Twilight

Chapter 10

Leafpool dropped the herbs she was carrying and looked down at the creamy-furred she-cat. “Cinderpelt says you need to eat these.”

Daisy blinked up at her from sleepy blue eyes, lifting her head from where she lay among the thick moss in the nursery.

In the two days since they came to the camp, she and her kits had almost recovered from their exhausting journey. Daisy had groomed her fur back into soft silkiness, while her three kits were curled up together in a purring heap. “You’re all so kind,” Daisy murmured. She chewed up the herbs obediently, wrinkling her nose against the pungent scent.

Careful not to disturb them, Leafpool bent to check the three kits. “They’re beautiful,” she mewed. “Have you given them names yet?”

“Yes. The one with cream fur like mine is Berry, the bigger gray one is Mouse, and the smallest one is Hazel.” Daisy rested her tail softly on each kit as she named it.

“Those will work very well as Clan names,” Leafpool told her. “Here they’ll be Berrykit, Mousekit, and Hazelkit. I’ll let Firestar know.”

She thought Daisy looked a bit doubtful, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted her kits to be part of the Clan, but before she could say any more Ferncloud crept in through the entrance with a mouse in her jaws.

“I’ve brought you some fresh-kill,” she meowed to Daisy, placing the mouse next to her. Purring, she settled down in the moss beside the kits. “They look fine now. I’m sure you have enough milk.”

Leaving them to discuss the kits, Leafpool said good-bye and emerged into the clearing. The weather was still gray and cold, and the trees above her head clashed in the wind.

More than a half moon had passed since their encounter on the hillside, but there had been no word from Crowfeather. Half the time, Leafpool drifted around in a haze of happiness, remembering the look in his eyes and the scent of his pelt.

But for the rest of the time she was clawed by guilt that she had agreed to meet him again. If she was a true medicine cat, she wouldn’t even be thinking about him. She tried harder than ever to concentrate on her tasks, so that she could become the cat she had always longed to be. Besides, she didn’t want Cinderpelt to scold her, or suspect that the WindClan warrior was occupying her thoughts.

Leafpool padded toward her den, but stopped short as a tortoiseshell cat hurtled through the thorn tunnel and skidded to a halt in the middle of the clearing. For an instant Leafpool thought it was Sorreltail, and her heart lurched at the thought of any harm coming to the kits she was carrying. Then she looked more closely and recognized Mosspelt, a warrior from RiverClan.

“Leafpool!” she gasped. “Thank StarClan you’re here!”

“What’s the matter?” Leafpool asked.

“Mothwing sent me.” Mosspelt’s chest heaved. “There’s sickness in RiverClan. It’s bad—very bad.”

“And Mothwing wants me to come?”

Mosspelt nodded. “Mothwing said you would understand what the trouble is.”

Leafpool swallowed, feeling as if a tough piece of fresh-kill were stuck in her throat. She understood too well.

Feathertail’s warning—that Twolegs would put RiverClan in great danger—had come true. Her dream, her long journey to tell Mothwing, had all been in vain.

More cats had begun to gather in the clearing. Firestar appeared on the Highledge with Sandstorm, while Brightheart and several other warriors emerged from the warriors’ den. Daisy peered cautiously out of the nursery, then ran across to Cloudtail and began talking urgently to him, twitching her tail anxiously as she spoke.

Sootfur shot Mosspelt a hostile stare. “Why should we send our medicine cat all the way around the lake to help RiverClan? They should find help somewhere else.”

“Oh, come on!” Thornclaw argued. “WindClan aren’t likely to help, are they? And ShadowClan have never been exactly generous toward other Clans.”

Leafpool was relieved to see Cinderpelt padding across to them.

“What’s going on? Mosspelt, are you in trouble?”

“The whole of RiverClan is in trouble,” the she-cat answered. More calmly, now that she had caught her breath, she repeated what she had told Leafpool. “Mothwing’s den is full of sick cats,” she mewed. “None have died yet, but they will die, if we don’t have help.”

