Jayfeather ran his paw slowly over the mouse. “It feels okay. How does it look?” He turned his blind gaze on Alderheart.
“Its eyes are clear.” Alderheart told him. “Its pelt is clean and smooth. I can’t see any blisters or scabs. It looks healthy.”
“It might be healthy.” Squirrelflight padded to join them. “It’s unlikely we found a tainted one first try. But we might be lucky.”
“I don’t know if finding a poisonous mouse is lucky.” Alderheart wrinkled his nose.
“Let’s check inside.” Jayfeather curled his claws into the carcass and tore it open. He sniffed at its innards. “It smells good.”
Alderheart peered closer. “Everything looks pink and healthy.”
Jayfeather sat back on his haunches. “Either we’ve killed a healthy mouse, or this sickness is impossible to detect.”
Squirrelflight frowned, worry worming beneath her pelt. “Or Larksong’s sickness wasn’t caused by a mouse.” She felt suddenly exhausted and sat down. Her head swam.
Alderheart looked at her sharply. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” She gazed at him blearily. Tightness gripped her chest. She stiffened, alarmed. Did she have the same sickness as Larksong?
“Let’s rest here for a while.” Jayfeather padded toward her. He sniffed her muzzle. “Have you eaten today?”
“Not yet,” she told him, dropping onto her belly. Weariness dragged at her bones. “I felt queasy this morning.”
Jayfeather padded around her, sniffing her pelt. “You smell healthy. Are you expecting kits?”
She stiffened. Could it be true? Hope flashed beneath her pelt. Had she been arguing with Bramblestar all this time unaware that she was carrying his kits? She frowned, doubtful. Her last litter hadn’t made her feel like this. She’d felt stronger than ever when she’d been carrying Alderheart and Sparkpelt. And yet perhaps this time was different. If she was expecting kits, she wasn’t ready for Jayfeather and Alderheart to know.
“Are you?” Jayfeather repeated, his blind blue gaze fixed on her.
“No,” she mewed quickly. “I’m probably just hungry.” The dizziness was wearing off and she could breathe deeply again. “I’m starting to feel better.”
“You should eat when we get back,” Jayfeather advised.
Alderheart padded closer, anxiety glittering in his gaze. “Perhaps you’re just tired,” he meowed hopefully.
“Yes.” She blinked at him. “That’s probably what it is.” She got to her paws and shook out her pelt. There was no point in worrying. “Let’s get back to camp and tell them about ShadowClan.”
Jayfeather padded beside her, turning his muzzle toward her from time to time as though worried.
“I’m feeling fine,” she told him as they neared the camp. “Don’t mention this to any cat. Sparkpelt has enough to worry about.”
Jayfeather wasn’t listening. His ears had swiveled toward the camp entrance. Alarm prickled through the fur along his spine. “Something’s wrong.”
Squirrelflight’s heart quickened as he darted forward and ducked through the thorn tunnel.
She hurried after him. “What is it?”
As she burst into camp, she heard anxious murmuring. Jayfeather was already haring toward the medicine den, Alderheart at his heels. Squirrelflight quickly scanned the camp. Blossomfall and Ivypool were clustered around Lilyheart, their eyes dark with worry. Thornclaw and Berrynose leaned close to each other, talking in hushed voices at the edge of the clearing. Bristlepaw, Thriftpaw, and Flippaw sat like owls, watching their Clanmates in wide-eyed silence as Twigbranch paced distractedly below the Highledge.
Finleap hurried to meet her. “You’re back.” His eyes glittered with alarm.
“What’s happened?” Panic shrilled through Squirrelflight’s fur. “Is it Larksong? Is he …” Dead? She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
Finleap stared at her wordlessly.
It must be worse! Squirrelflight felt sick. “Sparkpelt?” Had the kits come? Had there been complications with the birth? Horror swamped her as Finleap nodded slowly.
“She’s sick,” he mewed.
Bramblestar pushed his way out of the medicine den. His eyes flashed as he saw Squirrelflight and he hurried across the clearing. “Don’t be alarmed,” he meowed as he neared. “She’s a strong cat.”
“What happened?” The breath caught in Squirrelflight’s throat.
Bramblestar stopped in front of her, his eyes as round as moons. “She went to rest in the nursery,” he told her. “She’d been complaining of a tight chest. I went to check on her and found she wasn’t breathing.”
The ground seemed to sway beneath Squirrelflight’s paws. “Like Larksong.”
“I fetched Leafpool,” Bramblestar went on. “She got her breathing again, and we took her to the medicine den. Leafpool’s with her now. She’s unconscious, but her breathing is fine. If she has the same sickness as Larksong, it doesn’t seem to have affected her as badly.”
“But she stopped breathing!” Squirrelflight stared at him.
“Her heartbeat is strong,” Bramblestar told her. “And the kits are still moving.”
Squirrelflight’s thoughts whirled. “What if you hadn’t gone to check on her? What if she’d died without anyone realizing she was sick?”
Bramblestar thrust his muzzle against her cheek and held it there. “She didn’t die,” he meowed steadily. “I checked on her and she’s alive.”
Squirrelflight leaned against him, grateful for his warmth. She felt cold to the bone and fought to stop herself shivering. “Can I see her?” She drew away and looked deep into Bramblestar’s eyes.
“Of course.” His gaze shimmered for a moment; then he looked away.
Squirrelflight hurried across the clearing. She pushed through the trailing brambles, her heart racing. Sparkpelt was curled up in a nest beside Larksong’s. Leafpool sat beside her. Alderheart watched anxiously as Jayfeather touched his nose to Sparkpelt’s fur.
The blind medicine cat drew away, frowning. “I’ve never known a sickness that doesn’t smell like sickness.” He shook out his pelt, then nodded to Alderheart, as though coming to a decision. “We’re going to check on every cat in the Clan,” he told him. “If any of them is tired, or has difficulty breathing, we’ll send them to the medicine den. That way we can stop it spreading.” He glanced at Leafpool. “Okay?”
Leafpool nodded. “It’s a good plan.”
As Jayfeather led Alderheart out of the den, Squirrelflight met Leafpool’s gaze. “You saved her life.” Her heart ached with gratitude.
Leafpool dipped her head. “Bramblestar is the one who found her.”
Squirrelflight felt a rush of affection for her mate. It was comforting to know that, whatever had happened between them, he was always there for their kits. She padded to Sparkpelt’s nest. Her daughter looked suddenly small among the bracken fronds. Squirrelflight bent to touch her nose to Sparkpelt’s fur, but Leafpool put out a paw. “Don’t get too close,” she warned. “Until we know what’s causing this, it’s best to stay clear.”
Squirrelflight’s heart seemed to crack. “But she’s my daughter.”
“That doesn’t mean you won’t catch it from her.” Leafpool gazed gently at Squirrelflight.
“Will her kits be okay?” Squirrelflight asked.
“I felt them moving before you came in. They seem strong.”
Squirrelflight hesitated. Should she tell Leafpool about feeling unwell on the way home? No. How could she help her Clan if she were confined to the medicine den? But Leafpool should know about my kits in case I get sick. “I think I may be expecting,” she told Leafpool.
“Really?” Leafpool’s eyes widened with surprise. “Are you sure?”
Doubt tugged in Squirrelflight’s belly. Leafpool had said that she always knew when a cat was expecting kits. Am I wrong? She changed the subject. “How’s Larksong?” She looked at the black tom’s nest. Larksong was barely more than a shadow against the bracken.