The Forgotten Warrior

by Erin Hunter

  “This way?” Brambleclaw checked, angling his ears in the direction from which Dovewing had come.

  Dovewing nodded.

  “We’re going to guard Sorreltail,” the Clan deputy explained. “A cat crying out, and the scent of blood, could attract foxes.”

  He led his patrol away, the three cats slipping easily through the trees, their jaws parted as they followed the scent trail.

  Dovewing brushed through the thorns to find Cloudtail still on watch; with a nod to the white warrior she bounded across the camp and into the medicine cat’s den.

  Briarlight was at the back of the den, her head inside the storage cleft. She pushed herself back and looked over her shoulder as Dovewing came in. “How’s—” she began.

  “Jayfeather sent me for chervil root,” Dovewing interrupted. “Do you know what it looks like?”

  “There.” Briarlight pointed with one forepaw, and Dove-wing realized that she had set out several different herbs in a neat line across the floor of the den. “Right at the end. You’d better take some fennel, too,” she added, pointing to an herb with thin, spiky leaves. “It should help the pain in Sorreltail’s hips.”

  “Thanks.” Dovewing grabbed up the knobby brown root and the herb in her jaws and raced out again.

  When she returned to the clearing, she found Sorreltail still lying underneath the ferns. Brackenfur was close beside her, bending over her and licking her ears. Brambleclaw, Thornclaw, and Dustpelt had spread out around the clearing, facing into the forest, their jaws parted and their ears pricked for the first sign of danger.

  As Dovewing crossed the clearing, Ferncloud appeared from the direction of the lake with a bundle of dripping moss in her jaws. She set it down beside Sorreltail so that the tortoiseshell queen could drink.

  “Thanks, Ferncloud,” Sorreltail murmured as she lapped at it; Dovewing could tell how exhausted she was. “That’s so good.”

  Jayfeather was sitting beside her, listening closely, unmoving except for the tip of his tail, which twitched back and forth. He glanced up as Dovewing dropped the chervil root and fennel beside him. “I thought you’d gone to the mountains for that,” he commented.

  “Briarlight sent the fennel,” Dovewing explained, her chest heaving as she gasped in air.

  Jayfeather gave a satisfied nod. “Good thinking.” He fixed Dovewing with a blank stare. “Well, chew up the chervil root for her. You don’t think she’s going to do it herself, do you?”

  How do I know? Dovewing thought resentfully, setting her teeth into the hard root. I’m not a medicine cat.

  “Break the fennel stalks,” Jayfeather added brusquely to Ferncloud. “Squeeze the juice into her mouth.”

  Ferncloud looked slightly surprised at the medicine cat’s tone, but she did as he told her and let the fennel juice trickle between Sorreltail’s jaws.

  When Dovewing had chewed up the chervil root, Brackenfur urged Sorreltail to eat the pulp, but the tortoiseshell she-cat was in so much pain that she could hardly get it down between her gasps of distress.

  “Oh, it hurts so much!” she wailed. “Leafpool! Leafpool!”

  Dovewing felt her pelt tingle. Did Sorreltail know she was calling for the wrong medicine cat? Then she noticed that Leafpool had appeared at the edge of the little group. She was blinking uncertainly, looking as if she didn’t know if she was allowed to do anything more than watch.

  “I’m here,” Leafpool murmured. She settled down beside Sorreltail, but keeping out of Jayfeather’s way. “Don’t be afraid, Sorreltail. Jayfeather knows what to do.”

  “Is there something wrong?” Brackenfur hissed to Jayfeather. “Shouldn’t the kits be here by now?”

  “Kits take their own time,” Jayfeather responded, though Dovewing thought that there was worry in his eyes. It was clear that Sorreltail was growing weaker with every spasm.

  “Stupid furball,” Brackenfur purred to his mate. “What were you thinking of, leaving the camp like that?”

  “I needed air,” Sorreltail replied, her words coming in short puffs. “I wasn’t expecting the kits to come yet, and I thought it would be cooler by the lake . . .”

  “Never frighten me like that again,” Brackenfur meowed. “Stay where you’re told next time!”

  Sorreltail flinched as another spasm racked her body. “There won’t be a next time!” she spat through gritted teeth.

  Spotting a stick in the middle of the clump of ferns, Dove-wing pulled it out and took it to Sorreltail. “Bite down on this,” she suggested. “It should help when the pain comes.”