“May I go?” Leafpool begged. She was racked with guilt that she hadn’t tried to do anything else to find out what the trouble might be. Perhaps she really was losing her ability to speak with StarClan. “Please, Cinderpelt!”

Cinderpelt and Firestar exchanged a long glance. Then the medicine cat meowed, “If Firestar agrees.”

The Clan leader nodded. “We can’t refuse to help another Clan in trouble. Besides, this sickness, whatever it is, might come here. Leafpool, try to find out everything you can about it.”

“I will,” Leafpool promised. “Are you sure you can manage without me?” she asked Cinderpelt. Because of her lame leg, the medicine cat relied on Leafpool to collect most of the healing herbs they needed.

“Of course,” Cinderpelt replied. “ThunderClan is lucky to have two medicine cats.” A shadow flickered in her eyes.

Brightheart stepped forward. “I could help you, Cinderpelt,” she offered. “I think I know what most of the herbs look like—the common ones, anyway.”

“Thank you, Brightheart.” Cinderpelt turned back to Leafpool. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go with Mosspelt. But come back as soon as you can. And may StarClan go with you.”

Leafpool nodded and followed Mosspelt out of the camp.

Already she had begun to run through a list of the herbs she might need: juniper, watermint, chervil root… She shook her head. She couldn’t tell what she needed until she’d had a chance to examine the sick cats. StarClan, I need you now, she prayed silently. Show me what I have to do.

A strong wind whisked across the surface of the lake as Leafpool and Mosspelt crossed WindClan’s territory, buffeting the two cats’ fur. After her frantic dash to ThunderClan, Mosspelt couldn’t manage anything faster than a trot, and Leafpool kept pace with her. There was no point in racing on to the RiverClan camp if she arrived too exhausted to help.

They were drawing near the horse place when Leafpool heard a yowl from somewhere above them. Glancing around, she spotted a patrol of four WindClan cats bounding down the hillside toward them. Her heart lurched as she saw Crowfeather’s lean gray shape racing over the turf.

She and Mosspelt stopped and waited for the patrol to catch up. Tornear was leading it; behind him, flanking Crowfeather, came Owlwhisker and Webfoot.

“Greetings.” Tornear dipped his head. “What are you doing on WindClan territory?”

His tone was formal, not aggressive, though Leafpool hardly registered his question. She was too conscious of Crowfeather’s eyes scorching into her fur, though she dared not speak to him or even look at him with so many other cats around.

“We’re on our way to RiverClan,” Mosspelt meowed. She did not tell Tornear why; Leafpool guessed she was in no hurry to let WindClan know that RiverClan had been weakened by sickness.

“We’re staying close to the lake,” Leafpool pointed out, “just as the leaders decided at the Gathering.”

“I can see you are,” meowed Tornear. “Carry on, then, and—”

“What are you staring at her for?” Webfoot growled.

“Aren’t there enough cats in WindClan for you to be padding after?”

Leafpool froze. He was speaking to Crowfeather. She looked at the gray warrior and saw her own dismay reflected in his eyes.

“Great StarClan, Webfoot,” Tornear meowed. “Don’t be more mousebrained than you can help. This is Squirrelflight’s sister, remember? Squirrelflight who Crowfeather went on the journey with?”

Leafpool went limp with relief, breathing out silent thanks to Tornear.

“That’s right,” Crowfeather choked out. “Er… say hi to Squirrelflight for me, will you, Leafpool?”

“Sure.” Leafpool dipped her head.

Mosspelt scraped her claws impatiently on the pebbles.

“Can we keep going, please?”

Tornear nodded, waving Leafpool and Mosspelt away with a sweep of his tail.

Before Leafpool had taken a couple of paces she heard a hiss behind her and swung around to see Crowfeather following her.

“Meet me by the island at twilight,” he whispered, adding in a louder meow, “Remember to tell Squirrelflight what I said.”

“Yes, I will,” Leafpool replied. Guilt and excitement thrilled through her until she felt that every hair on her pelt must be sparkling with it. This couldn’t be wrong, could it?

When it made her so happy?

“Crowfeather, are you coming?” Webfoot yowled.

