Warriors: The New Prophecy #3: Dawn (Warriors: The New Prophecy, Book 3), page 14
Leafpaw shook her head. “No need,” she muttered through the bundles dangling from her teeth.
“I’ll make sure they both return safely,” Mothwing meowed.
Squirrelpaw stared distrustfully at the RiverClan cat, and Leafpaw knew her sister was seeing a different cat, broad-shouldered and with gleaming amber eyes. Though they had been born many moons after Tigerstar’s death, both sisters had heard him described enough times to be able to picture him as well as any of their Clanmates.
“Remember Brambleclaw,” she whispered to her sister. Sharing Tigerstar’s blood did not mean a cat shared his dark heart.
“Lead the way, Mothwing.” Cinderpelt’s order was muffled by the bundles she carried, but Mothwing nodded and bounded silently down the slope.
They waded easily across the river, keeping the herbs above the water. Leafpaw thought back to barely a moon ago, when she had crossed the stepping stones to help a RiverClan apprentice; she had nearly been swept away by the force of the water, and only the spirit of Spottedleaf had stopped her from plunging into the rain-swollen flood. Now the stream trickled quietly around the rocks, hardly covering the pebbles on the riverbed.
Mothwing led the ThunderClan cats into the reed beds; they were no longer marshy, but felt dry underpaw. Leafpaw’s heart quickened at the thought of entering another Clan’s camp, but Mothwing seemed unconcerned and took them straight into the clearing among the reeds. Unfamiliar eyes gleamed in the shadows, but there was nothing but worry and curiosity in their faces.
“Good, you have come,” Leopardstar greeted them. Even in the moonlight Leafpaw could see that the RiverClan leader was not as well fed as she had been lately. Her pelt hung from her body, and her eyes had the dullness of hunger that Leafpaw had begun to accept as normal.
But why should RiverClan cats be starving when the Twolegs were still a long way from their territory?
“Mudfur is in his den,” Leopardstar meowed. “Mothwing will take you.” She stared into Cinderpelt’s eyes. “Do everything you can, but don’t let him suffer. He has served this Clan well, and if StarClan needs him more than we do, then we should let him go in peace.”
Leafpaw followed Cinderpelt and Mothwing through a narrow reed-lined passage that opened into a smaller clearing. It was so similar to the medicine clearing in the ravine that she felt a pang of longing for her old home.
A low moan came from a shadowy corner.
“It’s all right, Mudfur,” Mothwing whispered. “I’ve brought Cinderpelt.”
Cinderpelt hurried over to examine the medicine cat, sniffing him and pressing gently along his flanks with her paws. Whatever it was, the sickness had taken hold far inside his frail body. Mudfur was clearly in agony, his words indistinct and filled with pain.
“Cinder…pelt…let…me…go…peacefully,” he begged in a voice that rasped like claws scraping on bark.
“Lie still, my friend.” Cinderpelt looked up at Mothwing. “What have you given him so far?”
“Stinging nettle for the swelling, honey and marigold to soothe the infections, feverfew to cool him, and poppy seeds for the pain.” Mothwing listed her remedies so quickly that Leafpaw blinked. Last time she had seen Mothwing face a crisis—when the RiverClan apprentice nearly drowned—she had been frozen with panic, and Leafpaw had stepped in to treat the young cat instead.
“Good, that’s exactly what I would have given him,” Cinderpelt agreed. “Have you tried yarrow yet?”
Mothwing nodded. “But it made him sick.”
“It can do that sometimes.” Cinderpelt looked down at Mudfur, and her blue eyes clouded with sympathy. “I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s much more we can do.”
“But he’s suffering!” Mothwing protested.
“I’ll give him more poppy seeds,” Cinderpelt meowed. “Do you have any marigold left?”
“Plenty.” Mothwing hurried to a gap in the reed wall and drew out a pawful of crushed petals. Taking some dried berries from one of the bundles, Cinderpelt began to knead the petals into them. The berries still had enough softness in them to make a pulp. Cinderpelt sprinkled in more poppy seeds than Leafpaw had seen her use before, then she pushed the mashed herbs to Mudfur.
“This will soothe your pain,” she whispered. “Eat as much as you can.”