  “Thanks, Dovewing,” Sorreltail meowed, gripping the stick in her jaws.

  Dovewing saw Jayfeather giving her a nod of approval. At last I’ve done something right!

  Then Sorreltail gave a massive heave. Her jaws clamped down on the stick until it began to splinter. In a rush, a small wet bundle slipped out from under her tail and lay motionless on the grass.

  “Well done!” Ferncloud cried. “There’s your first kit, Sorreltail. It’s a little she-cat.”

  “She’s wonderful!” Brackenfur purred, nudging the tiny kit toward her mother.

  Sorreltail turned her head to look and licked feebly at the small body, only to break off a moment later as her belly convulsed again and the second kit—another tiny she-cat—was born.

  Dovewing couldn’t share Brackenfur and Ferncloud’s delight. Both the kits were very small, and looked weak; they were hardly moving, and Sorreltail was too exhausted to give them the vigorous licking they needed.

  Jayfeather was examining Sorreltail, carefully patting her belly with one forepaw. “You’re done,” he announced. “Let’s get you and the kits back to camp.”

  Brackenfur nudged Sorreltail to her paws and let her lean on his shoulder. Brambleclaw came to support her on her other side.

  “What about my kits?” she whimpered, her eyes wide with distress.

  “They’ll be fine,” Ferncloud promised. “Dovewing and I will bring them.”

  She picked up one kit, and Dovewing took the other. As she lifted the tiny cat from the ground, the kit let out a feeble squeak, then hung as limp as a piece of fresh-kill. The weight was less than a sparrow in Dovewing’s mouth.

  Thornclaw took the lead, still keeping watch for foxes, while Sorreltail staggered along between the two toms. Leafpool hovered at her side, and Jayfeather brought up the rear with Dustpelt.

  The sky was growing pale with dawn by the time they reached the camp. The Clan was beginning to stir: Brightheart was near the entrance to the tunnel, talking to Cloudtail, and she followed Sorreltail and the others across to the nursery.

  “Everything’s ready for you,” she told Sorreltail.

  As Brackenfur and Brambleclaw supported the queen into the nursery, Daisy got up from a nest of thick moss and bracken. “Here,” she mewed to Sorreltail, touching noses with her. “I’ve made the nest warm for you. Lie down and rest.”

  “Thanks, Daisy.” Sorreltail’s voice was an exhausted murmur.

  Once Sorreltail was settled, Dovewing and Ferncloud set the two kits down in the curve of her belly. Ferncloud and Daisy began to lick them with strong, rhythmic tongue-strokes, until they started to wriggle and let out tiny squeals of hunger. They huddled close to their mother and began to suck.

  Dovewing let out a faint sigh of relief. Maybe they’ll be okay. “I’m worn out after all that!” she told Jayfeather. “You should get some rest, too.”

  Jayfeather shook his head. “I need to stay here and keep an eye on Sorreltail and the kits.”

  “No, you don’t.” Brightheart padded up to his side. “I’ll stay. I know enough to tell if I should wake you.”

  Jayfeather hesitated for a moment, then dipped his head. “Okay. Thanks, Brightheart.”

  Dovewing followed Jayfeather out of the nursery and headed back to her own den. Ivypool was still curled up asleep beside Molepaw and Cherrypaw. Suddenly feeling as if her legs wouldn’t support her anymore, Dovewing flopped into
her nest and closed her eyes.

  At first she thought that she was stumbling through a tangled forest, where ivy and bramble tendrils reached out to trip her paws. All around her she could hear the shrieks of cats and kits in agony, but she couldn’t find them or do anything to help them. Then she broke out of the trees and found herself on a bare hillside. Two tiny kits were squirming on a flat rock in front of her. But as Dovewing started to head toward them a shadow fell across the rock. An eagle swooped out of the sky and caught up the kits, one in each talon. They squirmed helplessly as they were carried into the sky.

  “No!” Dovewing screeched. She leaped into the air, her claws stretching for the murderous bird. But it was far out of reach; she crashed to the ground again in a tumble of feathers. Her eyes flew open and she saw that she was in her own nest, with Ivypool bending anxiously over her.

  “Are you okay?” her sister mewed. “You were thrashing around. You must have had a really bad dream.”

