Leafpool sat back on her haunches. “We should tell Tigerstar.”
“No!” Alderheart stiffened. “We can still cure him.” They were acting like there was no hope.
“Tigerstar should be warned,” Jayfeather murmured.
“Not yet.” Alderheart headed for the entrance. “We’re going to save Puddleshine. Give him feverfew to cool him down and thyme to calm his seizures. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Where are you going?” Leafpool blinked at him.
“Out.” Alderheart left the den and hurried across the clearing. The answer to Puddleshine’s illness must lie with the silverthorn. Alderheart would have to go back to it.
The camp was blue in the dawn light. Squirrelflight was stretching beneath the Highledge. Alderheart guessed she was getting ready to organize the day’s patrols. Graystripe was washing outside the elders’ den. Molewhisker was poking through the remains of the fresh-kill pile, while Cherryfall yawned sleepily in the clearing.
Alderheart nodded to them but didn’t speak. He walked with purpose, and no cat asked where he was going. He padded through the entrance and headed into the woods. Instinct carried him, as though StarClan were guiding his paws. He remembered his dream. The shock of Puddleshine’s seizure had driven it from his thoughts, but now it returned. He could smell the smoke from the fire and see the lushness of the meadow that had blossomed after it had passed. Was it a sign from StarClan? Were they trying to show him the answer?
He shook out his pelt. Don’t be dumb. What did a forest fire have to do with Puddleshine’s illness? It was just a dream. Not every dream held a message.
He followed the trail across the apprentices’ training ground and through the forest to the slope that led to the silverthorn. The sun had lifted above the horizon by the time he arrived, and its light was slicing between the trees.
Alderheart stopped beside the silverthorn. He padded in circles, tasting the air and sniffing the ground. If the silverthorn carried Twoleg poison, how would smelling it help? Frustrated, he lashed his tail. He had to think of something!
As he paced, he saw the deathberry bush shiver. A rabbit hopped from beneath it. Alderheart blinked in surprise. It was the wounded rabbit he’d seen yesterday. It was still limping, but its eyes had brightened. The stench of its infection had lost its bitter tang. It hopped into the sunlight and, lifting its ears in alarm, looked at Alderheart. Panic lit its eyes and it turned and fled.
Alderheart stared after it. Yesterday it could barely hop. Hope flared in his chest. If the rabbit had begun to recover from its infected wound, then so could Puddleshine. Alderheart remembered with a jolt that the rabbit had nibbled deathberries. It should be dead! He padded to the bush, careful not to tread on any fallen berries. He didn’t want poison on his paws. Peering beneath the low branches, he saw that the rabbit had left a makeshift nest in the dried leaves underneath. Leaning in, he examined it. Deathberry seeds were piled in a small heap beneath the bush.
Ducking out, Alderheart’s thoughts quickened. Had the deathberries cured the rabbit? Perhaps eating the flesh and leaving the seeds had given it just enough poison to kill the infection without killing the rabbit. Could it be true?
His dream flashed in his mind once more. The fire hadn’t killed the forest; a meadow had blossomed in its path. It was a sign! Alderheart stiffened with excitement. If I feed deathberries to Puddleshine, they won’t kill him. They’ll save him!
Quickly, Alderheart searched for a dock plant. He found one sprouting at the foot of an oak. Tearing off the largest leaf, he carried it back to the deathberry bush. He plucked berries gingerly with his claws and dropped them onto the leaf. Then he rolled up the leaf, folding the edges in so that the deathberries were safely wrapped. Carrying the bundle gently between his jaws, he headed back to camp. How was he going to persuade Jayfeather and Leafpool that such a desperate cure would work? His heart pounded. He would have to. These deadly berries could be Puddleshine’s only hope.
CHAPTER 5
Twigbranch brushed past an oak trunk, enjoying the tug of the rough bark against her fur. It soothed her.
“Stop dawdling!” Ahead of her, Finleap padded cheerfully between the trees. “We came out here to hunt, not to scratch.”
“I’m coming.” Twigbranch hurried after him.
She had taken Flypaw out at dawn to practice finding prey, but the apprentice had been so sleepy she’d hardly listened to a word Twigbranch had said. She’d yawned when she was meant to be sniffing for rabbit tracks and kept falling behind when Twigbranch was trying to hurry her to the next mouse nest. When Twigbranch had scolded her, Flypaw had moved even more slowly, as though Twigbranch’s criticism had injured her rather than helped her.
Eventually she’d sent Flypaw back to camp to clean out the elders’ den. Early morning training seemed wasted on her apprentice. Instead she’d asked Finleap if he wanted to hunt. They were heading into the forest now. Gentle sunlight dappled the trees. Finleap padded beside her as they climbed the rise where beech grew between the oaks. Twigbranch glanced at him. “Did you find it hard to get up early to train when you were an apprentice?” she asked.
“No.” He blinked at her. “I couldn’t wait to get started.”
“Me neither.” Twigbranch flicked her tail happily as she remembered. “Some mornings I was already waiting outside Ivypool’s den when she woke up. I wanted to be a warrior more than anything else.”
Finleap slowed. “Are you still having trouble with Flypaw?”
“Her heart’s just not in it,” Twigbranch worried. “Or perhaps it is. Perhaps I expect too much from her.”
“She’s just begun training,” Finleap pointed out. “Give her time to find her paws.”
“I’m trying to give her time, but we just don’t seem to connect.” Anxiety pricked in Twigbranch’s belly. “When I correct her or criticize her technique, she takes it personally, like I’m criticizing her.” Her pelt twitched with frustration. “I feel like I can’t tell her anything in case I upset her. I have to tiptoe around her like I’m stalking prey. Sometimes I wonder if I’m training her to be a warrior or she’s training me to be a mouse.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he meowed. “Relationships take time to build.”
“Do you get along with Snappaw?”
Finleap purred. “He’s fun. He can be slow, but he listens and he works hard. He’s going to make a good warrior.”
Twigbranch fought back a twinge of jealousy. How had Finleap gotten the easy apprentice? Perhaps I’m just a bad mentor. Should she try harder to adapt to her apprentice, or simply be tougher and expect more of her?
Finleap whisked his tail. “I smell squirrel.”
Twigbranch froze as he stopped and scanned the forest. She saw a gray tail bobbing over the forest floor a tree-length away. “There!” She dropped into a hunting crouch. Finleap dropped beside her. Together they watched the squirrel stop at the roots of a beech. It rummaged through the leaves caught between the roots and began picking out beechnuts.
Finleap padded forward, moving noiselessly over the forest floor. Twigbranch crept after him, keeping her belly a whisker above the ground so it didn’t brush the leaves. Silently they advanced on the squirrel. It was intent on the beechnuts, nimbly cracking the shells and pulling out their seeds before stuffing them into its mouth. As Twigbranch neared, she glanced at Finleap, looking for a signal to pounce. He caught her eye and nodded her to one side. They split up and, ducking lower, moved to flank the squirrel.