The old medicine cat began to lap at it, his eyes growing soft with gratitude as he recognized what was in the mixture. For a wild moment, Leafpaw wondered if Cinderpelt had given him enough poppy seeds to make him sleep all the way to StarClan, but she knew from the gentleness in her mentor’s eyes that she was only trying to ease Mudfur’s pain. However silent their warrior ancestors had been lately, Cinderpelt still trusted them to come for Mudfur when they chose to.
“Leave us now,” Cinderpelt murmured to Leafpaw and Mothwing. “I’ll sit with him till he sleeps.”
“Will he die?” Mothwing asked, her voice quavering.
“Not yet,” Cinderpelt told her. “But this will ease his suffering until StarClan calls him.”
Leafpaw backed away and followed Mothwing through the tunnel to the main clearing.
“How is he?” Leopardstar demanded as soon as they emerged into the silvery pool of moonlight.
“Cinderpelt’s doing all she can,” Mothwing reported.
Leopardstar nodded, then turned and padded away.
“I’ve never been here before,” Leafpaw mewed, hoping to distract Mothwing. “It’s well-sheltered.”
The young cat shrugged. “It’s a good camp.”
“I’m not surprised Leopardstar doesn’t want to leave it,” Leafpaw went on, being careful to keep her voice nonthreatening. She was curious about Leopardstar’s sudden thin-ness—and by the look of the other cats moving around the edge of the clearing, the RiverClan leader was not the only cat going hungry here.
“You’re running out of fish now that the river’s so low, aren’t you?” Leafpaw guessed bravely.
Mothwing looked at her for a long moment. “Yes. We haven’t eaten well for a while.”
“Does that mean Leopardstar might consider leaving now?”
To her dismay, Mothwing shook her head. “Leopardstar says we will stay as long as there are no Twolegs in our territory. She says that if the river cannot feed us, we will have to learn to hunt new prey.”
Leafpaw felt a searing pang of frustration with the stubborn RiverClan leader—there was no new prey, she longed to screech—but she did not want to show disrespect for Mothwing’s Clan. “You’ve become a great medicine cat,” she mewed, clumsily changing the subject. “Cinderpelt wouldn’t have done anything different to help Mudfur.”
Leafpaw almost leaped out of her fur when Hawkfrost’s voice sounded beside her ear.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “The Clan will be lucky to have such a good medicine cat when Mudfur goes to hunt with StarClan.”
“I think Hawkfrost has more faith in me than I do myself,” Mothwing murmured.
“You have no reason to doubt yourself,” Hawkfrost insisted. “Our father was a great warrior. Our mother is proud and strong. They shared only one flaw: that their only loyalty was—and still is, in Sasha’s case—to themselves above all other cats.” He paused and glanced around the clearing. “We’re not like that. We understand what it means to be loyal to our Clan. We have the courage to live by the warrior code. And because of that we’ll be the most powerful cats in RiverClan one day, and our Clanmates will have to respect us then.”
Leafpaw felt as if she’d been flung headfirst into the icy river. However much Hawkfrost pledged to live by the warrior code, that sort of ambition could make him dangerous—like his father before him.
Mothwing gave a purr of amusement. “You mustn’t take anything my brother says too seriously,” she told Leafpaw. “He’s the bravest and most loyal cat in RiverClan, but he gets carried away sometimes.”
Leafpaw blinked. She hoped with all her heart that Mothwing was right. But the arrogance that glinted in Hawkfrost’s eyes filled her heart with unease. Something told her—some instinct that made her fur crawl—that this was only the beginning.
Hawkfrost could not be trusted.
CHAPTER 13
Squirrelpaw dropped the mouse onto the fresh-kill pile. It did little to bulk up the meager offerings of a sparrow and a vole already brought in by the dawn patrol. Sorreltail had hunted with her, but had caught nothing.
“Take that straight to the elders,” Firestar mewed, padding over to them.
“Not Ferncloud?” Squirrelpaw queried.
“Cinderpelt says she won’t eat anything yet.” Firestar sighed. “But Cody has been sharing food with Birchkit.”
“That kittypet should go back to her Twolegs and stop eating our fresh-kill,” Sorreltail commented irritably. “She’s no good for hunting.”
“Cody takes hardly anything for herself,” Firestar pointed out. “And while she cares for Birchkit, the other cats have more time for hunting.”
Squirrelpaw glanced sympathetically at Sorreltail. She probably resented Cody more for taking up Leafpaw’s time than for being a kittypet. She picked up the mouse and carried it to where the elders were making the most of the frail warmth of sunhigh at the top of Sunningrocks.
