The Darkest Hour

Suddenly Firestar heard a sharp exclamation from Graystripe and his friend flashed past him, hurtling along the side of the ravine, his paws scrabbling against the loose snow-covered stones. At the same moment Sorrelkit’s legs crumpled underneath her sturdy tortoiseshell body and she started writhing in the snow. Firestar dropped his fresh-kill in amazement as Graystripe yowled, “No!” and flung himself on the dark warrior. Darkstripe clawed and flailed at him with his hind legs, but Graystripe’s teeth were sunk in his throat and would not let go.

“What-?” Firestar dashed down the slope with Bramblepaw right behind him. He dodged the fighting cats, still locked together in a whirlwind of teeth and claws, and reached Sorrelkit’s side.

The little kit twisted and turned on the ground, her eyes wide and glazed. She was letting out high-pitched moans of pain, and there was foam on her lips.

“Get Cinderpelt!” Firestar ordered Bramblepaw.

His apprentice shot off, his paws sending up puffs of snow. Firestar bent over the young kit and placed a paw gently on her belly. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “Cinderpelt is coming.”

Sorrelkit’s jaws gaped wide and Firestar caught a glimpse of half-chewed berries in her mouth, scarlet against her white teeth.

“Deathberries!” He gasped.

There was a dark-leaved shrub growing from a crack in the rock just above his head, with more of the lethal scarlet berries clustered among the leaves. He remembered a time many moons ago when Cinderpelt had appeared just in time to stop Cloudtail from eating the deathberries, and warned him of how poisonous they were. Later, Yellowfang had used them to kill her son, Brokentail; Firestar had seen for himself how quickly and fatally they worked.

Crouching over Sorrelkit, Firestar did his best to scoop the crushed berries out of her mouth, but the kit was in too much terror and pain to keep still and make his task easier. Her head thrashed from side to side, and her body was convulsing in regular spasms that to Fireheart’s horror seemed to be growing weaker. He could still hear Graystripe and Darkstripe screeching in the throes of their fight, but they seemed oddly far away. All his attention was concentrated on the kit.

Then to his relief he felt Cinderpelt arrive beside him. “Deathberries!” he told her quickly. “I’ve tried to get them out, but…”

Cinderpelt took his place by the kit’s side. She had a bundle of leaves in her mouth; setting them down, she mewed, “Good. Keep holding her, Firestar, while I take a look.”

With two of them to help, and the kit’s struggles definitely growing weaker, Cinderpelt was soon able to paw out the remains of the deathberries. Then she rapidly chewed up one of her leaves and stuffed the pulp into Sorrelkit’s mouth. “Swallow it,” she ordered. To Firestar she added, “It’s yarrow. It’ll make her sick.”

The kit’s throat convulsed. A moment later she vomited; Firestar could see more scarlet specks among the pulp of leaves.

“Good,” Cinderpelt mewed soothingly. “That’s very good. You’re going to be fine, Sorrelkit.”

The little kit lay gasping and trembling; then Firestar watched in dismay as she went limp and her eyes closed.

“Is she dead?” he whispered.

Before Cinderpelt could rep l y, a yowl came from the entrance to the camp. “My kit! W here’s my kit?” It was Willowpelt, racing up the ravine with Bramblepaw. She crouched beside Sorrelkit, her blue eyes wide and distraught. “What happened?”

“She ate deathberries,” Cinderpelt explained. “But I think I’ve gotten rid of them all. We’ll carry her back to my den and I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Willowpelt began licking Sorrelkit’s tortoiseshell fur. By now Firestar had seen the faint rise and fall of the kit’s flank as she breathed. She was not dead, but he could see from Cinderpelt’s anxious look that she was still in danger from the effects of the poison.

For the first time Firestar had a chance to draw breath and look for Graystripe. The gray warrior had pinned Darkstripe down a few tail-lengths away with one paw on his neck and another on his belly. Darkstripe was bleeding from one ear, and he spat in fury as he fought vainly to free himself.

“What’s going on?” Firestar demanded.

“Don’t ask me,” snarled Graystripe. Firestar could hardly remember seeing his friend look so savage. “Ask this…this piece of fox dung why he tried to murder a kit!”

“Murder?” Firestar echoed. The accusation was so unexpected that for a heartbeat he could do nothing but stare stupidly.

“Murder,” repeated Graystripe. “Go on, ask him why he was feeding deathberries to Sorrelkit.”

“You mouse-brained fool.” Darkstripe’s voice was cold as he gazed up at his attacker. “I wasn’t feeding her the berries. I was trying to stop her from eating them.”

“I know what I saw,” Graystripe insisted through gritted teeth.

Firestar tried to recall the image of the warrior and the kit that he had seen when he paused at the top of the ravine. “Let him get up,” he meowed reluctantly to his friend. “Darkstripe, tell me what happened.”