by Erin Hunter
A breeze caught the thinning smoke and stirred it into thin mist. As it dissolved, Alderheart blinked in surprise. Where blackened stumps should have been, he saw a vibrant meadow. Lush green grass trembled with life, brilliant in the sunshine. The tang of its freshness bathed Alderheart, so strong that it woke him. He blinked open his eyes, the dream still fresh, and stared from his nest into the shadows of the medicine den.
Dawn light was filtering through the entrance and reaching down through the gap where fresh water dripped into the pool. Leafpool’s nest was empty. So was Jayfeather’s. Alderheart lifted his head. Anxiety jabbed his belly. Something was wrong.
“Jayfeather?” As he called through the half-light, he saw the blind medicine cat crouching beside Puddleshine’s nest. Leafpool was beside him, bent over the ShadowClan medicine cat. Panic sparked through his pelt as he scrambled from his nest. “Is he okay?”
Jayfeather turned his blind blue gaze on him. “He’s having a seizure.”
Leafpool was pressing Puddleshine into his nest while the tom thrashed violently beneath her paws.
“Hold his hind legs still,” Jayfeather ordered.
Alderheart thrust his paws into Puddleshine’s nest. The tom’s legs flailed stiffly. He struggled to hold them still as Jayfeather grasped the unconscious tom’s jerking head between his forepaws. Leafpool pressed down on the tom’s shoulders as he convulsed.
Please, StarClan! Don’t let him die! Alderheart had brought wood sorrel back to camp the day before. He’d chewed it into poultices and applied it carefully it to every wound. He’d nursed the semiconscious medicine cat through the long afternoon and had gone to his nest hoping that the sorrel would fight the infection. Clearly it had done nothing to help.
Slowly Puddleshine’s seizure weakened. His legs fell limp beneath Alderheart’s paws. “Is he alive?” Alderheart looked at Jayfeather, his throat tight.
“He’s still breathing.” Jayfeather laid Puddleshine’s head gently on the side of his nest.
Leafpool sat back on her haunches. “We should tell Tigerstar.”
“No!” Alderheart stiffened. “We can still cure him.” They were acting like there was no hope.
“Tigerstar should be warned,” Jayfeather murmured.
“Not yet.” Alderheart headed for the entrance. “We’re going to save Puddleshine. Give him feverfew to cool him down and thyme to calm his seizures. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Where are you going?” Leafpool blinked at him.
“Out.” Alderheart left the den and hurried across the clearing. The answer to Puddleshine’s illness must lie with the silverthorn. Alderheart would have to go back to it.
The camp was blue in the dawn light. Squirrelflight was stretching beneath the Highledge. Alderheart guessed she was getting ready to organize the day’s patrols. Graystripe was washing outside the elders’ den. Molewhisker was poking through the remains of the fresh-kill pile, while Cherryfall yawned sleepily in the clearing.
Alderheart nodded to them but didn’t speak. He walked with purpose, and no cat asked where he was going. He padded through the entrance and headed into the woods. Instinct carried him, as though StarClan were guiding his paws. He remembered his dream. The shock of Puddleshine’s seizure had driven it from his thoughts, but now it returned. He could smell the smoke from the fire and see the lushness of the meadow that had blossomed after it had passed. Was it a sign from StarClan? Were they trying to show him the answer?
He shook out his pelt. Don’t be dumb. What did a forest fire have to do with Puddleshine’s illness? It was just a dream. Not every dream held a message.
He followed the trail across the apprentices’ training ground and through the forest to the slope that led to the silverthorn. The sun had lifted above the horizon by the time he arrived, and its light was slicing between the trees.
Alderheart stopped beside the silverthorn. He padded in circles, tasting the air and sniffing the ground. If the silverthorn carried Twoleg poison, how would smelling it help? Frustrated, he lashed his tail. He had to think of something!
As he paced, he saw the deathberry bush shiver. A rabbit hopped from beneath it. Alderheart blinked in surprise. It was the wounded rabbit he’d seen yesterday. It was still limping, but its eyes had brightened. The stench of its infection had lost its bitter tang. It hopped into the sunlight and, lifting its ears in alarm, looked at Alderheart. Panic lit its eyes and it turned and fled.
