by Erin Hunter
Hopkit was leaning to one side where his twisted paw couldn’t quite hold his weight steadily. The young tom snorted and sat up. “I knew it.” He stared angrily at his odd paw.
“Don’t worry,” Talltail soothed. “Your forepaws need to match each other. You’ll only fall off balance if one is stronger than the other.”
Hopkit frowned. “But one is stronger than the other.”
Talltail shrugged. “Then use the stronger one more lightly.”
Hopkit brightened. “Okay.” He crouched again, adjusting his paws one at a time until he was steady as a rock.
“Perfect.” Talltail was impressed. It was impossible to see the weakness in Hopkit’s twisted paw. “Now try leaping. Don’t forget: Keep your ears flat. And your eyes must be narrowed. In battle there’ll be claws flying at you from all directions.”
Hopkit screwed his eyes to slits and drew his ears close to his head. His haunches quivered for a moment; then he sprang forward. He darted neatly through the air, perfectly balanced.
“Very good!” Talltail praised him as he landed.
“Ow!” Hopkit stumbled, then drew himself up sharply, holding his forepaw high.
“What’s happened?” Talltail rushed to his side. “Did you land badly?” Talltail saw beads of scarlet liquid dripping onto the earth. The strong tang of blood bathed his tongue.
“I landed on a s-stone,” Hopkit whimpered.
Talltail saw a sharp edge of flint sticking up from the ground where the rain had washed away the soil. “Quick, let’s get you to the medicine den.”
Blood was welling fast on Hopkit’s pad, soaking the fur around his claws. Talltail didn’t dare look to see how deeply the flint had torn the young tom’s flesh. He grabbed Hopkit’s scruff between his teeth and hauled him up out of the hollow, ignoring his yowls of protest as he hurried to the medicine den. “Stop struggling, for StarClan’s sake,” he growled through his teeth. He let go at the entrance and nosed Hopkit into the gorse cave.
Barkface looked up from a pile of herbs. “I smell blood.” He trotted over and sniffed Hopkit’s paw.
“Is it bad?” Talltail asked.
“It’s deep.” Barkface darted back across the den and reached through a gap in the branches, hauling out a wad of cobweb and a pawful of leaves. “But I’ll soon get him fixed up.”
“Good.” Hopkit held out his paw. “I want to get back to my training. I’d just worked out a really good attack crouch.”
“No more training for you until this has healed.” Barkface began to fill the wound with herbs. “How did it happen?”
“There are sharp stones in the Meeting Hollow.” Talltail glanced through the den entrance and caught sight of Shrewclaw. He ducked outside. “Shrewclaw!”
The warrior was padding toward the long grass with Ryestalk at his side. He stopped when Talltail called out. “What?”
“There are stones sticking up all across the Meeting Hollow.” Talltail nodded toward the dip.
Shrewclaw followed his gaze. “How did they get there?”
“The rain’s washed the soil away,” Talltail explained. “Hopkit just cut himself on one.”
Ryestalk frowned. “That’s dangerous.”
Talltail nodded to Shrewclaw. “Can you organize a patrol to dig them out?”
Shrewclaw narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you do it?”
“I want to keep an eye on Hopkit.”
Ryestalk nudged Shrewclaw. “Come on. Talltail’s right. We need to clear the hollow before another cat gets hurt.” She hurried across the tussocks to where Stagleap and Appledawn were sharing prey in the shelter of the heather wall.
Shrewclaw padded after her. “We should ask Hickorynose and Mistmouse to help,” he muttered. “They’re used to digging.”
As Talltail turned back to the medicine den, the ground trembled. Paws were thrumming beyond the camp wall. The heather shivered as Plumclaw burst into the camp. Woollytail, Larksplash, and Cloudrunner thundered after her, skidding to a halt on the wet grass.
“ShadowClan!” Plumclaw gasped. Her flanks were heaving.
Heatherstar raced around the rim of the Hollow and stopped beside Talltail. “What’s happened?”
Reedfeather limped from the long grass, pelt bristling. “Have they crossed the border?”
“As good as,” Cloudrunner growled. “They’ve left scent marks on the brambles at Fourtrees.”
Heatherstar’s gaze sharpened. “What’s wrong with that?”