  Raising her head, Dovewing saw that the moss and bracken from her nest was shredded and scattered all over the floor. She was still shaking from the horror of her dream, and her heart was beating fast.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered. “Thanks, Ivypool.” She needed to get outside and clear her head.

  Clambering out of her den, she ran lightly across the camp. By now the sun was above the trees at the top of the hollow and Brambleclaw stood in the middle of the clearing, organizing the patrols. Dovewing dodged around them and stuck her head inside the nursery. In the dim light she could see that Sorreltail was asleep, her kits enclosed in the warm curve of her belly. Their fur was dry and fluffy now, and they were feeding eagerly.

  Brightheart was still on watch, while Ferncloud and Daisy were drowsily sharing tongues. Daisy looked up as Dovewing looked in through the entrance.

  “They’re all fine,” she purred. “And it’s thanks to you, for realizing that Sorreltail was in trouble. You must have really sharp hearing!”

  “Er . . . yeah.” Dovewing backed away, not wanting to discuss how she had managed to hear Sorreltail from so far away.

  “You’re a hero!” Bumblestripe spoke behind Dovewing, making her jump. “You saved Sorreltail’s life, and the kits!” he added as she whipped around to face him.

  “Any cat would have done the same,” Dovewing replied, embarrassed.

  “I wouldn’t.” Bumblestripe’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “I’d sleep through falling off a cliff!” The amusement faded from his eyes, to be replaced by a glow of admiration. “I’m really proud of you,” he murmured. “I’m glad you’re my Clanmate.”

  Feeling warm beneath her pelt, Dovewing took a step forward and touched her nose to his. “I’m glad you’re my Clanmate, too.”

  “I’m convinced Sol is up to something,” Dovewing muttered into Ivypool’s ear.

  The littermates were heading toward the abandoned Twoleg nest, bringing up the rear of a hunting patrol led by Millie. Spiderleg and Birchfall were just ahead of them; Ivypool slackened her pace until the rest of the patrol was out of earshot.

  “What makes you think that?” she prompted.

  Dovewing stopped walking for a moment and concentrated hard. “I can hear him talking, somewhere on the far side of the hollow,” she replied.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Hey, are you on this hunting patrol or not?” Millie’s voice floated back to them. The rest of the patrol had disappeared into the undergrowth.

  “Coming!” Ivypool called back. “You go and check out what he’s up to,” she added to Dovewing in a whisper. “I’ll cover for you.”

  “Thanks.” With a swift nod to her sister, Dovewing turned and slid noiselessly into the ferns. She headed for the opposite side of the camp, close to the place on the cliff where a determined cat could climb out. As she drew closer to the sound of Sol’s voice, she flattened herself to the ground, setting her paws down as carefully as if she were stalking a mouse.

  The noise grew clearer as she approached, and Dovewing realized that several cats were there, talking to Sol. A strong ThunderClan scent was coming from the other side of a bramble thicket. Cautiously Dovewing raised her head so that she could peer through the stalks of long grass.

  Sol was still out of sight, screened by the brambles, but Dovewing’s eyes stretched wide with dismay as she recognized Blossomfall, Hazeltail, Mousewhisker, and Rosepetal. Were she and Ivypool the only cats in the Clan who didn’t want to hang on Sol’s words?

  “You’re right, Sol,” Rosepetal was meowing as Dovewing crept up. “We can’t just sit here and wait for WindClan to attack us.”

  Dovewing bit back a shocked yowl. Her claws slid out and dug into the ground. Why are they discussing an attack from WindClan?

  “Quite true.” Sol’s voice was a deep-throated purr. “They might get the idea that ThunderClan cats are scared.”

  “ThunderClan cats aren’t scared of anything!” Mousewhisker leaped to his paws, his neck fur fluffing out. “We have to strike first!”

  “That’s an excellent idea, Mousewhisker.”

  But it wasn’t Mousewhisker’s idea at all. Dovewing’s forepaws kneaded the ground in her fury. It was yours! You’re putting words into his mouth.

  “We’ll prove we’re not afraid of a battle,” Hazeltail agreed, her tail lashing. “We’ll rip their treacherous fur off!”

  “Don’t you think we should discuss this with Firestar first?” Rosepetal suggested.

  “Would he agree?” Sol asked.