The gray warrior darted away without another glance at Leafpool. She bounded along the lakeshore to catch up to Mosspelt, feeling as though her paws hardly touched the ground.

Long before she and Mosspelt reached the RiverClan camp, Leafpool could smell the sickness. It hung heavily in the air, a stench like rotting carrion. Then an eerie wailing rose above the gurgle of the stream that bordered the camp.

Mosspelt shot Leafpool a terrified glance and bounded ahead, splashing through the stream and into the camp.

Leafpool followed, hardly noticing the icy water that dragged at her paws and soaked her belly fur.

Leopardstar emerged from the ferns at the top of the bank and waited for Leafpool and Mosspelt to reach her. The terrible wailing went on and on.

“Ivytail is dead,” Leopardstar announced. Her voice was calm, but Leafpool could see stark terror behind her eyes.

“Do you think you can do anything to help us?”

“I don’t know until I talk to Mothwing,” Leafpool answered. “I’ll go straight to her den—I know the way.”

“I will send some of my warriors to help you,” Leopardstar meowed.

Leafpool crossed the camp and picked her way down the bank to Mothwing’s den under the thorn bush. All thoughts of Crowfeather had vanished from her head. All that mattered was helping these sick cats.

On the way, she met Heavystep and Hawkfrost bearing the limp body of a brown tabby Leafpool didn’t recognize.

She stood aside to let them pass, her head respectfully bowed.

“Leafpool!” It was Mothwing’s voice, high and panicky.

The RiverClan medicine cat flung herself out of the den and pressed her muzzle into Leafpool’s fur. “I knew you would come!”

Leafpool inhaled her friend’s fear scent, stronger even than the reek of sickness. “Tell me what the matter is,” she mewed.

“They’re all dying!” Mothwing’s wide blue eyes were distraught. “I don’t know what to do!”

“Mothwing, calm down,” she ordered. “Your Clan will give up completely if they see their medicine cat panicking. You must be strong for their sake.”

Mothwing took a couple of gulping breaths. “I’m sorry,” she meowed after a moment. “You’re right, Leafpool. I’m okay now.”

“Tell me what’s been happening,” Leafpool repeated.

“Come and see.”

Mothwing led Leafpool to her den. Close to the entrance, sheltered by the twisted branches of the thorn tree, a small black kit lay in a mossy nest. Its eyes were closed, and Leafpool had to watch closely for a few moments before she saw its shallow breathing.

Beside it were two other kits—another black one unconscious like the first but breathing more strongly, and a gray one thrashing back and forth, its jaws gaping in a feeble wail.

Farther along the bank, beyond the den, four warriors lay in rough nests of dried bracken, along with a younger cat who looked like an apprentice. Leafpool recognized Dawnflower’s pale gray pelt, and Voletooth, who had recently been made a warrior.

She crouched down beside Dawnflower, who was nearest, and extended one paw to pat her belly gently. Dawnflower moaned and tried to pull away from her. Leafpool gave her a soothing lick, then sat back and looked up at Mothwing.

“It reminds me of the time the elders were ill from drinking poisoned water,” she meowed. “But the scent isn’t quite the same. I wonder—”

“But that was my fault!” Mothwing wailed. “I should have smelled there was a dead rabbit in that pool.”

“Not when your paws were covered in mouse bile,” Leafpool reminded her. “And this sickness isn’t your fault either.”

“It is!” Mothwing dug her claws into the earth. “If I were a true medicine cat, I would know what to do for my Clan.”

“That’s nonsense,” Leafpool mewed sharply. “You are a true medicine cat. You’ve done nothing to cause this sickness, but we need to find out where it comes from.”

“I haven’t had time to check everywhere in the territory, not since the first cats fell ill,” Mothwing admitted. “But all the streams are running clear, and there’s no sign of Twoleg rubbish in the lake.” She scraped the ground again with her claws. “I’m a useless medicine cat. Mudfur should never have chosen me.”

“That’s nonsense too, and you know it,” Leafpool meowed more gently, brushing her tail against Mothwing’s pelt.

