Before Leafpaw could reach them, Hawkfrost and Mothwing pushed their way out of the reeds and stood over the black cat.

  “What happened?” Hawkfrost demanded.

  “Reedpaw fell in the river. We need Mudfur,” Mistyfoot meowed. “Can you fetch him? Quickly!”

  “He went out to collect herbs,” Mothwing told her. “I’ll go and look for him.”

  She sprang along the path that led upstream, but her brother called her back. “It’ll take too long,” he rasped. He flicked his ears toward the still black cat. “You see to him, you know what to do.”

  Just then he became aware of Leafpaw approaching. He looked up and glared at her with his eerie ice-blue eyes. Leafpaw felt a shiver run through her. “What’s she doing here?”

  “I called her over,” Mistyfoot explained. “Reedpaw needs all the help he can get.”

  Hawkfrost let out a disgusted snort. Leafpaw ignored him as she crouched beside the black cat. He was very small—newly apprenticed, she guessed—and he lay quite still, with a trickle of water coming out of his parted jaws. There was a gash on his shoulder; blood was oozing into his sodden fur.

  “He must have fallen,” Mistyfoot meowed worriedly. “The apprentices are always playing too close to the river. It looks as if the branch hit him.”

  Leafpaw bent closer to Reedpaw. A huge sigh of relief escaped her as she detected the faint rise and fall of his chest. He was still breathing—but his breaths were fast and shallow, and seemed to grow weaker as Leafpaw watched. She glanced at Mothwing, waiting for her to start treating the injured cat.

  Mothwing’s huge amber eyes were fixed on the limp body of the apprentice.

  “Well?” Hawkfrost meowed impatiently. “Get on with it.”

  Mothwing looked up, and Leafpaw saw the glare of panic in her eyes. “I—I’m not sure. I haven’t brought the right herbs. I’ll have to go back to camp….”

  “Reedpaw hasn’t time for that!” Mistyfoot rasped.

  Leafpaw understood her friend’s panic. They were only apprentices; they weren’t ready yet to hold the lives of cats within their paws. Where was Mudfur?

  Then a gentle voice spoke inside her mind. Leafpaw, you can do this. Remember what Cinderpelt has taught you. Cobwebs for the bleeding…

  “Yes—yes, I remember now,” Leafpaw mewed out loud.

  Hawkfrost stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Do you know what to do?”

  Leafpaw nodded.

  “Right. Do it. You—out of the way.” Hawkfrost shouldered his sister to one side so that Leafpaw could get closer to Reedpaw.

  Mothwing let out a faint meow of protest; Leafpaw glanced up at her to see her amber eyes still wide and shocked and her ears flat to her head.

  “Go and find me some cobwebs,” Leafpaw instructed her. “Quickly!”

  The RiverClan apprentice shot her a frightened look, then whirled around and dashed up the riverbank to the bushes at the top of the slope.

  Now get the water out of him, Spottedleaf whispered. Leafpaw bent down and worked her shoulder under Reedpaw’s, propping him up until water gushed out of his mouth.

  Good. Now he’ll breathe properly, so you can deal with his wet fur.

  The apprentice started to cough feebly and let out a faint cry of pain.

  “Lie still,” Mistyfoot told him, giving his muzzle a reassuring lick. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “That’s right,” Leafpaw meowed urgently to the RiverClan deputy. “Keep licking him—lick his fur the wrong way to help it dry and get him warm.”

  At once Mistyfoot bent down beside the young apprentice and began licking vigorously; after a moment’s hesitation Hawkfrost began to do the same on his other side. Leafpaw licked at the gash on Reedpaw’s shoulder, cleaning it of scraps of bark and leaf. She knew she had to get it clean to avoid infection setting in.

  “Here,” Mothwing gasped, reappearing beside Leafpaw with a wad of cobwebs. “Is this enough?”

  “That’s fine, Mothwing. Put them on just there.”

  She almost felt like Mothwing’s mentor as she checked how the RiverClan cat put the cobwebs in place, making sure they covered all the gash, and patted them down carefully.

  “That’s fine,” she repeated. “Reedpaw, do you hurt anywhere else?”