  “No, of course he wouldn’t,” Mousewhisker retorted. “He’s the Clan leader. He can’t show that he’s hostile to another Clan without good reason.”

  “We have good reason,” Blossomfall meowed. “We know that WindClan is plotting an attack. Firestar might not be able to order his Clan into battle, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be angry with us when we’ve sorted out those rabbit-chasers once and for all!”

  “Yes!” Mousewhisker’s eyes shone. “Let’s do it!”

  All Dovewing’s instincts were pushing her to leap into the open and tell them all how mouse-brained they were being. But she knew that it wasn’t her Clanmates who were making this disastrous decision. It’s Sol’s fault.

  As quietly as she could, she slid backward until she was well away from the bramble thicket. Then she spun around and sped off, sending out her senses to locate Ivypool. She found her sister beside the old Thunderpath with a vole in her jaws. There was no sign of Millie or the rest of the patrol.

  “Come quick!” Dovewing hissed when she reached Ivypool. “Sol is planning an attack on WindClan!”

  Chapter 13

  Ivypool stared at her littermate in astonishment. She dropped her vole and hastily scraped earth over it. “He can’t do that!” she exclaimed.

  “He can,” Dovewing replied grimly. “Enough of our cats will follow him. Come with me—and hurry!”

  Together the warriors raced back to the top of the stone hollow. But while they were still scrambling up the path, they met Hazeltail, closely followed by Mousewhisker, Rosepetal, and Blossomfall.

  “What are you doing?” Dovewing gasped.

  “What does it look like?” Hazeltail’s voice was curt. “We’re a hunting patrol, mouse-brain.”

  “Yeah, thanks for scaring all the prey away,” Mousewhisker added. “Trampling through the bushes like a herd of badgers!”

  Ivypool exchanged a frustrated glance with her sister. “Have you seen Sol?” she asked.

  “No.” It was Blossomfall who replied. “Did you want him?”

  Dovewing twitched her whiskers at Ivypool, a tiny gesture warning her to hide the fact they’d been eavesdropping. She could see her own anger glittering in her sister’s eyes. They’re supposed to be our Clanmates—and they’re lying to us! “No, we just hadn’t seen him for a while,” she responded. “We wondered if he was still around.”

  Mousewhisker shrugged. “I haven’t heard that he’s left.”

&n
bsp; Dovewing and Ivypool had to step back and let their Clanmates go on their way. Ivypool was tempted to tell them that if they wanted to pretend to be a hunting patrol, they should at least catch something before they returned to camp. Once they were out of sight, Dovewing waved her tail at Ivypool for silence, then stood alert; Ivypool guessed she must be sending out her senses.

  After a few heartbeats, Dovewing shook her head. “I can’t pick up any signs of Sol,” she mewed. “That’s really weird. He was there with the others.”

  “Should we go and search?” Ivypool suggested.

  “No, we can’t do any more now,” Dovewing replied. “We have to get back to the hunt.”

  Ivypool nodded, though every hair on her pelt was prickling with anxiety. “What if they’re going to attack right now?”

  “They won’t do that,” Dovewing reassured her. “Four cats aren’t enough to launch an attack on WindClan. They’ll have to convince a few more of our Clanmates to join them.”

  “I can’t believe ThunderClan cats would do this,” Ivypool meowed. “Dovewing, are you sure about what you heard? I mean, your hearing hasn’t been great since—”

  “My hearing is fine now,” Dovewing snapped. “And I know what I heard. Except . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Well?”

  “I didn’t hear Sol say very much,” Dovewing confessed. “I thought he was putting ideas into our Clanmates’ heads, but maybe . . . maybe it was just the usual sort of warrior boasting.”

  “Maybe.” Ivypool ducked under a low hazel branch. “But we can’t be sure of that.”

  “There’s no scent of Sol around here,” Dovewing went on, “so he didn’t come this way. I wish I knew where he was now.” She shook her head. “Let’s get back to our patrol.”

  “Are we going to tell Firestar?” Ivypool asked, her paws tingling with apprehension.

  Dovewing thought for a heartbeat, then shook her head. “I don’t want to get our Clanmates into trouble when I can’t be sure exactly what was going on. And it’s all Sol’s fault, anyway. You can bet that I’ll keep a close watch on him from now on,” she added more forcefully as she bounded away.