“What about the moth’s wing that Mudfur found outside his den? It was a clear sign from StarClan that they wanted you to be his apprentice.” Mothwing looked as if she was about to protest, but Leafpool went on rapidly, “Tell me what you’ve been doing for these sick cats.”

“I gave them watermint for bellyache, and when that didn’t work I tried juniper berries. That seemed to soothe the pain a bit, but the cats didn’t get better.”

“Hmm…” Leafpool ran her list of remedies through her mind. “If they’ve eaten something poisonous, then we should try to make them bring it up. Have you got any yarrow leaves?”

“A few,” Mothwing replied. “Not enough for every cat, though.”

“Then some cat will have to go and fetch more.”

While she was speaking, Leafpool saw Mistyfoot and a young black warrior she didn’t know padding down the slope toward her. Mistyfoot waved her tail in greeting.

“Leopardstar sent us to help you,” she meowed.

“Thanks,” Leafpool replied. “We need yarrow leaves.”

“I’ll get some,” the black tom offered immediately.

Dipping his head to Leafpool, he added, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Scanning his slender figure and small, neat ears, Leafpool felt as if she should recognize him, but she couldn’t remember his name. She shook her head. “Sorry.”

“I’m Reedwhisker,” the black warrior meowed. “You saved me when I nearly drowned, back in our old home.”

“He was Reedpaw then,” Mistyfoot added.

Surprise silenced Leafpool for a moment, as she remembered the cat Mistyfoot had dragged out of the flooded river.

Mothwing hadn’t known what to do to get the young cat breathing again, and Leafpool had been forced to take over.

The spirit of Spottedleaf had been close beside her all the time, guiding her paws until it was clear that the apprentice would live.

“I’m glad to see you again,” she mewed briefly, not wanting to remind Mothwing of another occasion when she had panicked. “We need as much yarrow as you can carry, and quickly.

Do you know where to find it?”

“There are some good clumps near the horse place fence,” Mothwing put in before he could reply.

Reedwhisker waved his tail. “I’m on my way. I’ve got an apprentice of my own now,” he added. “Ripplepaw. I’ll take her with me so we can carry more.”

“Juniper berries too,” Leafpool called after him as the slender black warrior whipped around and raced off. “There are bushes near the top of the slope above the marshes.”

Reedwhisker flicked his tail to show he had heard and vanished over the top of the bank.

“Right, Mothwing,” Leafpool meowed when he had gone.

“Where’s the yarrow you do have? We can get started while we wait for Reedwhisker to come back.”

“Tell me what I can do first,” Mistyfoot mewed. “Are there any other herbs you need?”

“Not right now,” Leafpool answered. “But you could check the territory for anything that might have caused this.”

Mistyfoot looked puzzled. “What kind of thing am I looking for?”

Leafpool shook her head, careful to say nothing that would reveal that the warning dream had come to her and not to RiverClan’s own medicine cat. “I wish I could tell you.

Anything unusual—especially anything that doesn’t smell right. Look for something that Twolegs might have done or left behind.”

“Twolegs? Around here?” Mistyfoot put her head on one side. “Well, you know best, I suppose. I’ll send out all the cats we can spare.”

She cast a sorrowful look at the row of sick cats lying along the bank of the stream, then disappeared over the top of the bank.

Meanwhile Mothwing had retreated into her den and came back with a bunch of yarrow leaves, which she dropped at Leafpool’s paws. Leafpool blinked in dismay at how few there were, but at least they looked reasonably fresh.

“Okay, let’s treat the kits first,” she meowed. “There’s enough here for all three of them, and with any luck Reedwhisker will be back soon.” She nosed the gray kit, who was still writhing in pain and letting out faint mewling sounds; a chill crept over her as she realized he had weakened even in the short time since she had first seen him. “Help me move him over here,” she directed Mothwing. “We don’t want him vomiting in the place where he’s got to sleep.”

As gently as they could, the two she-cats moved the kit closer to the bank of the stream and laid him on a soft cush-ion of moss. Leafpool chewed up a single yarrow leaf, being careful to spit out all the scraps. Then she stuffed the pulp into the kit’s wide-open mouth.