  The apprentice coughed again; under Mistyfoot’s and Hawkfrost’s energetic licking he was beginning to revive. “No,” he rasped. “Just my shoulder.”

  Leafpaw examined him for other injuries anyway, but she couldn’t find any. “I think you’re lucky,” she meowed.

  “He’s lucky you were here,” Hawkfrost growled, with a hostile look at his sister. “Mothwing, what was the matter with you? You’re supposed to be a medicine cat!”

  Mothwing shrank away, and would not meet her brother’s gaze.

  “Reedpaw, can you stand up?” Leafpaw asked, diplomatically not reacting to her friend’s embarrassment.

  For an answer the apprentice staggered to his paws. Mistyfoot supported him on his other side, letting him lean against her with his uninjured shoulder.

  “Think you can make it back to camp?” Hawkfrost demanded.

  Reedpaw nodded. “Thanks…” His voice trailed off as he looked at Leafpaw and his eyes widened. “You have ThunderClan scent!”

  “That’s right. My name’s Leafpaw. I’m Cinderpelt’s apprentice. Take him straight back,” she added to Mistyfoot. “If Mudfur’s there, he’d better check him. If not, you can give him some thyme leaves to chew for the shock.”

  “And poppy seeds for the pain,” Mothwing added, trying to sound confident.

  “Er…no, I wouldn’t.” Leafpaw hated contradicting her friend. “It’s best if he sleeps naturally for now. He’ll be worn out anyway from the shock.”

  Mothwing’s gaze dropped to her paws again as Hawkfrost shot her a contemptuous glance. He turned away to pad upstream, toward the RiverClan camp. Mistyfoot followed, supporting Reedpaw. The black apprentice was still shaky, but he kept going until a clump of reeds hid all three cats from Leafpaw’s sight.

  As they left, Leafpaw couldn’t help feeling envious of their sleek pelts and strong muscles. Even Reedpaw, with his fur drying rapidly in the cold wind, looked healthy and well fed. RiverClan was the only Clan that still had plenty of prey, the only Clan not to be affected by the Twolegs tearing up the forest.

  Shaking off her resentment, Leafpaw glanced at Mothwing, who hadn’t moved. “Don’t feel bad,” she meowed. “It’s all over, and no harm done. Reedpaw will be fine now.”

  “It’s not all over!” Mothwing whirled to face her, her voice rising. “I lost it…. My first chance to show that I’m fit to bea medicine cat, and I totally messed up.”

  “Everybody makes mistakes.” Leafpaw tried to soothe her.

  “You didn’t.”

  But I had help, Leafpaw thought, wishing she could tell her friend about Spottedleaf, but knowing that she could never share such a momentous secret with a cat from a different Clan. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to her father’s friend.

  “I could have helped Reedpaw,” Mothwing went on bitterly. “I know all that stuff you did. I gave you and your friend thyme leaves, that time WindClan chased you. But now…somehow I couldn’t think straight. I just panicked, and I couldn’t remember.”

  “You will next time.”

  “If there is a next time.” Mothwing tore fiercely at the ground with sharp, curved claws. “Hawkfrost will tell every cat how useless I was, and Mudfur will wish he’d never chosen me. And the Clan will never respect me now!”

  “Of course they will.” Leafpaw padded up to her friend and pushed her nose into Mothwing’s beautiful golden tabby fur. “It’ll all be forgotten soon, you’ll see.” She was shocked that Mothwing was so sure her brother would spread the news of her failure around the camp. She would have expected Hawkfrost to be more loyal to his sister.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Mothwing mewed bitterly, making Leafpaw jump. “Hawkfrost is loyal to the Clan, not to me or to any cat. He cares more for being a great warrior than anything else.”

  Like Tigerstar, Leafpaw thought with an inward shiver.

  “You’re so lucky, Leafpaw.” Mothwing’s voice was despairing. “You’re Clanborn, and your father is a Clan leader. My mother was a rogue, and no cat will ever forget that.”

  She turned away, her head bowed and her tail trailing on the ground, and began plodding upstream as if every pawstep were an effort.

  “I’ll see you soon!” Leafpaw called, but her friend did not respond.

  There was nothing more Leafpaw could do. Sadly she went back to the stepping-stones and crossed more carefully than she had done in her desperate race to save Reedpaw.

