Dawn

Leafpaw silenced her with a glance. “I’ll come with you, but I have to tell them where I’m going.” Leaving the two cats in uneasy silence, she hurried up the slope to the overhang. She crept into the shadowy cavern and followed her father’s scent.

Firestar lifted his head drowsily. “Is that you, Leafpaw?”

Beside him, Sandstorm shifted but did not wake.

“Mothwing’s come to ask if I can go and help Mudfur. He’s really ill.”

She saw a shadow moving toward her from the back of the den, and scented Cinderpelt.

“What’s she treating him with?” the medicine cat called under her breath.

“I don’t know,” Leafpaw replied.

“Do you think it’s safe to go?” Firestar’s eyes gleamed anxiously in the gloom.

“Mothwing wouldn’t lie to me,” she assured him, guessing he feared an ambush from strong RiverClan cats.

“Then you must go,” Firestar murmured. “But if you are not back by dawn, I’ll send a patrol to fetch you.”

“We’ll be back,” Cinderpelt promised. She met Leafpaw’s surprised gaze. “I’m coming too. We must do everything we can to help Mudfur.” She led Leafpaw out of the den to the crevice where she kept her supplies and pulled out several bundles of leaves.

Leafpaw picked up half the bundles, and they hurried down the rock to where Mothwing waited with her sister.

“I’m coming with you,” Squirrelpaw announced.

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.