“Swallow it,” she ordered, although she wasn’t sure if the kit could hear her.

The tiny throat convulsed as the kit tried to spit out the scraps of bitter-tasting leaf. But some must have gone down, because a moment later he vomited up several mouthfuls of evil-smelling mucus. His cries died down, and he lay limp and shivering, blinking up at Leafpool.

“Well done.” Leafpool stroked one paw over his head.

“Now I want you to eat one juniper berry for me, and then you can go to sleep. Mothwing?”

The RiverClan medicine cat was already at her side with the juniper berry. She crushed it carefully and held it where the kit could lick it up, massaging his throat to make sure he swallowed it. Her soothing purr—so different from her earlier panic—quieted the tiny kit, and he was asleep by the time Leafpool and Mothwing moved him back to his nest.

“I think he’ll be okay,” murmured Leafpool, sending up a silent prayer to StarClan. “Let’s treat the next one.”

The next kit was still sleeping, but she stirred as the two medicine cats moved her to the edge of the bank.

“My belly hurts,” she moaned.

“This will make it better,” Leafpool promised, stuffing another yarrow leaf into the kit’s mouth.

Instantly the kit spat it out. “Yuck, it’s horrible!”

“Minnowkit, do as you’re told and eat it,” Mothwing mewed sharply.

“Don’t want—” The kit’s protest was interrupted by a feeble wail as her belly was seized by another cramp.

Mothwing took the chance to stuff the yarrow leaf back into her mouth, while Leafpool stroked her throat.

Minnowkit wailed again, and like the first kit soon brought up the reeking mucus.

“Now you can have a juniper berry,” Mothwing meowed, popping it in swiftly as Minnowkit opened her mouth to protest.

“Juniper’s horrible,” Minnowkit murmured, her voice fading as she drifted, still complaining, into sleep.

Leafpool and Mothwing dragged her back to the nest and examined the third kit, the one who seemed weakest.

Mothwing’s eyes were huge with distress. “I think she’s dead.”

Leafpool bent over the tiny kit and felt her whiskers stirred by a faint breath. “No, she’s still alive.” She tried to sound hopeful, though privately she was afraid the kit was well on the way to joining the ranks of StarClan. Not if I can help it, she decided. “I don’t think we should try moving her, though,” she warned. “Fetch a dock leaf, and she can vomit onto that.”

Mothwing hurried over to where docks grew at the edge of the stream and bit through the stem of a large leaf.

Meanwhile Leafpool chewed up more yarrow. All her efforts to rouse the kit failed, so Mothwing had to part the kit’s jaws while Leafpool forced the yarrow as far down her throat as she could.

The kit retched feebly and spat a few scraps of yarrow mixed with mucus onto the dock leaf before lying still.

“That’s not enough,” Mothwing mewed worriedly.

“No, but it’s better than nothing. We’ll let her rest for a while, then try again.”

There were only two yarrow leaves left.

“We should treat Beechpaw next,” Mothwing decided, pointing with her tail to where the young cat lay at the end of the row of sick warriors. “He’s the weakest, except for the kits.” She picked up the remaining yarrow in her jaws and padded off. Leafpool was about to go with her when Mistyfoot reappeared at the top of the bank, her sides heaving.

“Leafpool,” she panted, “I’ve found something. Will you come and see?”

Leafpool glanced at Mothwing, who had also heard the deputy’s arrival and turned to listen. “Go on, Leafpool,” she urged. “I’ll be fine here.”

Leafpool made one last swift check of the sleeping kits, then climbed the bank to join Mistyfoot. To her relief, she spotted Reedwhisker and a silver-pelted apprentice padding across the camp, their jaws full of yarrow.

“That’s great!” she exclaimed. “Take it straight to Mothwing, please.”

“No problem,” Reedwhisker mumbled around his mouthful of stems. “We’ll fetch the juniper next.”