Frostfur and Speckletail had their eyes closed, dozing. Longtail, the blind tom who was no older than some of the warriors, sat up. “I smell mouse,” he mewed.
“It’s not very big, I’m afraid,” Squirrelpaw apologized.
“It’s fine,” Longtail assured her. He prodded the mouse with his paw, and the tip of his tail twitched excitedly when the little body shifted, as if the desire to hunt for himself had not dimmed.
Suddenly he lifted his head and opened his mouth to scent the air. “WindClan!” he exclaimed, more in surprise than alarm.
“What, here?” mewed Squirrelpaw, looking around. She didn’t think her father was expecting visitors.
At the foot of the rock, Tallstar was leading a small, bedraggled patrol out of the woods. The ThunderClan cats watched them climb slowly up to where Firestar waited. No cat challenged them. Tallstar’s step was so faltering, his frame so emaciated, that Squirrelpaw was amazed he had made it all the way here. The two warriors that accompanied him were in no better condition; Onewhisker and Tornear were so thin they looked like they were made of twigs and leaves, and Squirrelpaw half feared the breeze might blow them away.
Crowpaw was at the rear of the patrol, looking thinner than he had on the journey to the sun-drown-place, though he was not quite as scrawny as his companions. Squirrelpaw bounded down the slope to touch noses with him in greeting. When she got closer, she saw that his eyes were as dull as his Clanmates’, and his fur was ungroomed.
“Crowpaw!” she exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m as fit as any of my Clan,” Crowpaw growled.
Tornear blinked at her. “Crowpaw has been hunting like a whole patrol on his own, finding prey to feed nearly all the Clan,” he reported.
Squirrelpaw pricked her ears.
“He even caught a hawk two sunrises ago,” Tornear went on. Even though starvation seemed to have robbed the WindClan warrior of all emotion, Squirrelpaw thought she detected a hint of pride in Tornear’s voice.
Crowpaw shrugged. “I used a trick the Tribe taught us.”
“Crowpaw!” Brambleclaw came bounding up the rock. Squirrelpaw saw his eyes darken, and she guessed he was as shocked as she had been to find their friend so gaunt and lifeless.
Tallstar’s voice distracted her. “Firestar, we have come to plead for ThunderClan’s help,” he rasped. As if the effort of speaking were too much, his legs buckled and he collapsed onto his side. Squirrelpaw started to go over to help him, but Brambleclaw held her back with a touch of his tail.
“The Twolegs have started to destroy the warrens where we have been sheltering,” Tallstar panted. “We cannot stay a moment longer on the moor, but we are too weak to travel alone. I don’t care that we haven’t had another sign. I just know we have to leave. Take us to this sun-drown-place, I beg you.”
Firestar looked down at Tallstar, and Squirrelpaw saw sorrow flash in his eyes. “We have been allies many times,” he murmured. “And to watch you starve is more than I can bear.” He lifted his gaze and stared into the forest, and, as he did so, the brambles under the trees rustled and a pale bracken-colored shape exploded from the bushes.
Tawnypelt! The ShadowClan cat’s pelt bristled, and her eyes were wild with fear.
“The Twolegs are attacking our camp!” she yowled, her voice echoing over the rock. “They have surrounded us with their monsters! Please come!”
Firestar bounded down the slope ahead of the others. Even Tallstar hauled himself to his paws and hurried toward the ShadowClan warrior.
“Please help us,” Tawnypelt cried to Firestar. “Help us for the sake of the ThunderClan blood that runs in my veins, if nothing else.”
Firestar brushed the tip of his tail across her mouth. “We will come for the sake of ShadowClan,” he told her gently. “And for the sake of all the Clans in the forest.” He looked at his warriors. “Thornclaw, Mousefur, Sandstorm, you will each lead a patrol. We will take all those strong enough to fight.” Instantly the three warriors began weaving among the cats, issuing orders.
“What about defending the camp?” Dustpelt called.
“Defend it from what?” Firestar replied. “The only creatures that threaten us now are already attacking ShadowClan.”
“What about RiverClan?” Leafpaw’s quiet mew sounded from higher up the slope. She fell silent as the ThunderClan warriors turned to stare at her.