Alderheart stared after it. Yesterday it could barely hop. Hope flared in his chest. If the rabbit had begun to recover from its infected wound, then so could Puddleshine. Alderheart remembered with a jolt that the rabbit had nibbled deathberries. It should be dead! He padded to the bush, careful not to tread on any fallen berries. He didn’t want poison on his paws. Peering beneath the low branches, he saw that the rabbit had left a makeshift nest in the dried leaves underneath. Leaning in, he examined it. Deathberry seeds were piled in a small heap beneath the bush.
Ducking out, Alderheart’s thoughts quickened. Had the deathberries cured the rabbit? Perhaps eating the flesh and leaving the seeds had given it just enough poison to kill the infection without killing the rabbit. Could it be true?
His dream flashed in his mind once more. The fire hadn’t killed the forest; a meadow had blossomed in its path. It was a sign! Alderheart stiffened with excitement. If I feed deathberries to Puddleshine, they won’t kill him. They’ll save him!
Quickly, Alderheart searched for a dock plant. He found one sprouting at the foot of an oak. Tearing off the largest leaf, he carried it back to the deathberry bush. He plucked berries gingerly with his claws and dropped them onto the leaf. Then he rolled up the leaf, folding the edges in so that the deathberries were safely wrapped. Carrying the bundle gently between his jaws, he headed back to camp. How was he going to persuade Jayfeather and Leafpool that such a desperate cure would work? His heart pounded. He would have to. These deadly berries could be Puddleshine’s only hope.
CHAPTER 5
Twigbranch brushed past an oak trunk, enjoying the tug of the rough bark against her fur. It soothed her.
“Stop dawdling!” Ahead of her, Finleap padded cheerfully between the trees. “We came out here to hunt, not to scratch.”
“I’m coming.” Twigbranch hurried after him.
She had taken Flypaw out at dawn to practice finding prey, but the apprentice had been so sleepy she’d hardly listened to a word Twigbranch had said. She’d yawned when she was meant to be sniffing for rabbit tracks and kept falling behind when Twigbranch was trying to hurry her to the next mouse nest. When Twigbranch had scolded her, Flypaw had moved even more slowly, as though Twigbranch’s criticism had injured her rather than helped her.
Eventually she’d sent Flypaw back to camp to clean out the elders’ den. Early morning training seemed wasted on her apprentice. Instead she’d asked Finleap if he wanted to hunt. They were heading into the forest now. Gentle sunlight dappled the trees. Finleap padded beside her as they climbed the rise where beech grew between the oaks. Twigbranch glanced at him. “Did you find it hard to get up early to train when you were an apprentice?” she asked.
“No.” He blinked at her. “I couldn’t wait to get started.”
“Me neither.” Twigbranch flicked her tail happily as she remembered. “Some mornings I was already waiting outside Ivypool’s den when she woke up. I wanted to be a warrior more than anything else.”
Finleap slowed. “Are you still having trouble with Flypaw?”
“Her heart’s just not in it,” Twigbranch worried. “Or perhaps it is. Perhaps I expect too much from her.”
“She’s just begun training,” Finleap pointed out. “Give her time to find her paws.”
“I’m trying to give her time, but we just don’t seem to connect.” Anxiety pricked in Twigbranch’s belly. “When I correct her or criticize her technique, she takes it personally, like I’m criticizing her.” Her pelt twitched with frustration. “I feel like I can’t t
ell her anything in case I upset her. I have to tiptoe around her like I’m stalking prey. Sometimes I wonder if I’m training her to be a warrior or she’s training me to be a mouse.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he meowed. “Relationships take time to build.”
“Do you get along with Snappaw?”
Finleap purred. “He’s fun. He can be slow, but he listens and he works hard. He’s going to make a good warrior.”
Twigbranch fought back a twinge of jealousy. How had Finleap gotten the easy apprentice? Perhaps I’m just a bad mentor. Should she try harder to adapt to her apprentice, or simply be tougher and expect more of her?
Finleap whisked his tail. “I smell squirrel.”
Twigbranch froze as he stopped and scanned the forest. She saw a gray tail bobbing over the forest floor a tree-length away. “There!” She dropped into a hunting crouch. Finleap dropped beside her. Together they watched the squirrel stop at the roots of a beech. It rummaged through the leaves caught between the roots and began picking out beechnuts.