The RiverClan deputy led Leafpool along the top of the bank as far as a barrier of thorns that stretched from stream to stream, blocking off the camp from intruders. When the two cats had pushed their way through a narrow tunnel, curved around many sleek bodies, Mistyfoot followed the smaller stream up a steep slope in the direction of the ShadowClan border.

Soon the slope became an almost sheer, sandy cliff, with jutting rocks that cats could climb, while the stream cascaded down beside them in a waterfall. Leafpool slowed down, careful not to slip on the wet stone. Mistyfoot waited for her at the top, where the stream gushed out of the hillside between moss-covered boulders.

“Not far now,” she promised.

Leafpool paused to catch her breath and taste the air. She caught a faint hint of the Thunderpath that formed the border between RiverClan and ShadowClan, but the scent of monsters was faint and stale, as if none had been there for many days. Her ears pricked as she identified another scent—unfamiliar, but reminding her of the reek of sickness around Mothwing’s den. She glanced at Mistyfoot.

“This way,” the deputy mewed.

The stench grew stronger as they approached the border with ShadowClan. Leafpool was just starting to wonder if the problem lay in RiverClan’s territory at all when Mistyfoot swerved around a hazel thicket and headed back into her own territory. Hawkfrost and Blackclaw were waiting a few foxlengths away, in a small clearing enclosed by brambles.

Hawkfrost swung to face them as they approached, neck fur bristling, then relaxed when he saw who they were.

“Nothing to report,” he meowed. “Everything’s been quiet since you left.”

“No sign of ShadowClan,” Blackclaw added.

Leafpool wondered why the RiverClan warrior was so worried about ShadowClan. They hadn’t crossed the border between the territories. Perhaps he wanted to blame ShadowClan for the sickness.

“This has nothing to do with ShadowClan,” Mistyfoot mewed sharply. “It’s a Twoleg thing, just like you said, Leafpool. Come and see, but don’t get too close.”

Hawkfrost and Blackclaw stepped aside to reveal a smooth, round object about the size of a badger lying at the far side of the clearing, half hidden by brambles. It was hard and shiny, like the Twoleg monsters. As Leafpool crept toward it, she saw that in one place the smooth surface was crushed and broken. A sticky liquid oozed out of the crack, dripping down the side to form a silvery-green puddle.

Traces of the liquid on the grass farther away suggested that cats or some other animal had trodden in the puddle and picked up some of the sticky stuff on their paws.

Leafpool opened her jaws to speak and coughed as the reek hit her throat. “This must be it!” she gasped. “That stuff could kill a cat; it even looks evil.”

“And smells vile,” Hawkfrost growled, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I don’t get it,” Blackclaw argued. “Surely no cat would be mousebrained enough to drink that.”

“Mousebrain yourself,” Mistyfoot retorted. “Can’t you see cats must have picked it up on their pads? You tread in it accidentally, you lick yourself clean, and there you are.”

“Other animals would tread in it too,” Leafpool agreed.

“Mice, for example. If cats killed them and ate them, they would pick up the poison that way.”

Mistyfoot looked horrified. “That means it could be over the whole territory by now!”

“I don’t think it’s as bad as that,” Leafpool told her. “You’ll need to warn every cat to keep away from this area for a while, but any prey that picked it up would die before they had the chance to travel very far. I don’t think there’s much risk they’d be caught as fresh-kill anywhere else.”

Mistyfoot nodded. “I’ll tell Leopardstar right away.”

“It’s about time,” Hawkfrost commented in a low voice to Blackclaw. “If the patrols had been properly organized, we would have found this long ago.”

Leafpool froze. Patrols were the deputy’s responsibility; Hawkfrost was criticizing Mistyfoot practically to her face.

She remembered that back in the old forest Mistyfoot had been trapped by Twolegs, and while she was away Hawkfrost had been made RiverClan deputy in her place. Becoming an ordinary warrior again when Mistyfoot returned must have been hard for Hawkfrost, but that was no excuse for under-mining Mistyfoot’s authority to other cats. What he said wasn’t even true; a Clan’s territory was too big for patrols to find every single hazard right away.

