Firepaw shyly mewed a greeting, and reeled off Yellowfang’s list of herbs and seeds.
“I’ve got most of those in my den,” replied Spottedleaf. “I’ll fetch some marigold leaves too. If she dresses her wound with that, it’ll keep off any infection. Wait here.”
“Thanks,” Firepaw mewed as the medicine cat disappeared back into her den. He strained his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of her inside. But the den was too dark to see anything; he could only hear the sound of rustling and smell the heady scents of unfamiliar herbs.
Spottedleaf emerged from the gloom and dropped a bundle folded in leaves by Firepaw’s feet. “Tell Yellowfang to go easy on the poppy seeds. I don’t want her to deaden the pain entirely. A little pain can be useful, as it will help me judge how well she is healing.”
Firepaw nodded and picked up the herbs with his teeth. “Thanks, Spottedleaf!” he mewed through the mouthful of leaves, then headed back through the fern tunnel into the main clearing.
Tigerclaw was sitting outside the warriors’ den, watching him closely. As Firepaw trotted over to Yellowfang, carrying the herbs, he could feel the amber-eyed stare burning the fur on the back of his neck. He turned his head and looked at Tigerclaw curiously. The warrior narrowed his eyes and looked away.
Firepaw dropped the bundle beside Yellowfang.
“Good,” she meowed. “Now, before you leave me in peace, find me something to eat. I’m starving!”
The sun had risen three times since Yellowfang had entered the camp. Firepaw woke early and nudged Graypaw, who was still asleep beside him, his nose tucked under his thick tail. “Wake up,” Firepaw mewed. “Or you’ll be late for training.”
Graypaw lifted his head sleepily and growled in reluctant agreement.
Firepaw prodded Ravenpaw.
The black cat opened his eyes immediately and leaped to his feet. “What is it?” he mewed, looking around wildly.
“Calm down, Ravenpaw. It’s time for training soon,” Firepaw soothed.
Dustpaw and Sandpaw began to stir too, in their mossy nests on the far side of the den. Firepaw stood up and pushed his way out of the ferns.
The morning was warm. Firepaw could see a deep blue sky through the leaves and branches that overhung the camp. Today, however, a heavy dew glistened on the fern fronds and sparkled on the grass. Firepaw sniffed the air. Greenleaf was drawing to a close, and soon it would start to feel colder.
He lay down and rolled in the earth beside the tree stump, stretching his legs and tipping his head back to rub it on the cool ground. Then he flipped over onto his side, and looked across the clearing to see if Yellowfang was awake yet.
She had been given a resting place at the other end of the fallen tree where the elders gathered to eat. Her nest lay tucked against its mossy trunk, out of hearing of the elders, but in full view of the warriors’ den across the clearing. Firepaw could just see a mound of pale gray fur, rising and falling in time to a gentle rumble of sleep.
Graypaw trotted out of the den behind him, followed by Sandpaw and Dustpaw. Ravenpaw appeared last, with a nervous glance around the clearing before he emerged fully into the open.
“Another day looking after that mangy old fleabag, eh, Firepaw?” mewed Dustpaw. “I bet you wish you were out training with us.”
Firepaw sat up and shook the dust from his fur. He wasn’t going to let himself get annoyed by Dustpaw’s taunts.
“Don’t worry, Firepaw,” murmured Graypaw. “Bluestar will have you back in training before long.”
“Perhaps she thinks a kittypet is better off staying in camp, tending to the sick,” mewed Sandpaw rudely, tossing her sleek ginger head and throwing him a scornful look.
Firepaw decided to ignore her barbed comments. “What is Whitestorm teaching you today, Sandpaw?” he mewed.
“We’re doing battle training today. He’s going to teach me how a real warrior fights,” Sandpaw replied proudly.
“Lionheart’s taking me to the Great Sycamore,” mewed Graypaw, “to practice my climbing. I’d best go. He’ll be waiting.”
“I’ll come with you to the top of the ravine,” mewed Firepaw. “I have to catch breakfast for Yellowfang. Coming, Ravenpaw? Tigerclaw must have something planned for you.”
Ravenpaw sighed and nodded, then followed Graypaw and Firepaw as they trotted out of the camp. Even though his injury was completely healed, he still seemed to have little enthusiasm for warrior training.
“Here,” mewed Firepaw. He dropped a large mouse and a chaffinch onto the ground beside Yellowfang.
“About time,” she growled. The she-cat had still been sleeping when Firepaw had entered the camp after his hunting trip. But the smell of fresh-kill must have woken her, for now she had pulled herself into a sitting position.
She dropped her head and hungrily gulped down Firepaw’s offerings. She had developed a massive appetite as her strength returned. Her wound was healing well, but her temper remained as fierce and unpredictable as ever.
She finished her meal and complained, “The base of my tail itches like fury, but I can’t reach it. Give it a wash, will you?”
With an inward shudder, Firepaw crouched down and set to work.
As he cracked the plump fleas between his teeth, he noticed a gang of small kits tumbling in the dusty earth nearby. They were mauling each other and play-fighting, sometimes quite viciously. Yellowfang, who had closed her eyes as Firepaw groomed her, half opened one eye to observe the kits as they played. To his surprise, Firepaw felt her spine stiffen beneath his teeth.
He listened for a moment to the tiny yelps and squeaks of the kits.
“Feel my teeth, Brokenstar!” mewed one small tabby. He leaped onto the back of a little gray-and-white kit, who was pretending to be the ShadowClan leader. The two kits bundled toward the Highrock. Suddenly the gray-and-white kit gave a mighty heave and flung the tabby from his back. With a startled squeak, the little tabby cannoned into Yellowfang’s side.
Instantly the old she-cat leaped to her feet, fur on end, spitting violently. “Stay away from me, you scrap of fur!” she hissed.
The tabby kit took one look at the furious cat, turned tail, and ran. He hid himself behind a tabby queen, who was staring furiously across the clearing at Yellowfang.
The gray-and-white kit froze where he stood. Then, paw by paw, he cautiously backed away toward the safety of the nursery.
Yellowfang’s reaction had shocked Firepaw. He thought he’d seen her at her most vicious when they fought after their first meeting, but her eyes burned with a new rage now. “I think the kits are finding it hard being confined to camp,” he mewed cautiously. “They’re getting restless.”
“I don’t care how restless they are,” growled Yellowfang. “Just keep them away from me!”
“Don’t you like kits?” Firepaw asked, curious in spite of himself. “Did you never have kits of your own?”
“Don’t you know medicine cats don’t have kits?” hissed Yellowfang furiously.
“But I heard you were a warrior before that,” Firepaw ventured.
“I have no kits!” Yellowfang spat. She snatched her tail away from him and sat up. “Anyway”—her voice suddenly lowered, and she sounded almost wistful—“accidents seem to happen to kits when I’m around them.”
Her orange eyes clouded with emotion. She laid her chin flat on her forepaws and stared ahead. Firepaw watched her shoulders sink as she released a long, silent sigh.