Outside the elders’ den, Graystripe pricked his ears. “He might have been too hungry to notice.”
Millie sniffed beside him. “No cat is too hungry to smell sickness in prey. Even a kit would know that kind of sourness.”
Bramblestar fluffed out his fur. “If it’s a new sickness, we wouldn’t recognize it.”
Hollytuft sat back on her haunches beside the fresh-kill pile. “It all smells fresh and healthy to me,” she told Bramblestar.
“We should get rid of it anyway,” Bramblestar answered.
“I’ll see to it.” Squirrelflight wanted something to keep her busy. She headed toward the pile.
“Help her, Hollytuft.” Bramblestar nodded toward the black she-cat, then glanced toward the apprentices’ den. Flippaw and Bristlepaw were watching anxiously from the entrance. “You two can help, too,” he told them.
They hurried out eagerly, as though relieved to be given something to do.
Squirrelflight beckoned them with a flick of her tail and sniffed the mice. “Let’s take them out of camp and bury them in the forest.” She caught Hollytuft’s eye. “We can dig a hole between the brambles at the top of the slope.”
Hollytuft nodded. “We’ll need to dig it deep to stop foxes finding them.”
Flippaw blinked at her. “Why do we care if foxes get sick from this prey?”
“Sickness harms everyone,” she told him. “Do you want a fox carcass rotting near the camp?”
Bristlepaw looked warily at the prey. “What if we get sick from carrying it?”
“We’ll carry it carefully.” Squirrelflight rolled one of the mice closer with her paw. “Let me show you.” She nodded to Hollytuft. “Take Flippaw and start digging,” she ordered. “We’ll bring the prey.”
As Hollytuft and Flippaw headed away, Squirrelflight touched the back of the mouse’s neck with her paw. “This part is like a kit’s scruff,” she told him. “The skin’s tougher here so its mother can carry it.”
Bristlepaw blinked at her. “I never thought about prey having mothers.”
“Everything has a mother.” She pressed her paw into the mouse’s scruff. “You can pick it up using your teeth, but hold it gently. Because the skin is tougher here, it’s less likely to bleed. Draw your lips back and keep your tongue out of the way. You don’t want to swallow any fur or blood.”
Bristlepaw leaned down and took the mouse’s neck gingerly between her jaws. She lifted it up, glancing uncertainly at Squirrelflight.
“That’s good,” she told her. “Now take it to Hollytuft. Be careful not to let it swing too much. The skin might tear.”
As Bristlepaw padded slowly away, Squirrelflight picked up another mouse and headed after her. It had been a while since she’d trained an apprentice, and she’d forgotten the satisfaction of teaching warrior skills to young cats. Was she being selfish in wanting kits of her own? Being part of a Clan was what made warriors strong, not only having kin. Perhaps it was enough to pass her skills to the next generation, no matter whose kit it was. She thought of the Sisters and how they raised their young together. The Clans weren’t so different. Surely her Clanmates were enough like family for her not to need more kin of her own?
Squirrelflight left Hollytuft and Flippaw scraping earth over the hole they’d buried the mice in and headed back toward camp. Her paws were muddy from digging and her muscles ached. Bristlepaw sat back on her haunches, looking pleased with her work.
Hollytuft called after her. “Should I take Flippaw and Bristlepaw hunting to find fresh prey?”
Flippaw and Bristlepaw pricked their ears eagerly.
“Good idea,” Squirrelflight called back. “But don’t hunt where you hunted earlier.” She’d need to find out where today’s prey had been caught before she organized tomorrow’s patrols. If it was prey that had made Larksong sick, ThunderClan would have to be careful about the fresh-kill they brought into the camp.
She hurried through the thorn tunnel and crossed the clearing. Twigbranch and Finleap were laying rain-washed ferns over the bloody patch of earth where the fresh-kill pile had sat. Thornclaw and Birchfall murmured together, their muzzles close. Honeyfur, Berrynose, and Whitewing glanced anxiously at the medicine den.
The brambles at the medicine den’s entrance shivered, and Sparkpelt pushed her way out. Her eyes were clouded with tiredness, her pelt ruffled and unwashed. Leafpool followed her out and began to guide her toward the nursery. Squirrelflight hurried to meet them. “How’s Larksong?” she asked Sparkpelt, searching her daughter’s gaze for a flash of hope. Sparkpelt looked back at her blankly.
“Larksong’s still unconscious,” Leafpool told her. “But he’s stable for now. I’m taking Sparkpelt back to the nursery to rest.”
“I want to stay with Larksong,” Sparkpelt whispered.
“He’s in good paws,” Leafpool promised. “You need to rest. Away from all the fuss. You have to think about your kits.”
“I guess.” Sparkpelt’s tail dragged as she padded toward the nursery.
Leafpool lowered her voice. “I wish I could give her hope, but we still don’t know what’s wrong with Larksong.”
“Go back to the medicine den.” Squirrelflight ignored the fear sparking in her chest. “I’ll look after Sparkpelt.” She hurried to follow her daughter into the nursery.
Inside, Daisy blinked from the shadows. The pale queen’s eyes were round with worry. “Any news?”
Sparkpelt shook her head and slumped into her nest.
“Leafpool, Alderheart, and Jayfeather are doing everything they can,” Squirrelflight told Daisy.
“Do they know what caused it?”
“They’re not sure.”
As Squirrelflight spoke, Sparkpelt lifted her head sharply. Anger flashed in her eyes. “It was something he ate!” She heaved herself to her paws and glared at Squirrelflight. “He said he felt tired after eating so much; then he collapsed and stopped breathing. It has to be the food! We should be doing something about it!”
Squirrelflight blinked at her. “We’ve cleaned out the fresh-kill pile. We can’t do more than that.”
“This should have never happened!” Sparkpelt was bristling.
“Of course not,” Squirrelflight agreed.
“It’ll be okay,” Daisy soothed.
“I don’t know why nobody is saying what’s obvious!” Sparkpelt’s whiskers trembled. “ShadowClan poisoned the fresh-kill pile! They were in the camp this morning, weren’t they?”
“How could they have?” Squirrelflight stared at her in surprise. “We were watching them the whole time.”
“SkyClan watched them too,” Sparkpelt shot back. “But they still managed to poison Sparrowpelt.”
Squirrelflight remembered how Juniperclaw, ShadowClan’s former deputy, had nearly killed a SkyClan warrior by leaving prey laced with deathberries on SkyClan’s fresh-kill pile. The act had driven Leafstar to lead SkyClan away from the lake and had nearly destroyed the Clans. Surely they wouldn’t do it again?
She realized that Sparkpelt was still staring at her. “This isn’t deathberry poisoning. Leafpool would know if it were. Besides, when Juniperclaw poisoned Sparrowpelt, he acted alone,” she argued. “And he’s dead now. Tigerstar would never let such a thing happen again.”
“Really?” Sparkpelt looked unconvinced.
“Of course not.” Squirrelflight’s heart quickened.
“Even when ThunderClan keeps bullying him?” Sparkpelt glared at her. “We won’t let Tigerstar get even with the Sisters after they hurt one of his Clanmates. Why did you have to bring them here in the first place?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Squirrelflight mewed defensively. “I was trying to help SkyClan.”
Sparkpelt wasn’t listening. “Now we’ve made a secret alliance with WindClan. For all we know, Tigerstar’s found out that we sheltered the Sisters too. That would be enough to make him want to hurt us. Bramblestar keeps making decisions that make life hard for ShadowClan. Is he trying to make Tigerstar angry?”