Blackclaw was nodding agreement, with a hostile glance at the blue-furred she-cat; did he think Hawkfrost should still be deputy? Leafpool wondered. Was Hawkfrost trying to gain followers who were loyal to him alone, and not to the Clan?

Mistyfoot had begun to pad away, back to the camp. If she had noticed the exchange, she gave no sign of it.

“We’ll find some thorns and build a barrier around the thing,” Hawkfrost offered, calling after her. “Come on, Blackclaw,” he added more softly. “We don’t want any animals coming near it, cats or prey. Some cat has to look out for the Clan.”

He bounded over to the nearest thicket and started clawing at a dead thorn branch. Blackclaw followed and helped to drag it back to the Twoleg thing with its stinking pool.

“Wash your paws when you’ve finished,” Leafpool advised, trying to pretend she hadn’t heard what Hawkfrost said.

“Don’t lick them.”

“Good thinking,” Hawkfrost replied, as he went off to find another branch.

Leafpool ran to catch up with Mistyfoot. “There’s one thing I don’t understand,” she meowed, as the choking stench began to die away behind them. “How did those kits get ill?

Surely they’re too young to be this far from the nursery?”

Mistyfoot let out an exasperated sigh. “The other day they ran away from camp and went exploring on their own. It was Minnowkit’s idea. She can think of more ways of getting into trouble than there are stars in Silverpelt. The sooner she has a mentor to keep an eye on her, the happier I’ll be.”

“They’re too young to have caught any prey around here, so they must have found that Twoleg thing.” Leafpool shivered at the thought of young kits sticking their paws into the vile green liquid. “They never told any cat what they had found?” When Mistyfoot shook her head, Leafpool went on, “The other cats must have gotten sick from poisoned prey, or they would have reported the Twoleg thing to Leopardstar.”

“The kits never said a word,” Mistyfoot agreed. “I was furious when I caught them trying to sneak back into camp.

They probably thought they were in enough trouble already.”

She stopped suddenly. “Dawnflower’s their mother. She gave them a good licking when they got back, and she was the first full-grown cat to fall ill.”

“That makes sense,” Leafpool meowed. “I’ll have to have a word with those kits when they wake up.”

“They will wake up?”

“I think so.” Leafpool didn’t mention the black kit who hadn’t responded to the yarrow treatment. Mothwing needed more help than she alone could provide to save some of these fragile lives. “With the help of StarClan,” she added quietly.

The day was nearly over when the two cats returned to the RiverClan camp. The setting sun was a sullen red glow behind bars of cloud. Leafpool had hardly noticed time passing; it seemed no more than a few heartbeats since Mosspelt had dashed into the stone hollow.

At least the camp was quiet; no eerie wailing signaled another death. Most cats were settling into their dens for the night, although two or three still crouched beside the fresh-kill pile.

“That reminds me,” Leafpool meowed. “It would be a good idea to go through the fresh-kill pile and throw out anything with that scent on it.”

Mistyfoot nodded. “I’ll check the camp, too, in case any cat has brought that stuff in on their paws. And every cat should check themselves, and wash off the scent downstream if they have it.”

She headed toward Leopardstar’s den to report to her leader. Leafpool watched her go, then she slipped over the top of the bank and down to where Mothwing stooped over the sick cats.

“How’s it going?” she asked, joining the RiverClan medicine cat who was examining Dawnflower.

“Okay, I think. No cat has died, though Heavystep has fallen ill.” She pointed with her tail to where the big tabby elder was curled up on the bank. “I’ve given him yarrow, and he doesn’t seem as bad as some of the others.”

Leafpool remembered that Heavystep was one of the cats who had been carrying out the dead cat when she arrived.

Perhaps he had picked up the poison that way. Hawkfrost had been with him, but he seemed fine, and he knew now that he had to be careful not to get the sticky Twoleg stuff on his fur.

“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 grayish-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 gray 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 prized 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 gray 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. “Okay, 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?”

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

Leafpool shook her head. There would be time 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. “Okay. 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 realize that she had completely forgotten to meet Crowfeather at twilight.