“Help!” Wrenkit squealed happily as Pigeonkit lunged for her. She scrambled through the crack between the rocks and escaped to the far side.
Palebird was curled beside a tussock, watching fondly, her pelt glowing in the early sunshine.
Where’s Hopkit? Talltail looked for the black pelt of the young tom, relieved to see he wasn’t playing with his denmates. He must be resting at last. Hopkit had insisted on practicing his battle moves every day since his injury, despite Barkface’s warnings. Only when Hawkheart had ordered him sternly to his nest on the threat of not being made an apprentice, ever, had the kit given up.
Doespring was standing at the entrance beside Hareflight. “Are you coming, Talltail?”
“Yes.” He began to cross the clearing.
In the sunrises since ShadowClan had drenched the bramble in their scent, Heatherstar had ordered extra border patrols. Reedfeather had already led Mistmouse, Appledawn, and Stagleap out before sunrise. Now Shrewclaw, Ryestalk, and Doespring were preparing to leave.
“Hopkit!”
Talltail halted as Meadowslip’s anxious mew drifted from the nursery.
“Hopkit! Can you hear me?” Heather crunched inside the gorse den. “You’re too hot. Can you make it outside? You need to cool down.”
There was no answer.
Talltail stiffened. “Go without me!” he called to Doespring. “I’ll join the next patrol.”
Doespring frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“I want to check on Hopkit.”
Shrewclaw scowled. “Reedfeather told us Talltail was joining this patrol.”
Hareflight snorted. “Talltail makes his own rules.” There was bitterness in the warrior’s mew.
“Yes, the warrior code doesn’t apply to Talltail.” Shrewclaw barged through the entrance.
Talltail ignored him and headed for the nursery. “Meadowslip?” he called through the entrance.
“Come in!” Meadowslip’s mew was taut with fear.
Talltail pushed his way through the gorse. His nose wrinkled. The den stank of sickness. “Fetch Hawkheart,” he ordered. Meadowslip hesitated. “Now.”
She slid from the den. Talltail leaned into Hopkit’s nest. Heat pulsed from the young tom’s pelt. His eyes were half-open but glazed. “Hopkit?” Talltail thrust his muzzle closer, gagging as the putrid stink of pus bathed his tongue. He grabbed Hopkit’s scruff and hauled him from his nest. He’s burning up! He carried Hopkit out into the frosty air.
Hawkheart was hurrying past the Meeting Hollow, Meadowslip at his tail. He stopped as he caught sight of Hopkit. “Bring him to the medicine den.”
“He needs to cool down,” Talltail growled through clenched jaws.
“I can give him something for the fever.” Hawkheart led the way into his den, clearing away drying herbs to let Talltail lay the kit down on the smooth, sandy floor.
Meadowslip pushed in beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“The infection’s spreading.” The medicine cat sniffed Hopkit’s paw. “I’ll make a poultice.” Muttering under his breath, he turned away.
“Where’s Barkface?” Talltail’s pelt twitched. He wanted the reassurance of his friend. Hopkit was going to be all right, wasn’t he?
“He’s gathering herbs,” Hawkheart meowed over his shoulder.
“Should I go get him?” Talltail offered.
“He’ll be back soon.”
As Hawkheart spoke, the den entrance rustled. Barkface nosed his way in, eyes widening as he saw Talltail, Hopkit, and Meadowslip. He dropped the wad of herbs clamped between his jaws. “What’s wrong?”
Hawkheart didn’t look up from the poultice he was mixing. “Did you get any marigold?”
“There wasn’t any.” Barkface bent down and sniffed Hopkit’s paw. “The infection’s spreading, isn’t it?”
“We need to treat it fast.” Hawkheart glanced at Meadowslip. “Talltail,” he grunted, “take Meadowslip outside. It’s too crowded in here.”
“But I want to be near my kit,” Meadowslip protested.
“You’ll be more use to him if you stay out of the way,” Hawkheart meowed.
Barkface padded around Hopkit and began chewing Hawkheart’s herbs into a pulp. Talltail tried to catch his eye, but the young medicine cat’s gaze was fixed on Hopkit. He turned and nudged Meadowslip toward the entrance. “It’s too hot in here with all of us,” he murmured, coaxing her into the sharp, fresh air.
He paced the frosty grass outside while Meadowslip crouched beside the heather wall. The sun rose above the horizon, shimmering in the pale leaf-bare sky. If only there were snow to pack around the burning kit, Talltail thought. Hawkheart knows what he’s doing. His heart seemed to echo in his chest, hollowed by worry. Barkface is with him too. Hopkit will be okay.
“Talltail?” Barkface slid from the medicine den.
Meadowslip leaped to her paws. “How is he?”
“You can go and see him now.” Barkface nodded her inside. His eyes darkened as he turned toward Talltail. He waited until the she-cat had disappeared into the gorse, then crossed the grass. “The infection’s in his blood,” he whispered to Talltail.
“That’s bad, isn’t it?”
Barkface looked grim. “He could die.”
“Is there anything you can give him?”
“We’ve given him everything we can.” Barkface’s eyes were round with worry. “But it’s leaf-bare. We’re working with wilted herbs, and dried ones. They don’t have the same power as newleaf herbs.”
A groan sounded from the medicine den.
“He’s in pain!” Talltail’s memory flashed back to the rainy night he’d writhed in agony as poison seared in his belly. “Can’t you stop it?”
“Hawkheart’s giving him poppy seeds, but they can only ease it a little.”
“I was really ill when I was in Twolegplace.”
Barkface jerked up his head. “You were?”
“I was saved by a Twoleg.”
“A Twoleg?” Barkface moved closer. “How?”
“I don’t know,” Talltail confessed. “I can hardly remember what happened. But Jake told me that there are medicine Twolegs who cure cats.” Hope flashed in his chest. “Perhaps we could take Hopkit to one.”
Barkface backed away. “No!”
“Why not?” Talltail swished his tail. “I could carry him to Twolegplace and leave him somewhere he’d be found. He’d be cured like I was.”
Barkface stiffened. “You were very lucky,” he growled. “Who knows what would happen to Hopkit? How would he even survive the journey?” His pelt lifted along his spine.
Talltail flinched. “I just want to help.”
“I know.” Barkface’s gaze softened. “But that isn’t the way.”
Talltail glanced balefully toward the medicine den, then turned away. Whiteberry and Lilywhisker were hauling dusty heather from their den.
Whiteberry halted, sitting down to catch his breath. “I can’t wait until we have apprentices again.”
Lilywhisker dragged a bundle of heather stalks across the grass and turned back for more. “We only have one more moon to wait,” she panted.
Flailfoot pushed his way out of the den, struggling with a trailing piece of sheepswool. “I just hope Stagleap remembers to bring fresh wool back from patrol or we’ll be sleeping on bare heather tonight.”
“I can fetch some.” Talltail trotted toward them. He hooked the lump of wool from the Flailfoot’s paw and tossed it away. A flea leaped from it and bit his leg. Grunting, Talltail jerked his head down and cracked the flea between his teeth.
Lilywhisker shook her head. “We try to keep the bedding clean.” She glanced at the older cats and lowered her voice. “Their eyesight isn’t what it used to be. They find fleas hard to spot.”