Longtail came over for a sniff, but he didn’t recognize the herbs either.
Jayfeather sighed. “Okay, we’ll keep trying.”
“I think you’ve got bees in your brain,” Mousefur meowed as she settled down for a nap.
Jayfeather was eating a vole near the fresh-kill pile when he heard Firestar padding past him, on his way to the medicine cats’ den. Gulping down the last couple of mouthfuls, he followed, standing just outside the bramble screen so that he could hear what the Clan leader had to say.
“Leafpool, I wanted to ask you…” Firestar sounded almost embarrassed.
“Yes?” Leafpool prompted, an edge to her tone.
“I just wondered whether you’ve had a chance to speak with StarClan yet.” Jayfeather could tell that the Clan leader wanted to sound casual, as if the question didn’t really matter, but he was failing miserably.
Jayfeather’s belly clenched as he wondered what Leafpool’s answer would be; then he made himself relax. The whole Clan would know about it if Leafpool had spoken to Ashfur!
“No!” Leafpool snapped. “If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Oh, okay…thanks.” Firestar edged out of the den, paused, and then bounded off, not even noticing Jayfeather.
Why doesn’t Leafpool want to talk to StarClan? Jayfeather wondered. What is she so afraid of?
His paws itched to get out of the camp, maybe go down to the lake, find the stick, and see if Rock would talk to him again. But Rock had told him to look for answers here, among his own Clan. StarClan, why aren’t you helping me? Jayfeather demanded silently. Isn’t that your job, to guide the Clans?
As if in answer to his unspoken plea, Sandstorm padded across the clearing and halted beside him. “Do you want to go for a walk in the forest with me?”
Jayfeather twitched his ears in surprise. “What for?”
Sandstorm let out a faint purr of amusement. “Can’t I just want your company? No, you’re right,” she added. “I do need to talk to you, somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”
“Okay,” Jayfeather agreed. “But I’ll have to ask Leafpool first. She’s…well, she’s a bit touchy just now.”
“I know,” Sandstorm told him. “Wait there.” She brushed past the bramble screen, and Jayfeather heard her meow, “Leafpool, I’m borrowing Jayfeather for a bit. We’re going into the forest.”
“All right,” Leafpool replied, though she sounded grudging as she gave permission. “Tell him to fetch some tansy back with him.”
Jayfeather’s paws tingled as he followed Sandstorm through the gorse tunnel and along the trail that led toward the WindClan border. He had always respected the ginger she-cat, and even though he now knew that she wasn’t his kin, he still trusted her.
Sandstorm said nothing particularly helpful as she followed the stream that marked the border with WindClan. Jayfeather listened impatiently to her comments about how the prey was running and whether WindClan was likely to make a raid across the border. But he didn’t object; he knew the she-cat wouldn’t talk until she was ready.
Eventually they reached the spot where the trees gave way to moorland, and a cold wind came whistling down from the ridge that stretched all the way to the Moonpool.
“Let’s rest for a while,” Sandstorm suggested, sitting at the edge of the stream.
Jayfeather padded over to join her, turning until the wind was in his face, enjoying the snow-scented blast that flattened his pelt to his sides.
“Jayfeather,” Sandstorm began, “do you think Leafpool is all right? She seems very tense lately.”
So that’s what it’s about! “I’ve noticed that too,” he replied cautiously.
“Is it the strain of dealing with the greencough?” Sandstorm guessed. “Or something worse? Do…do you think it’s possible she’s blaming herself for Ashfur’s death?”
Jayfeather sank his claws into the grass to steady himself.
I didn’t see that coming! He wanted to tell Sandstorm that the death of Ashfur had nothing to do with Leafpool. I can guarantee it! But he knew how stupid it would be to voice his certainty. It would provoke questions from Sandstorm—questions that he had no way of answering without bringing the whole of ThunderClan crashing down around his ears.
“I don’t think so,” he murmured.
“Perhaps she feels she ought to have predicted his death, or stopped it somehow,” Sandstorm went on. “Or maybe she thinks she should be able to visit him in StarClan and find out the truth.”
Jayfeather froze. So Firestar hasn’t told Sandstorm that he asked Leafpool to find Ashfur and talk to him. How many more cats have secrets from one another?
“I think Leafpool’s tired from dealing with the greencough,” he mewed, knowing he would have to say something to explain his mentor’s strange mood. “And I know she’s worried about Whitewing’s kits being born in such a cold season. Besides, every cat is still grieving for Ashfur.” Well, maybe not every cat… Jayfeather curled up his claws as the lie slipped out.
“You could be right,” Sandstorm sighed. “Firestar and I are both worried about her. After all she’s not just our medicine cat, she’s our daughter, too. Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight would feel just the same about you if you were in trouble.”
Or not…Jayfeather found it hard to nod seriously, hoping that his expression showed none of the turmoil he felt.
“You’ll tell me if you find out anything else?” Sandstorm mewed.
“Of course.” Of course not! As he followed the ginger she-cat back to the camp, Jayfeather wondered which cat would be the next to probe his secrets, and how long the terrible things he knew could stay hidden.
“Into the nursery now, kits,” Daisy mewed gently. “It’s time you were asleep.”
“But WindClan are attacking us!” Rosekit protested. “And I’m going to be Clan leader and fight them off!”
“You can be Clan leader tomorrow,” Daisy promised.
Jayfeather listened as the kits tumbled into the nursery, their high-pitched voices fading. A chill night breeze ruffled his fur; stretching, he padded off toward his den.
Two sunrises had passed since his conversation with Sandstorm. Leafpool was still touchy, and Jayfeather still didn’t know why. His mentor was afraid of something, that much he was sure of, but he didn’t dare ask for an explanation.
He had just reached the bramble screen when he heard a yowl from Cloudtail, who was on guard duty at the end of the thorn tunnel. “Brambleclaw! Brackenfur! Hey, they’re back!”
Rustling came from the warriors’ den as cats bounded out into the open. Several of them raced past Jayfeather to greet the returning patrol. Jayfeather followed, but hung back, trying to make sense of the mingled scents as the cats slipped through the thorn tunnel and into the camp. Brambleclaw was in the lead, followed by Brackenfur. A shiver passed through Jayfeather’s pelt as he recognized the scent of Sol. The loner stepped calmly out of the tunnel and paused at the entrance before padding forward into the camp. Confidence radiated from him; this was no prisoner dragged back to answer for his crimes.
A flurry of excited speculation broke out among the Clan cats.
“That’s Sol!”
“They found him!”
“He looks so calm,” Brightheart mewed, sounding confused. “Surely he wouldn’t look like that if he had killed Ashfur?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that cat,” Dustpelt growled. “Look what he did to ShadowClan.”
“What’s Firestar going to do with him?” That was Foxpaw’s voice, quivering with excitement. “I think he should rip his pelt off and leave him for the crows.”
“No.” Graystripe’s voice rose strongly above the babble. “That isn’t how Firestar does things. He’ll talk to Sol and find out the truth.”