Woollytail lifted his chin. “They’ve drenched it in scent markers, right on the boundary.”
“It’s deliberate provocation,” Larksplash added.
Heatherstar narrowed her eyes. “But they haven’t crossed the border.”
“They didn’t need to,” Plumclaw snarled. “Their scent’s done it for them. Our land smells like ShadowClan territory.”
Shrewclaw’s pelt spiked. “We should send a patrol to scent their borders!”
Ryestalk twitched her tail. “I’ll go!”
“No.” Heatherstar stared at her warriors. “No one will cross the border,” she ordered. “They’re just trying to provoke us. We won’t fall for their tricks.”
“It’s no trick.” Cloudrunner lashed his tail. “It’s a warning. We need to show them we’re not afraid.”
“We can do that by carrying on as normal,” Heatherstar told him. “Same patrols, same scent markers. Let them waste their scent stinking up the border. So long as they don’t cross it, we won’t react.”
Talltail glanced at her uneasily. ShadowClan warriors didn’t make empty threats. His paws pricked with worry. They’d crossed the border before. Last time, they’d attacked the camp. What would stop them this time? But Talltail hadn’t been back long enough to question his leader’s wisdom. Besides, she might be right. Why rush into a battle that didn’t need to happen?
He turned and headed for the medicine den. “Hopkit?” He peered in.
Hopkit blinked from the shadows. “What’s happening?” His tail flicked restlessly as Barkface wound cobweb around his paw.
“Sit still,” Barkface ordered.
Hopkit growled. “But I heard Plumclaw say ShadowClan had crossed the border!”
“They’ve left scents on the brambles by Fourtrees,” Talltail told him.
“Is Heatherstar organizing a battle patrol?” Hopkit shuffled his hind paws beneath him.
“I said keep still!” Barkface grunted, frowning as he wound the web tighter.
Talltail nosed his way in. “No patrol. Not yet.”
Hopkit’s shoulders slumped. “I wish I were an apprentice,” he grumbled. “I’d teach ShadowClan to keep away from our borders!”
Barkface looked up at him, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You won’t have four paws to attack them with if you don’t let me finish this dressing,” he warned.
Talltail nodded. “He’s right, Hopkit. Hold still. Your Clanmates need you fit and ready to fight.” He caught Barkface’s eye and held back a purr.
Hopkit sat up straight, quivering with effort. “Still as a stone, right you are!” he mewed. “Barkface, carry on!”
Talltail stretched across the width of his nest, then hopped out. He padded over the frosty grass, screwing up his eyes against the early beams of sunlight that flashed over the camp wall. Pigeonkit and Sorrelkit were already awake and chasing Palebird’s kits around Hunting Stones.
“Help!” Wrenkit squealed happily as Pigeonkit lunged for her. She scrambled through the crack between the rocks and escaped to the far side.
Palebird was curled beside a tussock, watching fondly, her pelt glowing in the early sunshine.
Where’s Hopkit? Talltail looked for the black pelt of the young tom, relieved to see he wasn’t playing with his denmates. He must be resting at last. Hopkit had insisted on practicing his battle moves every day since his injury, despite Barkface’s warnings. Only when Hawkheart had ordered him sternly to his nest on the threat of not being made an apprentice, eve
r, had the kit given up.
Doespring was standing at the entrance beside Hareflight. “Are you coming, Talltail?”
“Yes.” He began to cross the clearing.
In the sunrises since ShadowClan had drenched the bramble in their scent, Heatherstar had ordered extra border patrols. Reedfeather had already led Mistmouse, Appledawn, and Stagleap out before sunrise. Now Shrewclaw, Ryestalk, and Doespring were preparing to leave.
“Hopkit!”
Talltail halted as Meadowslip’s anxious mew drifted from the nursery.
“Hopkit! Can you hear me?” Heather crunched inside the gorse den. “You’re too hot. Can you make it outside? You need to cool down.”
There was no answer.
Talltail stiffened. “Go without me!” he called to Doespring. “I’ll join the next patrol.”
Doespring frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“I want to check on Hopkit.”
Shrewclaw scowled. “Reedfeather told us Talltail was joining this patrol.”
Hareflight snorted. “Talltail makes his own rules.” There was bitterness in the warrior’s mew.
