Forest Of Secrets

Darkstripe reared up on his back legs, his lips drawn back to show his fangs. Behind him, Fireheart heard Brackenpaw hiss in alarm. He tensed, ready for the older warrior to strike, but before a fight could break out Yellowfang interrupted them with a furious growl.

“Stop this nonsense! What’s happened to Brackenpaw?” Her flattened face appeared over the edge of the rock, creased with worry.

“He was clawed by a badger,” Fireheart told her, with a last glare at Darkstripe.

The old medicine cat jumped down stiffly and inspected Brackenpaw’s leg, sniffing all along the wound. “You’ll live,” she grunted. “Go to my den. Cinderpaw’s there, and she’ll give you some herbs to press on that.”

“Thank you, Yellowfang,” Brackenpaw meowed, and limped off.

Fireheart followed, but before he entered the gorse tunnel he looked back. Yellowfang had climbed back onto the rock and was sitting with her flank pressed close against Brokentail, gently licking his fur. Fireheart could just hear her rasping the soft noises that a queen would make to her kits.

But Brokentail was as unresponsive as ever. He would not even turn to the she-cat and share tongues with her.

Sadly, Fireheart padded into the tunnel. There were few bonds stronger than the one between a mother and her kits. Yellowfang clearly still felt that bond, even after all the grief that Brokentail had caused—killing his father, destroying his own Clan with his bloodthirsty leadership, attacking ThunderClan with a band of rogue cats. But in one part of Yellowfang’s mind, he was still her kit.

So how, Fireheart wondered, had Mistyfoot and Stonefur been separated from their mother? Why had Oakheart brought them to RiverClan? And most of all, why had no ThunderClan cats tried to find them?

Chapter 9

In Yellowfang’s den, Fireheart explained what had happened while Cinderpaw inspected the gash on Brackenpaw’s leg and brought him a poultice to put on it.

“You’d better rest here tonight,” the gray she-cat told the apprentice. “But I’m pretty sure your leg will be good as new in a day or two.” She spoke cheerfully, without any bitterness that her own leg would never recover so well. Turning to Fireheart, she added, “I just had Cloudkit in here. He told me he had to go over the elders’ coats for ticks, so I gave him some mouse bile.”

“What’s that for?” asked Brackenpaw.

“If you put some on the ticks, they soon drop off,” Cinderpaw told him. Her blue eyes glimmered with amusement. “But don’t lick your paws afterward. It’s foul stuff.”

“I’m sure Cloudkit will enjoy doing that.” Fireheart grimaced. “It’s a pity that Tigerclaw had to punish him, though, because I don’t think it was his fault that the badger attacked him.”

Cinderpaw shrugged. “There’s no arguing with Tigerclaw.”

“That’s true,” Fireheart agreed. “Anyway, I think I’ll go and make sure that Cloudkit’s okay.”

As soon as he set paw in the elders’ den, his nose wrinkled against the reek of the mouse bile. Smallear was lying on one side while Cloudkit searched his gray fur for ticks. The elder twitched as Cloudkit dabbed some of the bile inside his hind leg. “Watch it, young kit! Keep your claws sheathed.”

“They are sheathed,” muttered Cloudkit, his face screwed up with disgust. “There, that’s got it. You’re done, Smallear.”

Dappletail, who had been watching intently, glanced around at Fireheart. “Your kin is very efficient, Fireheart,” she rasped. “No, Cloudkit,” she added as the kit started toward her, carrying the bile-soaked moss. “I’m sure I’ve no ticks. And I wouldn’t wake One-eye if I were you.” She nodded to where the old cat was sleeping, curled up beside the trunk of the fallen tree. “She won’t thank you for disturbing her.”

Cloudkit looked around hopefully. None of the other elders was there. “Can I go then?” he asked.

“You can see to One-eye later,” Fireheart meowed. “Meanwhile, you’d better get the dirty bedding out of here. Come on; I’ll help you.”

“And make sure the new lot’s dry!” growled Smallear.

Together Fireheart and Cloudkit raked out the old moss and heather and made several trips to carry it out of the camp. Fireheart showed Cloudkit how to clean the mouse bile from his paws by rubbing them in the snow. “Now we’ll go and fetch some fresh moss,” he meowed. “Come on. I know a good place.”

“I’m tired,” Cloudkit complained as he trailed after Fireheart. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Well, too bad, you have to,” Fireheart retorted. “Cheer up; it could be worse. Did I tell you that when I was an apprentice I had to look after Yellowfang all on my own?”

“Yellowfang!” Cloudkit’s eyes widened. “Phew, I bet she was a grump! Did she claw you?”

“Only with her tongue,” Fireheart replied. “And that’s sharp enough!”

Cloudkit let out a short purr of laughter. To Fireheart’s relief, he stopped complaining, and when they came to the patch of deep moss he did his share of digging it out of the snow, and copied Fireheart as he showed him how to shake the worst of the moisture off.