Flametail scraped snow hopefully from the roots of an old tree stump. He sighed as he uncovered leaves blackened by frost. Why wasn’t there a single herb that thrived in the season when sickness was most deadly? Littlecloud was already sick. The Clan was weakened by hunger. It was only a matter of time before whitecough threatened every den.
“Ow!” Pinepaw’s mew rang through the trees.
Tigerheart answered her. “That’s what you get for messing around.”
His brother’s hunting patrol was near. Flametail kept digging. “Mouse dung.” He cursed as he revealed more rotten leaves.
Tigerheart came bounding through the trees. “What’s up?”
Flametail shook snow from his paws. “I can’t find any fresh herbs,” he sighed. “Not even nettles.”
The rest of the patrol caught up. “Need help?” Ratscar offered.
“We’ve got time,” Snowbird explained. “The prey’s hiding, too.”
Pinepaw leaned over Flametail’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
Flametail’s nose twitched. He smelled something green on the apprentice’s pelt. He twisted and sniffed harder.
“Do you mind?” Pinepaw ducked away. “I washed this morning!”
“Where’ve you been?” Flametail demanded.
Pinepaw jerked her head toward the trail they had left in the snow. “Near the larch.”
Tigerheart purred. “Pinepaw fell into a snow drift.”
“There were brambles underneath it,” Pinepaw complained. “I’ve got prickles in my fur.”
“Brambles beneath the snow?” Flametail felt his spirits soar. “That’s why I can smell fresh borage on your fur!”
Snowbird narrowed her eyes. “I think your littermate’s gone pigeon-brained,” she murmured to Tigerheart.
“Flametail knows what he’s doing.” Tigerheart flicked his tail at his brother. “Don’t you?”
“The brambles will have kept the snow off the borage leaves,” Flametail explained. “They won’t be frost-scorched.”
Ratscar padded forward. “I’ll show you where we were.”
But Flametail was already hurrying back along his Clanmates’ trail. “Don’t worry,” he called. “I can follow your paw prints.”
“You won’t have trouble finding where Pinepaw fell!” Tigerheart called after him. “The hole’s big enough to hide a hare.”
Flametail trotted along the tracks left by his Clanmates, his fur pricking with excitement when he saw a drift rise in front of him, the snow dented where Pinepaw had fallen into it. He burrowed through, ignoring the cold that stung his paws, until he felt the first stab of bramble. Wincing, he drew back the stems and saw, safely sheltered, the dark green leaf of unscorched borage.
Thank StarClan! He nipped off as many leaves as he could reach, then shuffled backward out of the snowy burrow. But worry still pricked his pelt. If only it had been catmint or even tansy. Borage was only good for easing fever. It didn’t drive out infection, and Littlecloud’s lungs were thick with it. What if his sickness turned to greencough? With no catmint, Flametail would be helpless.
He pushed the thought away. Enjoy StarClan’s blessings, he reminded himself.
Flametail headed for the camp. He liked the cold, crisp weather, and though it made his paws ache, he enjoyed the crunch of snow.
“Flametail!”
As he ducked through the camp entrance, Tawnypelt hurried to meet him. “You’ve found herbs!” She licked him roughly on the cheek. “Well done!”
Flametail screwed up his face, reminding himself that he was lucky to have such affectionate kin. Sometimes at Gatherings he glimpsed Breezepelt eyeing Crowfeather and Nightcloud with undisguised rage. Crowfeather and Nightcloud never noticed; they were usually too busy exchanging harsh words between themselves.
“You’re looking thin,” Tawnypelt fretted.
Flametail shrugged. His jaws were too crammed with borage to speak. Of course he looked thin. It was leaf-bare.
Tawnypelt glanced toward the medicine den. “You’d better go to him. He’s been coughing again.”
Flametail brushed his mother’s cheek with his tail as he hurried away. The medicine den smelled of infection. Flame-tail dropped the borage beside the store. “You should be in your nest.”
Littlecloud was slowly sorting leaves at the back of the den. The fresh herbs were piled on one side; the dry were pushed to the other. “There’s no feverfew at all,” he sighed.