Finleap padded forward, moving noiselessly over the forest floor. Twigbranch crept after him, keeping her belly a whisker above the ground so it didn’t brush the leaves. Silently they advanced on the squirrel. It was intent on the beechnuts, nimbly cracking the shells and pulling out their seeds before stuffing them into its mouth. As Twigbranch neared, she glanced at Finleap, looking for a signal to pounce. He caught her eye and nodded her to one side. They split up and, ducking lower, moved to flank the squirrel.
Twigbranch paused and waited for Finleap’s signal. His eyes shone with excitement. He looked at her and flicked his tail. Go! They leaped at the same moment. But the squirrel was fast. Quick as a bird, it shot upward, gripping the bark of the beech and skittering toward the branches. Twigbranch stared after it, but Finleap didn’t hesitate. He leaped up the trunk, hooking in his claws, and hauled himself after the squirrel. “Come on!” he called down.
Twigbranch followed, pushing clumsily upward with her hind legs. Bark crumbled beneath her claws and showered past her. It felt strange to hunt above the ground, despite her SkyClan training. Finleap was swarming after the squirrel as though he’d been born in a tree. The squirrel hopped onto a branch and raced along it. Finleap followed, balancing easily as he chased the squirrel to the branch’s end.
Twigbranch reached the branch, panting, and watched as the squirrel leaped from its end to the next tree. Her heart seemed to stop as Finleap leaped after it. He landed in the next tree, wobbling dangerously as he found his paws. His stumpy tail flicked one way, then the other, as he fought to stay upright. Twigbranch glanced at the forest floor below. Don’t fall!
In a moment Finleap had regained his balance and was pelting after the squirrel. He caught it as it tried to leap up to the next branch, rearing and hooking it with his claws before it could escape.
Twigbranch felt a rush of pride. Even with a short tail, Finleap could keep his balance and hunt at the same time. Would he pass his SkyClan hunting skills on to their ThunderClan kits? She stiffened. Kits! What was she thinking? They were both too young to have a family yet.
She shook out her fur and slithered to the ground. Hurrying to Finleap’s tree, she waited for him as he scrambled tail first down the trunk, the dead squirrel dangling from his jaws.
He dropped it on the ground. “It feels good to hunt in the trees again,” he mewed happily.
Twigbranch brushed her muzzle against his cheek. “Great catch!”
He purred. “Let’s take it back to camp.” He grabbed the squirrel and headed away.
Twigbranch followed, pleased both by the good catch and at seeing Finleap so happy.
When they reached camp, Finleap headed to the fresh-kill pile to drop his catch. Twigbranch began to follow, but raised voices in the medicine den made her stop. An angry yowl sounded from the entrance.
“Have you got bees in your brain?” Jayfeather hissed.
“But I’ve seen it work! Nothing else is helping.” Alderheart sounded desperate.
Alarmed, Twigbranch hurried to the medicine den and nosed her way through the brambles that trailed at the entrance. No one seemed to notice her. Jayfeather was cringing from a small pile of dark berries, which lay on a dock leaf at Alderheart’s paws. Leafpool’s pelt was bristling as she pressed protectively against the nest where Puddleshine lay. The ShadowClan cat’s eyes were glazed and dull.
“How could you bring deathberries into camp?” Leafpool stared at them. “What if a kit finds one?”
“I’ll hide them where no kit can find them,” Alderheart promised.
“What if you get juice on your paws and walk it through camp?” Jayfeather argued. “A kit might pick up some poison without anyone realizing.”
“That’s not going to happen!” Alderheart’s hackles lifted. “I know the dangers. I’m not going to risk any cat’s life.”
“Except Puddleshine’s!” Jayfeather lashed his tail.
Twigbranch’s eyes widened. Was Alderheart really planning to give Puddleshine deathberries?
Leafpool flicked her ears. “How did you get such a crazy idea?”
“I told you! I saw the rabbit,” Alderheart mewed urgently. “One day it was sick with the same smell as Puddleshine, and the next it was recovering. I saw it eating the berries.”
“Are you sure it was eating deathberries?” Leafpool asked.
“They were berries from the same bush where I gathered these,” Alderheart told her.
Jayfeather’s blind blue eyes were hard with rage. “You’re not feeding those to Puddleshine.” Twigbranch stiffened. She knew Jayfeather could be bad-tempered, but she’d never seen him this angry.
