The Fourth Apprentice

The hollow felt very empty once the cats had gone. Jayfeather stood still for a moment longer, listening to the faint creak of branches above his head, then gave his pelt a shake. Striding forward, he crossed the clearing and followed Mousefur into the elders’ den. Longtail was curled up asleep, his breath whistling through his nose, while Mousefur was settling into her nest with a crackle of dried bracken.

Purdy sat beside her. “I was just rememberin’ the time when a couple o’ rats tried to move into my Upwalker’s den,” he began. “I reckon you’d like to hear about that, so—”

“Hang on a moment, Purdy,” Jayfeather interrupted. “I need to have a word with Mousefur.”

“What now?” the old she-cat demanded. She still sounded annoyed; either she hadn’t got over being hit by the pebble, or maybe it was the thought of listening to one of Purdy’s interminable stories.

“I just need to check where the stone hit you,” Jayfeather explained.

Mousefur let out a sigh. “I’ll be fine, Jayfeather. There’s no need to fuss.”

“I’m only doing my job, Mousefur.”

Another long sigh. “All right.” Jayfeather heard the rustle of bracken as Mousefur stretched out in her nest. “It was just there, at the top of my leg.”

Jayfeather padded forward and sniffed carefully. To his relief, he couldn’t find any trace of a wound; Mousefur’s skin hadn’t even been broken. “I think you’re fine,” he mewed.

“I told you that,” Mousefur snapped. “Young cats, thinking they know everything.”

“Even so, if you feel any pain or start limping, let me know right away. Okay?”

“I’ll see she does,” Purdy put in. “Don’t you worry none.”

“Thanks, Purdy.” Jayfeather headed out of the den, but before he could leave, the old loner spoke again.

“Don’t dash off like that, young ’un. You’ll enjoy hearin’ this story as well. There were these rats, see…”

Jayfeather stood fidgeting impatiently near the entrance to the den. As soon as he heard movement in the clearing, he broke into Purdy’s rambling tale. “Sorry. Gotta go. Could be an emergency.” Without waiting for an answer, he squeezed under the branches of the elder bush and padded into the hollow.

Brambleclaw had returned from seeing off the questing cats; as Jayfeather drew nearer, he heard Firestar leaping down the tumbled rocks to join his deputy in the center of the camp.

“Well?” the Clan leader asked eagerly. “How did it go?”

“Fine,” Brambleclaw replied. “All four Clans sent their cats, and they all set off upstream.”

“Which cats have been chosen?”

“Toadfoot and Tigerheart from ShadowClan,” Brambleclaw began. “Sedgewhisker and Whitetail from WindClan, and Rippletail and Petalfur from RiverClan.”

Jayfeather’s ears flicked up in surprise. That doesn’t sound as if Leopardstar sent her strongest warriors. Doesn’t she realize what dangers they’ll be facing?

If Firestar thought the same, he gave no sign of it. “I hope they can all get on together,” he commented.

“They will,” Brambleclaw promised. “They’ll learn to rely on one another, and they’ll come back stronger cats for the experience.”

“We can only pray to StarClan that they come back at all,” Firestar meowed. “And that they find out what happened to the water.” He sighed, then went on in a brisker tone, “Meanwhile, we’d better start with the patrols before the day gets too hot. I’ll lead a hunting patrol; can you organize the rest?”

“Sure, Firestar.”

Jayfeather heard both cats pad away and begin calling to others inside the warriors’ den. He listened briefly as his Clanmates pushed their way out through the branches, yawning and stretching, and then he turned away toward his den. Before he reached it, Firestar led his hunting patrol past him. Dustpelt brought up the rear; as he brushed past, Jayfeather felt a stab of pain at the base of the tabby warrior’s spine. Pricking his ears toward the patrol, he detected a slight unevenness in Dustpelt’s paw steps.

“Hey, Dustpelt!” he called. “Hang on a moment!”

“What?” Dustpelt sounded even more crabby than usual as he retraced his steps. “I’m supposed to be hunting with Firestar, so make it quick.”

“Have you hurt your back?” Jayfeather asked.

The brown tabby tom hesitated. “What makes you think that?”

“I’m a medicine cat,” Jayfeather retorted drily. “If you’re hurt, I’ve got some herbs that will help you.”

“I don’t need herbs,” Dustpelt retorted; Jayfeather pictured his neck fur bristling up. “Save them for cats who are really ill.”

“I’ve got plenty of what you need,” Jayfeather assured him. He wasn’t going to let Dustpelt deprive himself of medicine out of misplaced selflessness. His back would only get worse, and then he wouldn’t be able to hunt at all. “Come see me when you get back.”

“Okay, I will.” Jayfeather thought he could sense relief behind Dustpelt’s brusque tone. Quietly he added, “Thanks, Jayfeather.”