“Let me help,” Flametail offered.
“I can manage.” Littlecloud burst into a fit of coughing, which sent the dried leaves fluttering over the den floor.
Flametail gently steered the medicine cat to his nest. “I’ll find the comfrey and take it to the elders’ den,” he promised.
“Stupid cough,” Littlecloud grumbled as he climbed into the moss. He looked relieved as he sank into its softness. “It’ll clear up in a day or two.”
“Of course.” Flametail padded to the herbs. Littlecloud had been saying the same thing for days. He’d been too sick to travel to the Moonpool again, and he was no better now.
Flametail had been secretly relieved that Littlecloud hadn’t gone to the Moonpool, because he hadn’t gone, either. Raggedstar had told them to stay away from the other medicine cats. With Littlecloud too sick to travel, Flametail could obey Raggedstar without arguing with his mentor. When half-moon had come, Flametail had gone alone into the forest and waited out the night in the shelter of a hollow log.
He started tidying the leaves that Littlecloud’s cough had scattered.
“Have you had any dreams?” Littlecloud asked suddenly.
Flametail began to roll a wad of comfrey ready for Tallpoppy. “No.”
“What about when you went to the Moonpool at half-moon?”
Flametail stiffened. “It was the same as before. We must stand alone.”
A growl sounded in Littlecloud’s throat. “Why are you lying?”
Flametail stopped rolling the comfrey. “Lying?” he echoed, trying to keep his voice calm.
“About going to the Moonpool.” Littlecloud’s nest rustled. “I’ve been waiting for a quarter moon for you to tell me the truth.” He coughed hard. “When you got back, there was no scent of water or stone or the other medicine cats on you. Only damp wood and fear.”
Flametail turned to face his mentor. “I’m sorry.” He meant it. He searched for the right words to explain what was going on. “Raggedstar told me to stay away from the other medicine cats, remember? I’ll go to the Moonpool alone if you like.”
“Why are you so sure you interpreted your vision correctly?” Littlecloud challenged.
“There was nothing to interpret!” Flametail swallowed against the frustration rising in his throat. “Raggedstar was clear. War is coming. We must rely on our ancestors to guide us through it. No one else!”
“But Blackstar agrees with me. We must be cautious.”
Flametail flexed his claws. “I’m a medicine cat. I answer first to StarClan!”
“If war is coming, alliances may be our only hope!” Littlecloud’s mew was growing hoarse. “Joining forces with the other Clans kept us alive on the Great Journey, and before that it helped us to defeat Scourge and BloodClan.”
Flametail stared at his mentor. “That was then. This is now. Times have changed.”
“The warrior code never changes.”
“We’re not warriors!” Flametail snapped. “We’re medicine cats.”
Littlecloud stared back with wide, milky eyes. A cough seized him and shook his body. Flametail rushed to Littlecloud’s nest and began to massage his scrawny chest with both paws, trying to ease the tightness he could hear in the cough. He hated arguing with his mentor. Especially when he was sick. Littlecloud had taught him everything he knew, and he trusted him with his life. But Littlecloud hadn’t shared the vision of flame. It had been given to Flametail alone.
Flametail jerked away. Why had StarClan shared the warning only with him? He watched Littlecloud being racked with coughs. Was the old medicine cat going to die? Grief hollowed Flametail’s belly. He began rubbing Littlecloud’s back more urgently.
Gradually the coughing eased. Littlecloud lay back in his nest, fighting for breath. “You must always be honest with me,” he rasped.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about not going to the Moonpool.” Flametail smoothed Littlecloud’s clumped fur with a paw. “I didn’t want to upset you.” He met his mentor’s anxious gaze. “But I couldn’t disobey StarClan.”
Littlecloud nodded. “I understand,” he croaked. “I only ask for the truth.”
“Now you have it.” Flametail straightened. “We must stand alone. Raggedstar has made that clear, and I’m going to honor his wish.”
“Must I?” Littlecloud asked. “I’ve had no dreams. No visions. I’ve no reason to abandon old friends.” His voice was hardly a whisper.
“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.