Alderheart met Jayfeather’s gaze unflinchingly. “I have to try it. If I don’t, he will die.”
Twigbranch looked at the nest where Puddleshine lay. Could he hear this? Did he know he was dying? The ShadowClan medicine cat shifted. She saw his gaze focus for a moment, and he groaned as he tried to lift his head.
“Let him try it,” Puddleshine grunted.
Jayfeather turned his head toward the sick tom. “It will kill you.”
“I’m already dying.” Pain showed in Puddleshine’s gaze. “If Alderheart is wrong about the rabbit, then at least I’ll die quickly. If he’s right, then I have a chance.” He fell limp with a groan.
Alderheart stared urgently at Jayfeather. “It’s the only choice we have.”
Jayfeather curled his lip. “It’s your choice, then. Do it if you must.” With a growl he stalked past Twigbranch and pushed his way through the trailing brambles out of the den.
Leafpool glanced anxiously at Alderheart. “Do what you think is best,” she mewed. “But be careful. If this harms Puddleshine, you’ll never forgive yourself.” Frowning anxiously, she followed Jayfeather out.
Twigbranch stared at Alderheart. “Are you really going to do it?”
“Of course I am.” He crouched and began carefully tearing open the flesh of a berry.
“What if he dies?” Twigbranch breathed, her heart pounding in her throat.
“Then I’ll know at least I tried everything.” Squinting in the gloom of the den, he picked out the seeds and dropped them onto the dock leaf. “I’ll feel worse if he dies without me having tried.” He didn’t look up but, intent on his work, slit open another berry.
Twigbranch slid out through the brambles and paused at the edge of the clearing. Jayfeather was disappearing into the elders’ den. Leafpool was crouched beside the fresh-kill pile, gazing anxiously ahead. Alderheart trusts his instincts.
Energy pulsed through Twigbranch’s paws. I must do the same with Flypaw. She wanted to make the young she-cat understand how important training was. These moons mustn’t be wasted. Flypaw could learn so much. She was young and quick, and the techniques she learned now would form the bedrock on which all her future skills would rest. It was no time to ease up on her. Twigbranch knew she had to be tough. What if I’m wrong? It was a risk worth taking. She
knew suddenly that, like Alderheart, she must follow her instinct.
She hurried to the elders’ den and stuck her head in. Flypaw was supposed to be cleaning out the bedding, but all she saw was Jayfeather, sniffing Millie’s ear while Graystripe watched anxiously. The medicine cat pulled away. “Can you hear birdsong in the morning?” he asked.
“Yes,” Millie answered.
“Can you hear Graystripe snoring?” Jayfeather asked.
“Everyone can hear Graystripe snoring,” Millie purred.
Graystripe grunted, a sparkle in his eyes.
“In that case, your hearing is okay,” Jayfeather pronounced. “Maybe not as sharp as it once was. That might be a blessing. You say you can’t hear the kits mewling in the nursery anymore. Enjoy the peace.” He turned his head toward Twigbranch as though he could see her. “Are you going to follow me into every den today?”
Her ears grew hot. “I’m looking for Flypaw.”
“She’s not here,” Jayfeather mewed curtly. “Try someplace else.”
“Did she clean out your bedding this morning?” Twigbranch asked Graystripe.
“She took half of it away,” Graystripe plucked sadly at his nest’s thin pile of bracken with a paw. “We haven’t seen her since.”
“She’s probably collecting fresh moss,” Millie suggested.
Twigbranch’s pelt pricked irritably. “She’s probably watching thistledown floating between the trees and imagining she’s leader of SleepyClan.” She saw Graystripe and Millie exchange looks as she ducked out of the den and scanned the camp. Flypaw couldn’t even clean out bedding without getting distracted. With a grunt, Twigbranch decided that she’d better go and find her apprentice. She headed for the camp entrance.
“Twigbranch!” Finleap called to her from beside the warriors’ den, where Rosepetal and Blossomfall were sharing a mouse.
Twigbranch glanced at him. “Not now,” she called. “I’m busy.”
Finleap hurried toward her. Frustration clawed Twigbranch’s belly. She wanted to find Flypaw. They’d wasted enough training time already. Reluctantly she waited for Finleap to reach her. “What?” she snapped.