Squirrelpaw’s heart lurched. Her sister was right. With the camp undefended, Hawkfrost might persuade RiverClan to claim Sunningrocks for themselves.
But the warriors clearly misunderstood Leafpaw’s warning. “RiverClan won’t help us!” Mousefur spat.
“They might,” Cinderpelt argued. “The river’s drying up. RiverClan are not as well-fed as they used to be.”
Squirrelpaw glanced at Brambleclaw. They weren’t the only ones to have noticed the river. If RiverClan were suffering, they were more likely to help ThunderClan than attack them. But her nagging suspicion of Hawkfrost remained.
Firestar’s eyes lit up with hope. “Brambleclaw!” he called. “Go to RiverClan and ask Leopardstar for help!”
“Yes, Firestar!”
“Find Mistyfoot first,” Squirrelpaw whispered. “And make sure Hawkfrost comes too. He shouldn’t be left behind at the camp.”
Brambleclaw narrowed his eyes. “You think he would attack here?”
“It’s better to be safe.”
Brambleclaw snorted. “You’re too suspicious,” he growled, and pelted away.
Squirrelpaw felt a prickle of guilt. She hoped Brambleclaw didn’t think her suspicions included him.
“Squirrelpaw, you’ll join my patrol,” Sandstorm ordered. “Stay near me or Dustpelt.”
Squirrelpaw nodded. Her paws tingled with excitement. It was time to fight back—or time to accept that the forest had been lost, and leave. Even the WindClan warriors seemed to have brightened at the prospect of a battle. Onewhisker thrashed his tail in agitation, while Tornear paced back and forth in front of him.
“We will come with you,” Tallstar announced, his croaking voice finding new strength.
Firestar shook his head. “You are not strong enough.”
Tallstar fixed Firestar with a stern gaze. “My warriors and I are coming.”
Firestar dipped his head. “Very well,” he mewed respectfully. He surveyed his Clan. “Mousefur, Sandstorm, Thornclaw, are your patrols ready?”
The three warriors nodded.
“This may be our last battle in the forest,” Firestar went on, his voice barely louder than a growl. “We won’t be able to stop the Twolegs completely, but we can try to save ShadowClan.” He looked at Leafpaw. “We’ll need you with us to look after any wounded cats. Cinderpelt will stay behind and take care of the cats here.”
Squirrelpaw knew that the medicine cat’s old injury meant she would be more valuable to the Clan here at Sunningrocks, ready to tend to any cat who returned from the battle injured. She felt a flash of protectiveness toward her sister, then reminded herself that medicine cats learned fighting skills as well as any warrior.
As Firestar led his Clan down the slope, Squirrelpaw heard Onewhisker whispering to his leader.
“Tallstar, you are on your last life,” he was mewing urgently. “Please stay here.”
“Whether I’m on my first life or my ninth, my duty is to the forest,” Tallstar replied calmly. “I will not miss this battle.”
Squirrelpaw saw icy determination in the old cat’s eyes, and felt glad for the sake of his dignity when Onewhisker just nodded and walked beside him down the slope to the other cats.
Firestar paused for a moment at the edge of the trees to check that all the patrols were ready before charging into the forest. Squirrelpaw pelted after him with Tawnypelt beside her, their paws thrumming on the hard ground. She glanced back. No cat had fallen behind; even Tallstar was keeping pace. They followed the river until they were safely past the Twoleg clearing nearest the ravine, then swerved around to reach the crest of the slope that led down to Fourtrees. Firestar didn’t hesitate, but led them straight over the top of the rise. In the hollow, the slaughtered trees had been neatly stacked in piles. With a sickening jolt Squirrelpaw saw that the Great Rock been utterly crushed, reduced to nothing more than a massive pile of cracked stone.
Crowpaw weaved through the running cats and fell in step beside her. “Don’t look at it,” he warned. “Even if the Great Rock were still here, it wouldn’t help ShadowClan.”
Suddenly a yowl rang out from behind them, and Firestar swerved to a halt. The cats behind him stopped and spun around.
Mistyfoot, the RiverClan deputy, stood at the top of the slope. She had her Clan’s finest warriors beside her: Stormfur, Blackclaw, and Mothwing, and beside them the imposing shape of Hawkfrost. Next to him stood Brambleclaw, the outline of his head and shoulders matched with Hawkfrost’s against the pale sky.
