s making all the trouble,” Squirrelflight pointed out, although she had to admit that Ashfur might be right. Back in their old home, mentors and apprentices had usually trained alone. “I’ll see you later. But I’m not checking the elders for ticks,” she added, as Ashfur and Birchpaw headed for the clearing. “I’m not letting Brambleclaw think he can tell me what to do.”

  As she bounded away from the camp, Brambleclaw’s actions started to make more sense. He must be jealous of Ashfur because he had been chosen to mentor Birchpaw. And maybe because I’m spending time with Ashfur instead of him, she realised. But he made it perfectly clear how he felt about me, so he has no right to act like a bee-stung badger!

  She had decided to hunt for a while and take back a decent contribution to the fresh-kill pile. She wouldn’t give Brambleclaw the satisfaction of telling her off yet again for neglecting her warrior duties.

  Suddenly she was flooded with the reek of ShadowClan. Her wanderings had taken her close to the border, not far from the dead tree. A heartbeat later she heard a fierce snarling, followed by the screech of a fighting cat. She froze. Had she crossed the border by mistake?

  In front of her, a few tail-lengths on the ShadowClan side, a clump of bracken started waving madly, and two cats locked in a yowling knot of fur crashed into the open. One was Tawnypelt; the other was the huge black and white tomcat from the Twoleg nest in ShadowClan’s territory.

  Squirrelflight heard a shriek of pain from Tawnypelt as the kittypet fastened his teeth in her throat. She couldn’t stand by and watch her friend and former Clanmate get killed. She streaked across the border and flung herself on top of the tomcat.

  “Let her go!”

  She raked her claws down his side and as he tried to writhe away she bit down hard on his tail. He let out a yowl of mingled pain and fury, and Tawnypelt pulled free from him, whirling around to aim her claws at his ear. The kittypet rolled over, battering at both she-cats with his powerful hindlegs, then leapt to his paws and raced off into the trees.

  Squirrelflight scrambled up and watched him until he was out of sight; a moment later Tawnypelt joined her and stood panting hard.

  “Thanks,” she gasped. “He jumped me when I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “You’re welcome. Any time.”

  There was a haunted look in Tawnypelt’s eyes and her gaze darted warily from side to side as if she expected to find an enemy behind every tree. Squirrelflight was close enough to catch the fear scent coming from her friend. She couldn’t understand it; Tawnypelt was a brave warrior, and in her own territory. “Is there something wrong?” she asked.

  Alarm flared briefly in Tawnypelt’s eyes, then she shook her head. “Nothing we can’t deal with.”

  “Yeah, and hedgehogs can fly,” Squirrelflight retorted. “Come on, Tawnypelt, I can see something’s upsetting you. It surely can’t be that mangy brute.”

  “Leave it, will you, Squirrelflight?” Tawnypelt snarled. “You shouldn’t even be here. Consider yourself lucky a patrol hasn’t caught you already.” She spun around and bounded away, deeper into ShadowClan territory.

  Her pelt prickling with anxiety, Squirrelflight checked that no cats were in sight, then she ran after her friend. “Tawnypelt, wait!”

  Tawnypelt skidded to a halt in the shadow of a pine tree. “Squirrelflight, you mousebrain!” she hissed. “Go back! If a patrol catches you here they’ll claw your ears off, and I’ll be in just as much trouble for letting you get this far.”

  Squirrelflight ignored her. Scanning her closely, she saw how thin her friend looked, her ribs showing like branches and her pelt rough. She looked exhausted from more than the recent fight. “I’m not going back,” Squirrelflight mewed stubbornly. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

  Tawnypelt sighed. “You never give up, do you?” She crept backward into the shelter of the pine tree until its low-growing branches screened them from passing patrols.

  Squirrelflight gave her a comforting lick around the ears. “Come on, you can tell me.”

  “You know where that black and white tom comes from?” Tawnypelt began. “The Twoleg nest in our territory? There’s another kittypet there too—a tabby.”

  Squirrelflight’s tail curled up. “Did you think I’d forgotten? They nearly clawed my fur off!” And I wouldn’t have got away if Brambleclaw hadn’t helped me, she added to herself.

  “Well, ShadowClan are having some trouble with them,” Tawnypelt explained reluctantly.

  “Trouble with kittypets? ShadowClan?” Squirrelflight echoed. “You’re telling me a whole Clan of warriors can’t deal with a couple of kittypets?”

  “It’s not funny,” Tawnypelt snapped. “Yesterday they caught Talonpaw out on his own. They attacked him and left him woun
ded. He managed to drag himself back to camp, but he died.” She stared down at her paws.

  “Oh, Tawnypelt, I’m sorry!”

  Tawnypelt went on, her voice dull as if she was too exhausted to share Squirrelflight’s horror. “Rowanclaw, who was Talonpaw’s mentor, led a patrol to take revenge. But as soon as the kittypets saw them they fled back into the nest. Their Twolegs threw hard things at the patrol, and Cedarheart’s leg was badly injured.” Tawnypelt curled her lip. “Those kittypets are cowards. They only come after cats who are weak, or alone.”

  Squirrelflight pressed her muzzle against Tawnypelt’s side. “ThunderClan will help,” she promised. “I’ll go and tell Firestar right away.”

  Tawnypelt stared at her. “Don’t be a mousebrain. This is ShadowClan’s problem.”

  “So? We can’t let you be picked off one by one without doing something.”

  Tawnypelt lifted her head, grief giving way to defiance. “Are you saying that my Clan isn’t strong enough to solve our own problems?”

  “Oh, you’ll sort them out in the end,” Squirrelflight agreed. “But how many more cats will die or be injured in the meantime? What’s wrong with both Clans putting our heads together and coming up with a plan to teach the mangy brutes a lesson once and for all? You’re worse than stupid if you turn down help when it’s offered.”

  For a heartbeat Tawnypelt’s eyes blazed and Squirrelflight only just stopped herself from flinching away as she remembered what a formidable fighter her friend was. Then the tortoiseshell warrior let her fur lie flat again. “That’s for Blackstar to decide,” she meowed.

  Squirrelflight gave her ear a last reassuring lick. “I’ll come straight back,” she promised.

  Not caring if any cat from either Clan saw her, she raced for the border and back towards the ThunderClan camp. ThunderClan had to help! They hadn’t come this far to watch another Clan be driven out by a couple of kittypets.

  When she came in sight of the barrier of thorns she slowed down, getting her breath back so she could tell Firestar exactly what was going on. To her relief her father was one of the first cats she saw when she pushed her way through the tunnel. He was crouched near the fresh-kill pile, sharing a vole with Sandstorm. Dustpelt and Ashfur sat close by, talking with their heads close together. A few tail-lengths away, Brambleclaw was eating alone, devouring a wood pigeon with swift, hungry bites.