“Like what?” Spottedpaw mewed suspiciously. “I’m not squeezing any dead mice to get out the bile!”
Featherwhisker purred with amusement. “Don’t worry. I save that particular task for naughty apprentices! You could sort these herbs for me, though. Rosetail gathered tansy and marigold for me yesterday, but she let the leaves get muddled up, and I need to store them separately.” He nudged a heap of strong-smelling greenery toward Spottedpaw. Her nose twitched and she leaned over the edge of her nest to study them more closely.
“Which one’s which?” she asked.
Featherwhisker tugged out two stalks with a flick of his paw. “Tansy is the one with the smaller, feathery, pale green leaves, see? Marigold leaves are a similar shape, but bigger and a darker shade of green.”
Spottedpaw nodded. She wriggled carefully onto her belly, leaving her injured foreleg cushioned on the moss.
“They smell totally different,” she commented. “That’s the easiest way to tell them apart.”
Featherwhisker nodded. “Exactly.” He was rolling dock leaves into tight wraps and stacking them neatly against one wall of his den. “Do you know what we use those herbs for?”
Spottedpaw paused to untangle some stalks that were knotted together. “You gave tansy to Whitepaw when he had a bellyache from eating too much mouse,” she recalled. “But I’ve never seen you use marigold.”
“Actually, you have,” Featherwhisker corrected her. “Do you remember when Frostpaw got scratched in her eye by that stick?”
“That wasn’t my fault!” Spottedpaw burst out. “I was just trying to see if it was long enough to reach Weedwhisker. Frostpaw ran into it without looking!”
Featherwhisker snorted. “I’m not sure poking Weedwhisker while he was trying to sleep was the best idea in the first place, Spottedpaw. Anyway, I used a poultice of marigold to clean Frostpaw’s eye and keep away any infection.”
“Infection is when a wound smells bad and doesn’t heal, isn’t it?” Spottedpaw checked.
“That’s right. I go through a lot of marigold at this time of year, when leaves hide the brambles and warriors are more likely to get scratched. It’s best to use fresh leaves, but dried ones can make a good enough poultice if you add water.”
Spottedpaw puzzled over two very similar-looking stalks for a moment, then decided that one was a small piece of marigold and the other was definitely tansy. “It’s amazing to think that one little leaf can do so much,” she mewed. “I wonder how the first cats found out?”
“We have been blessed with some truly gifted medicine cats,” Featherwhisker replied. “StarClan guided their paws and helped them to a store of knowledge that is so vast, I feel as if I have only glimpsed one little corner of it.”
“But you know what all the herbs do, don’t you?”
“All of the herbs that are found in ThunderClan territory, yes. But there are plants in other territories that are unfamiliar to me, which is why the medicine cats meet at each half-moon, to share any new discoveries and see if we can help with illnesses and injuries in the other Clans.”
“Wow,” breathed Spottedpaw. “Do you feel like StarClan? I mean, you have power over life and death!”
Featherwhisker twitched his ears. “Not as much as I’d like to, little one. We all lose cats that we have tried our hardest to save.”
Spottedpaw flicked the last leaf onto the tansy pile and sat back in her nest. “Finished! Can I do something else now?”
The medicine cat looked around the narrow cave. “You could roll the rest of these dock leaves for me while I prepare a poultice for Mumblefoot’s tick bite.”
“Okay!” Spottedpaw leaned out of her nest and dragged the big shiny leaves toward her. It was a bit tricky to roll them up with one paw, but she figured out how to use her chin to keep the leaf tightly tucked in. On the other side of the den, Featherwhisker started chewing up some sharp-scented dark green leaves.
“Medicine cats have to heal any cat, don’t they?” Spottedpaw mewed, her voice muffled because she was holding a dock leaf under her chin.
Featherwhisker spat out a clump of soggy greenery. “Well, our code only says that we must help kits from any Clan, but I don’t know any medicine cat who would ignore a full-grown cat who was sick or injured.”
“What about other animals?” asked Spottedpaw as she reached for the next leaf. “Would you help a mouse, or a bird?”
The silver cat purred with amusement. “Do you think I should try to resuscitate the fresh-kill pile? Warriors are trained to kill cleanly so that our prey doesn’t suffer. We have to eat to survive; a medicine cat would not be helping his Clan if he tried to revive their fresh-kill.”
“What about a fox, then? Or a badger?”
“Animals that treat us as prey can take care of themselves,” Featherwhisker meowed firmly. “Have you finished rolling those leaves? You should have a rest.”
Spottedpaw snuggled back into her nest. It was lined with thrush feathers, which reminded her of how Thistleclaw had gotten into trouble for giving her and Whitepaw feathers to play with. She wondered if Thistleclaw was worried about her. She didn’t want him to blame himself because she fell out of that stupid tree.
“Hello? Are you receiving visitors?” A dark red face poked through the ferns.
Spottedpaw lifted her head. “Poppydawn! Of course, come in.”
Willowpaw bounced behind her mentor, hardly visible behind a large young thrush. She dropped it on the ground beside Spottedpaw’s nest. “I caught this for you!”
“Wow! Thanks, Willowpaw!” Spottedpaw leaned out to sniff the fresh-kill. Her shoulder brushed against the edge of the nest and she winced.
Willowpaw looked worried. “Does it still hurt?”
Spottedpaw nodded.
“When will you be able to start training again?” Willowpaw asked.
Featherwhisker padded over and rolled the thrush to the side of the den. “She needs a few more days off her paws.”
“She’s very young to suffer an injury like this,” meowed Poppydawn. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”
“Excuse me, I am right here!” Spottedpaw butted in. “I’m going to be fine, aren’t I, Featherwhisker?”
Featherwhisker was taking care to tuck the thrush out of the way. “We’ll see,” he mewed without looking up.
Spottedpaw felt a flare of terror in her belly. Would her stupid accident prevent her from becoming a warrior? I wish I’d never climbed that tree!
After two more days, Spottedpaw no longer dreamed that her leg was being eaten by a fox, or woke in pain if she rolled over in her nest. When Featherwhisker left to fetch more marigold for Mumblefoot’s tick bite, which was stubbornly refusing to heal, Spottedpaw decided to test how far she could walk. She’d been making her dirt in holes behind Featherwhisker’s den but she was determined to go all the way outside the camp this time. Goosefeather had gone out, muttering about finding peace and quiet with the elders, so the medicine den was empty.
Gritting her teeth, Spottedpaw limped through the ferns and hobbled across the clearing. At first her paw throbbed when it touched the ground, but after several steps the pain became easier to bear and she found a way of rolling along that was almost comfortable.
“Hey! You’re up!” Redpaw bounded over to her, his tail sticking straight up. He licked Spottedpaw’s cheek, which almost unbalanced her.
“Careful!” she warned.
Swiftbreeze jumped up from where she had been basking outside the warriors’ den. “Did Featherwhisker say you could leave your nest?” she fretted. “Where is he?” She looked around for the medicine cat.
“He’s gathering herbs,” Spottedpaw admitted. “But look! I’m fine!” She wobbled triumphantly in a small circle.