  By the time she reached the ThunderClan border, she was beginning to feel better. With leaf-bare coming, Mothwing would have plenty of chances to try out her medicine-cat skills, and her Clan would forget that she had failed once. Besides, Leafpaw couldn’t help feeling pleased with her own success. She had saved a cat’s life—the first time, but not the last, she hoped.

  “Thank you, Spottedleaf,” she murmured aloud, and thought she caught just a trace of the medicine cat’s sweet scent.

  Feeling more optimistic than she had felt in moons, she collected Cinderpelt’s chickweed and hurried back to camp. When she reached the top of the ravine she paused; her optimism vanished and an icy claw closed around her heart at the sound of the shrill wails and yowling coming from the clearing below. As she looked down, Mousefur and Rainwhisker burst out of the gorse tunnel and raced up the ravine, hurtling past Leafpaw without even noticing her.

  Leafpaw bounded down to the camp and brushed through the tunnel, terrified of what she would find. Had the Twolegs reached this far already? Firestar was standing at the foot of the Highrock with Graystripe, Sandstorm, and Brackenfur clustered around him. Outside the apprentices’ den Whitepaw crouched, wailing like a kit. Shrewpaw and Spiderpaw were trying to comfort her.

  Leafpaw skidded to a halt, bewildered. Why was everyone so upset? There were no alien scents in the camp, and no signs of Twoleg devastation. She spotted Cinderpelt, limping wearily into the fern tunnel that led to the medicine cats’ clearing.

  Leafpaw raced after her. “What’s the matter?” she demanded, dropping the chickweed. “What’s happened?”

  Cinderpelt turned and gazed at her, her blue eyes full of sorrow. “Dappletail is dead,” she explained, and the lack of emotion in her voice scared Leafpaw as much as anything else. “And Cloudtail and Brightheart have disappeared.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Stormfur’s legs ached and the weight of his rain-sodden fur made his paws stumble painfully over the stones. He felt as if he had been fleeing through the stormy darkness for moons. The whole world seemed to have shrunk to nothing more than rock, wind, and rain.

  As he scrabbled up a broken rock face he realized that the rain was easing off. Soon it was no more than a spatter driven by the wind. The sky began to clear, the moon struggling to show its light between the clouds.

  Brambleclaw halted, and the rest of the cats gathered around him. They were standing on a wide ledge; above them was a slope covered with scree, while below the rock fell away into darkness.

  “I have no idea where we are,” Brambleclaw admitted. “I’m sorry, I meant to bring you back the same way we came with the cave-guards, but I’ve never seen this place before.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Squirrelpaw meowed, with a glare at Crowpaw as if she expected the WindClan apprentice to say something rude. “The rain has washed all the scent away, and it’s too dark to see anything.”

  “That’s all very well,” Tawnypelt pointed out, “but what are we going to do now? If we’re not careful, the Tribe cats will catch us.”

  “Or Sharptooth,” Feathertail added with a shudder.

  Stormfur cleared his throat. He was feeling guilty and betrayed that he had ever thought of the Tribe cats as his friends, and he wanted to forget them and everything to do with them as soon as he possibly could. But they had taught him skills that could be useful now, and it would be mouse-brained not to use them.

  “I think I can find the way,” he meowed. “I hunted with the Tribe, remember, more than the rest of you.”

  “You lead, then,” Brambleclaw responded immediately. “Just get us out of these mountains.”

  Stormfur warmed a little at the ThunderClan warrior’s trust in him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he had lost all Brambleclaw’s respect, after the way he had settled in among the Tribe cats. He knew now how much Brambleclaw’s friendship meant to him.

  “It’ll take a few days to cross the mountains,” he warned the tabby warrior, remembering the day Brook had taken him to the top of a high peak and shown him the towering folds of rock stretching endlessly ahead. At least they would have the rising sun to guide them when daylight came. “But I think I can get you out of the Tribe’s territory.”

  “The sooner the better,” muttered Crowpaw. He was standing so close to Feathertail that their fur touched. There seemed to be an unspoken connection between them, and Stormfur wondered what had happened while he’d been held prisoner in the cave.