“Yes, the warrior code doesn’t apply to Talltail.” Shrewclaw barged through the entrance.
Talltail ignored him and headed for the nursery. “Meadowslip?” he called through the entrance.
“Come in!” Meadowslip’s mew was taut with fear.
Talltail pushed his way through the gorse. His nose wrinkled. The den stank of sickness. “Fetch Hawkheart,” he ordered. Meadowslip hesitated. “Now.”
She slid from the den. Talltail leaned into Hopkit’s nest. Heat pulsed from the young tom’s pelt. His eyes were half-open but glazed. “Hopkit?” Talltail thrust his muzzle closer, gagging as the putrid stink of pus bathed his tongue. He grabbed Hopkit’s scruff and hauled him from his nest. He’s burning up! He carried Hopkit out into the frosty air.
Hawkheart was hurrying past the Meeting Hollow, Meadowslip at his tail. He stopped as he caught sight of Hopkit. “Bring him to the medicine den.”
“He needs to cool down,” Talltail growled through clenched jaws.
“I can give him something for the fever.” Hawkheart led the way into his den, clearing away drying herbs to let Talltail lay the kit down on the smooth, sandy floor.
Meadowslip pushed in beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“The infection’s spreading.” The medicine cat sniffed Hopkit’s paw. “I’ll make a poultice.” Muttering under his breath, he turned away.
“Where’s Barkface?” Talltail’s pelt twitched. He wanted the reassurance of his friend. Hopkit was going to be all right, wasn’t he?
“He’s gathering herbs,” Hawkheart meowed over his shoulder.
“Should I go get him?” Talltail offered.
“He’ll be back soon.”
As Hawkheart spoke, the den entrance rustled. Barkface nosed his way in, eyes widening as he saw Talltail, Hopkit, and Meadowslip. He dropped the wad of herbs clamped between his jaws. “What’s wrong?”
Hawkheart didn’t look up from the poultice he was mixing. “Did you get any marigold?”
“There wasn’t any.” Barkface bent down and sniffed Hopkit’s paw. “The infection’s spreading, isn’t it?”
“We need to treat it fast.” Hawkheart glanced at Meadowslip. “Talltail,” he grunted, “take Meadowslip outside. It’s too crowded in here.”
“But I want to be near my kit,” Meadowslip protested.
“You’ll be more use to him if you stay out of the way,” Hawkheart meowed.
Barkface padded around Hopkit and began chewing Hawkheart’s herbs into a pulp. Talltail tried to catch his eye, but the young medicine cat’s gaze was fixed on Hopkit. He turned and nudged Meadowslip toward the entrance. “It’s too hot in here with all of us,” he murmured, coaxing her into the sharp, fresh air.
He paced the frosty grass outside while Meadowslip crouched beside the heather wall. The sun rose above the horizon, shimmering in the pale leaf-bare sky. If only there were snow to pack around the burning kit, Talltail thought. Hawkheart knows what he’s doing. His heart seemed to echo in his chest, hollowed by worry. Barkface is with him too. Hopkit will be okay.
“Talltail?” Barkface slid from the medicine den.
Meadowslip leaped to her paws. “How is he?”
“You can go and see him now.” Barkface nodded her inside. His eyes darkened as he turned toward Talltail. He waited until the she-cat had disappeared into the gorse, then crossed the grass. “The infection’s in his blood,” he whispered to Talltail.
“That’s bad, isn’t it?”
Barkface looked grim. “He could die.”
“Is there anything you can give him?”
“We’ve given him everything we can.” Barkface’s eyes were round with worry. “But it’s leaf-bare. We’re working with wilted herbs, and dried ones. They don’t have the same power as newleaf herbs.”
A groan sounded from the medicine den.
“He’s in pain!” Talltail’s memory flashed back to the rainy night he’d writhed in agony as poison seared in his belly. “Can’t you stop it?”
“Hawkheart’s giving him poppy seeds, but they can only ease it a little.”
“I was really ill when I was in Twolegplace.”
Barkface jerked up his head. “You were?”
“I was saved by a Twoleg.”
“A Twoleg?” Barkface moved closer. “How?”
