Эрин Хантер - The Raging Storm

Scorchfur was glaring at Bramblestar. “Where is Puddleshine?”

Alderheart’s belly tightened. He stepped forward. “He’s too sick to travel.”

Scorchfur bristled. “Haven’t you treated his wounds?”

“Of course he has.” Bramblestar gazed evenly at the ShadowClan warrior. “But Puddleshine’s injuries are healing more slowly than expected.”

“I’ve dressed them with marigold and horsetail, but infection has taken hold,” Alderheart fought back anxiety as he tried to explain. “I don’t know how. I’m trying to clear it, but I haven’t found the right herb yet.”

Tawnypelt’s gaze sharpened. “You have three medicine cats!” she snapped. “Surely one of you is skillful enough to cure a silverthorn scratch?” She didn’t wait for an answer but marched toward the medicine den. Bramblestar hurried after her as she pushed past Alderheart and into the den. Scorchfur sat down in the clearing, his gaze mistrustful. Dovewing was admiring Ivypool’s kits, her whiskers twitching fondly as they slid beneath her belly, purring while their mother watched happily.

Alderheart squared his shoulders and followed Tawnypelt and Bramblestar into the den.

Tawnypelt was already sniffing Puddleshine while Jayfeather busied himself soaking nettles in the shallow pool at the back of the den. “He smells terrible. Haven’t you been taking care of him?”

Puddleshine looked at her through fever-hazed eyes. “Alderheart has done everything I would have done,” he meowed.

“The smell is something to do with the wounds.” Alderheart hurried to Puddleshine’s nest. “It’s not an infection I’ve seen before.”

“An infection is an infection,” Tawnypelt snapped.

Puddleshine shifted with a grimace. “Alderheart’s doing his best.”

Jayfeather looked up from his work. “Not everything is curable with a poultice and a prayer to StarClan,” he told Tawnypelt. “And getting angry isn’t going to help. Puddleshine clearly can’t walk home, and besides, there’s no one there to treat his wounds.”

“Alderheart can go with him,” Tawnypelt meowed.

“I’m not taking Alderheart away from his Clan,” Puddleshine meowed firmly. “I’ll stay here another few days until Alderheart has managed to treat the infection, and then I’ll return.”

“Who’s going to look after ShadowClan in the meantime?” Tawnypelt demanded.

“Is some cat sick?” Puddleshine asked, anxiety sparking in his gaze.

“No,” Tawnypelt admitted.

Bramblestar steered the ShadowClan warrior gently away from Puddleshine’s nest. “Let him rest,” he meowed softly, laying his tail across her back comfortingly. Tawnypelt relaxed a little beneath his touch, and for a moment, Alderheart thought how strange it was that he sometimes forgot his father had a sister in ShadowClan. “We’ll escort him home as soon as he’s well enough. We know he is needed back in your camp, but in the meantime, if there are illnesses or injuries in ShadowClan, send for us and I will gladly spare Alderheart or Leafpool to help.”

Tawnypelt frowned and then nodded curtly. “Okay.” Her gaze softened as she looked back at Puddleshine. “Get well,” she told him. “We miss you.”

Puddleshine blinked at her gratefully and she headed out of the den.

Jayfeather left the nettles soaking in the pool as Tawnypelt and Bramblestar disappeared. He padded to Puddleshine’s nest. “This is an infection I’ve never seen before,” he mewed thoughtfully. “And that smell!” He wrinkled his nose.

Alderheart could smell it too. It had grown worse day by day and now carried the putrid scent of decay. Fear wormed beneath his fur. “It must be the pus,” he mewed anxiously.

Jayfeather sniffed Puddleshine. “It’s all of him,” he mewed. “As if the infection has spread right into his fur. It’s even on his breath.”

“We need to find an herb that will fight the infection from the inside,” Alderheart speculated.

Jayfeather narrowed his eyes. “Have you tried marigold and goldenrod?”

“In poultices,” Alderheart told him.

“He could swallow some,” Jayfeather suggested.

“Won’t they make him sick?” Alderheart frowned.

“What about horsetail?” Puddleshine looked toward the crack where the herbs were stored. “That’s good for infections.”

“But we only use it in ointments,” Alderheart reminded him.

Puddleshine’s ear twitched. “Jayfeather could be right. I might have to swallow the herbs to make them work. Putting them directly on the wound isn’t helping.”

“Okay.” Jayfeather headed toward the store. “Let’s start with marigold. I’m certain that won’t make you sick.”

“Puddleshine mentioned an herb I wasn’t familiar with that could dry up the wounds. It’s called wood sorrel. He told me what it smells like. I could go out and find some,” Alderheart offered.

“Do it now while I try this.” Jayfeather reached into the crack and pulled out a bundle of dried marigold.

Alderheart blinked at Puddleshine. “Don’t worry,” he told him. “We’re going to find out what’s wrong and how to cure it.”

Puddleshine purred weakly.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Alderheart turned to the den entrance. He’d bring back wood sorrel, but he had a second plan in mind. He wanted to return to the silverthorn where Puddleshine had been injured. He might find a clue there about what had made the ShadowClan medicine cat so ill. Had something strange gotten into Puddleshine’s wound? If he could study what had infected Puddleshine, it might help him work out how to cure him.

Quickly, he crossed the clearing. Dovewing had left with her Clanmates. He could smell the ShadowClan patrol’s scent still strong at the camp entrance. Ivypool’s kits were chatting excitedly.

“We have ShadowClan kin!” Bristlekit sounded proud.

“Can we go and live in ShadowClan one day too?” Flipkit asked his mother.

“Hush!” Ivypool’s pelt bristled with alarm. She glanced around nervously. “You must never say that again. A warrior is loyal to the Clan they were born in.”

“But Dovewing wasn’t loyal,” Bristlekit mewed.

Alderheart ducked out of camp, his heart aching with pity for Ivypool. How could she defend her sister while teaching her kits that, without loyalty, the warrior code was hollow? He followed the route the ShadowClan cats had taken to the border, but peeled away from it as he reached a dip in the forest floor. He crossed it and headed deeper into the oak forest, following a long swath of nettles that flourished where the canopy opened in a slit overhead. This trail would take him straight to the silverthorn. He could investigate it thoroughly, and find the wood sorrel on his way back to camp.

Sunshine glittered through the leaves overhead. Fresh scents filled the air. Alderheart wondered if Leafpool had gathered many herbs. It would be good to have fresh leaves to work with again. He crossed the clearing the apprentices trained on. The sticks that had littered it had been cleared neatly to one side. As he pushed through the bracken on the far side, he tasted ShadowClan scents drifting from the border. The markers were fresh. He leaped the twining roots of an oak and ran up the short slope that led to the scent line. The silverthorn glinted in the shafts of sunlight piercing the canopy. Alderheart pulled up a few tail-lengths away and sniffed the air. There were no strange scents here, nothing that would explain Puddleshine’s infection. He could smell rabbit. One must have a burrow nearby. Sniffing the earth, he padded closer to the silverthorn, his gaze flicking ahead of him, scanning for clues. A deathberry bush sprouted beneath a rowan a few trees away. The berries that had survived leaf-bare clustered on the tips of the branches. Alderheart frowned. Could the juice of a deathberry be the cause of Puddleshine’s infection? He scanned the earth where the medicine cat had been trapped. There was no sign of berries there. He reached gingerly through the silver vine and rubbed the ground with his paw, then sniffed it. He could smell nothing but forest scents and a faint trace of Puddleshine’s blood.