  Stormfur took the lead along the ledge and then diagonally up the scree, his paws slipping on the loose stones. Reaching the ridge, he paused to figure out the direction from the way the moss grew on the rocks and the trunk of a gnarled tree. Guilt swept over him again as he realized how easy it seemed to use Tribe ways, as if he had allowed himself to become a Tribe cat instead of a warrior loyal to RiverClan.

  “What’s the matter?” Feathertail asked quietly, coming up to him and brushing her side against his. He should have known she would be able to sense how bad he felt.

  “I trusted them.” Stormfur choked over the words. “Brook and Crag and the rest. I never thought…And then they took me prisoner, and the rest of you risked your lives to get me out of there.”

  “We couldn’t leave you.” Feathertail let out a comforting purr.

  “They never told me anything about the prophecy, you know, not all the time we were hunting together. It was just as much of a shock to me when Stoneteller told us about it in the Cave of Pointed Stones.”

  “Yes, we know,” his sister murmured.

  “But do we have to stand here talking about it?” Crowpaw demanded disagreeably as he joined them on the ridge. “Let’s just get moving.”

  “They must have been wrong.” Stormfur ignored the WindClan apprentice, holding Feathertail’s gaze and trying to convince himself as much as her. “I can’t be the promised cat, right? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, of course not,” Feathertail mewed. “Don’t blame yourself, Stormfur. None of us realized what was going on. And the Tribe, they aren’t bad cats—just desperate.”

  Stormfur hoped his sister couldn’t see the guilt that clawed deep inside his belly. What if the prophecy were true, and the Tribe of Endless Hunting really had chosen him to help the Tribe cats? StarClan had chosen four cats to save the forest, but he was not one of them. He had come on the journey because he couldn’t bear to see Feathertail leave without him. Now he wondered whether somehow the Tribe of Endless Hunting had influenced his decision so that he would be in the right place to destroy Sharptooth.

  But then he had turned his back on the Tribe at the time when they needed help the most. He remembered watching Sharptooth leave the cave, his fierce jaws gripping Star as she yowled vainly for help. What if the next cat to die was Crag? What if it was Brook? A picture came into Stormfur’s mind of the beautiful she-cat trapped in those savage teeth, and he desperately tried to push it away.

  He shivered, hardly aware that the rest of his friends were waiting for him.

  “Is there something wrong?” Brambleclaw asked.

  Stormfur shook himself. “No,” he meowed. “It’s this way.”

  On the other side of the ridge, the ground fell away into a slope broken up by shallow precipices, low enough for a cat to leap down from one level to the next. As he crouched on the edge of one of these, he saw a roosting mountain bird just below him.

  Squirrelpaw, at his shoulder, prodded him and pointed with her ears. To be on the safe side, Stormfur flicked his tail lightly across her jaws and signaled to the rest of the cats for silence.

  “I’ll get it,” he whispered. “You stay here.”

  He was appalled by the way his new skills seemed natural to him, as if he had known them all his life. The bird was on a narrow ledge, so he could not leap down on it without risking a bad fall. In the forest, cats wouldn’t hesitate to jump out of trees, but that was onto soft earth, not jagged stone that sliced open paws and jarred bones.

  Instead he cautiously crept down a few tail-lengths farther on and worked his way stealthily back to the bird, using broken rocks for cover. When he was close enough he pounced, pinning the bird against the rock face, where it fluttered helplessly for a few heartbeats until he took its life.

  “That was great!” Squirrelpaw exclaimed, curling her tail up in admiration. “You’re just like a real mountain cat, Stormfur.”

  “I hope not,” Stormfur mewed.

  All six cats gathered around to eat their share of the bird. By the time they had finished, a thin rain had begun to fall and clouds were massing once more to cover the moon.

  “This is hopeless,” mewed Brambleclaw, swiping his tongue around his jaws. “I think we should shelter for the rest of the night.”

  “As long as the Tribe cats don’t track us down,” Tawnypelt warned. Stormfur noticed that her shoulder wasn’t giving her trouble anymore; Stoneteller’s herbs had worked well. At least that was something they could thank the Tribe cats for.

  “I think we’re far enough away by now,” he meowed. “Brambleclaw’s right. We can’t keep going in this rain. Let’s see if we can find a cave.”

 

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