“I don’t know,” Talltail confessed. “I can hardly remember what happened. But Jake told me that there are medicine Twolegs who cure cats.” Hope flashed in his chest. “Perhaps we could take Hopkit to one.”
Barkface backed away. “No!”
“Why not?” Talltail swished his tail. “I could carry him to Twolegplace and leave him somewhere he’d be found. He’d be cured like I was.”
Barkface stiffened. “You were very lucky,” he growled. “Who knows what would happen to Hopkit? How would he even survive the journey?” His pelt lifted along his spine.
Talltail flinched. “I just want to help.”
“I know.” Barkface’s gaze softened. “But that isn’t the way.”
Talltail glanced balefully toward the medicine den, then turned away. Whiteberry and Lilywhisker were hauling dusty heather from their den.
Whiteberry halted, sitting down to catch his breath. “I can’t wait until we have apprentices again.”
Lilywhisker dragged a bundle of heather stalks across the grass and turned back for more. “We only have one more moon to wait,” she panted.
Flailfoot pushed his way out of the den, struggling with a trailing piece of sheepswool. “I just hope Stagleap remembers to bring fresh wool back from patrol or we’ll be sleeping on bare heather tonight.”
“I can fetch some.” Talltail trotted toward them. He hooked the lump of wool from the Flailfoot’s paw and tossed it away. A flea leaped from it and bit his leg. Grunting, Talltail jerked his head down and cracked the flea between his teeth.
Lilywhisker shook her head. “We try to keep the bedding clean.” She glanced at the older cats and lowered her voice. “Their eyesight isn’t what it used to be. They find fleas hard to spot.”
Flamepelt padded from the den, his orange fur glowing in the sunshine. “I pulled a tick from your tail yesterday.”
“But you missed the fleas.” Lilywhisker’s fur rippled. “They kept me awake all night biting.”
Whiteberry scratched his ear. “Fleas are faster than ticks.”
“Let me look.” Talltail began to snuffle through the fur on Lilywhisker’s flank.
“What’s all the fuss in the medicine den?” Flailfoot asked, craning her neck to see across the clearing.
Talltail burst a flea in his teeth and straightened up. “Hopkit’s very ill. The infection in his paw has spread.”
Lilywhisker flattened her ears. “Does he have a fever?”
Talltail nodded. “Barkface doesn’t know if his herbs will help—”
/> “Talltail!”
Brown fur flashed on the edge of Talltail’s vision. Barkface was racing toward him. The young medicine cat skidded to a halt. “I have an idea!”
Talltail pricked his ears. “What?”
“I remember Brambleberry mentioned sedge at the Moonstone once.” He looked at Heatherstar. “It grows all through leaf-bare, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, you can see it around the RiverClan camp from the gorge,” Heatherstar agreed.
“Brambleberry said there was one type of sedge that cured infection.” Barkface’s eyes shone. “Sweet-sedge, I think she called it. She uses the roots. She might have some in her store.”
“How can we get our paws on it?” Heatherstar’s pelt pricked. “We can’t send a patrol; RiverClan might take it as a sign of attack.”
“Well, we’re not going to steal it.” Barkface paced around her. “If I went by myself and asked, RiverClan might listen. I’m a medicine cat, not a warrior, and it’s part of our code that we have to save the life of a kit, whatever Clan they are from.”
Heatherstar stared. “You want to walk into RiverClan territory alone?”
Talltail stepped forward. “I’ll go with him.”
Heatherstar lifted her chin. “WindClan cats don’t cross borders and we don’t beg other Clans for help.”
“But what about Hopkit?” Talltail pleaded. “He might die if we don’t do something.”
“He has StarClan to protect him.”
“Sometimes StarClan isn’t enough.” Talltail flexed his claws. “They didn’t save Sandgorse.”
“Or Brackenwing,” Barkface put in.
Heatherstar stared at the young medicine cat. “Are you doubting StarClan?”
“I believe that they trust us to help ourselves,” Barkface mewed softly. “If there is some way of saving Hopkit, I’m going to find it.”
Talltail’s heart quickened. “We can’t let boundaries get in our way!” Why were the Clans so obsessed with scent lines? They were great for deciding who hunted where, but when a kit’s life was at stake how could anyone believe that invisible boundaries were more important?
