Эрин Хантер: Fading Echoes

A scuffle of paws and a sudden “Oof!” were followed by purrs of amusement from Cherrykit.

“That was the worst pounce I’ve ever seen,” Cherrykit squeaked.

“You do better, then!” Molekit challenged.

Jayfeather heard her short, stumpy tail brush the ground as she crouched and prepared for her jump. As she leaped forward, a falling leaf brushed her pelt. Her paws skidded clumsily as surprise flashed through her.

Molekit yowled with amusement. “Nice landing!”

“Shut up!” Cherrykit huffed.

“You’re scared of a leaf!”

“Am not!”

“Are so!”

“Molekit!” Poppyfrost’s mew was stern. “Cherrykit’s your sister. You must encourage her, not tease! True warriors help their Clanmates.”

Molekit scuffed his paws on the ground. “Okay,” he muttered.

The nursery entrance trembled as Ferncloud slid out. Though she had no kits of her own, she preferred to stay in the nursery, along with Daisy, helping the queens as they came and went with the seasons. The two she-cats had helped raise so many kits that, these days, cats were as likely to see young apprentices visit the nursery for advice as the elders’ den. Especially now that Purdy had moved into the honeysuckle bush. Once the old loner started one of his stories, it could be sunset before a young cat got a word in edgewise.

“How are you feeling?” Jayfeather asked Poppyfrost. He sensed the queen’s weariness and felt a pang of sympathy. “The kits are doing well.” He could hear Molekit scampering after Cherrykit.

“Look out!” Graystripe warned, staggering on his hind paws as the kits raced past him.

Poppyfrost purred. Jayfeather stifled an urge to ask exactly what it was about squirming, querulous, hungry kits that made queens so forgiving of the exhaustion, the endless demands, and the squabbles that flared up with every second heartbeat.

“Are you eating and drinking plenty?” he checked.

“I’m fine,” Poppyfrost assured him.

He could smell moss soaked in water lying beside Poppyfrost. It carried Berrynose’s scent. Her mate was obviously making sure she had everything she needed. And judging from the contented aura swirling around the tortoiseshell queen, all the fears she’d had that Berrynose still pined for her sister, Honeyfern, had disappeared.

The memory of Honeyfern, killed by an adder, was still strong in the Clan. Jayfeather sensed it like a lingering scent. But life moved on and Berrynose seemed happy with his new mate. Indeed, the whole Clan seemed content, the camp buzzing with soft mews. It was almost as though the drought had never happened.

Leafpool and Squirrelflight padded through the camp entrance, the fragrant scent of prey clouding around them. Jayfeather snorted, fury rushing anew through his paws. Some things could never be forgotten. Or forgiven. The lies and betrayals that his mother and her littermate had woven around his and Lionblaze’s birth left a taste foul as crow-food in his mouth. If they hadn’t hidden the truth, conspiring like vixens, his sister, Hollyleaf, might never have disappeared behind the mudslide that blocked the tunnels.

Bitterness rose in Jayfeather’s throat. Despite what he and his littermates had been raised to believe, Crowfeather was their father, not Brambleclaw. And it was Leafpool who had kitted them. Squirrelflight had never been their mother.

Mother! As far as Jayfeather was concerned, he had no mother now.

The second hunting patrol returned just before sunhigh. Sorreltail, dozing below Highledge, scrambled to her paws as Cloudtail, Brightheart, and Whitewing dropped their catches on the fresh-kill pile. Thornclaw stretched beside her, purring hungrily at the scent of fresh prey.

But it was a different scent that brought Jayfeather from his den. He’d been half expecting it all morning, ever since Dovepaw had woken him with the news about Mistyfoot.

“RiverClan!” Ferncloud’s alarm set the whole camp stirring, and Firestar bounded down from Highledge as Mistyfoot padded through the thorn tunnel with Mothwing at her heels.

Jayfeather heard Ferncloud’s tail swish the earth as she shooed Molekit and Cherrykit back toward their mother. Hostility prickled from Thornclaw and Dustpelt. Graystripe stopped work on the nursery wall and dropped onto four paws, curiosity pulsing from his pelt.

Firestar crossed the clearing to greet the RiverClan cats. “Is everything all right?”

Mistyfoot halted. “Leopardstar’s dead.”

Jayfeather found himself caught in a flood of memories swirling through Firestar’s mind: a forest fire; a kit rescued from a river; mountains, snowcapped and scented with danger; courage and stubbornness flashing in Leopardstar’s amber gaze. Jayfeather caught his breath as the ThunderClan leader’s grief pierced his own heart.

Mothwing sighed. “We’ve just come from the Moonpool,” she murmured. “Mistystar has received her nine lives.”

Firestar’s whiskers brushed the ground as he dipped his head low. “Mistystar,” he greeted the new RiverClan leader.

“Mistystar,” Graystripe echoed the name respectfully.

“Mistystar, Mistystar.” The RiverClan leader’s new name rippled through the watching Clan. Hostility faded like the morning dew.

Firestar touched noses with the gray she-cat. “How’s RiverClan?” he asked.

“Greenleaf was harsh,” Mistystar admitted. “We rely too much on the lake to survive without it.”

Longtail padded stiffly from the elders’ den, his whiskers twitching with curiosity. Mousefur’s tail rested on his shoulder, guiding him forward as Mistystar went on.

“We lost three elders from thirst and hunger.”

Mousefur tensed. “Who?”

“Blackclaw, Voletooth, and Dawnflower.”

Jayfeather heard Mousefur’s pelt brush Longtail’s as the old she-cat pressed closer to her denmate.

Firestar sat beside Mistystar. “Take some strengthening herbs with you,” he offered.

“Thank you, we will, if you can spare them.”

Jayfeather wondered if Leopardstar would have accepted help so easily.

“Mothwing.” Firestar addressed the RiverClan medicine cat. “Go with Jayfeather. He’ll give you the herbs.”

Jayfeather beckoned Mothwing with his tail. He relished the chance to be alone with her, intrigued about how she had managed Mistystar’s naming ceremony when she didn’t believe in StarClan. He held aside the brambles at the entrance to the den, unable to resist probing Mothwing’s thoughts as she passed. But her mind was empty of everything except the ache in her paws.

“Rest there.” Jayfeather slipped into the medicine store and bundled together some of the newly dried leaves. Carrying the wad in his jaws, he placed it gently at her paws. “I can give you some ointment to soothe your pads,” he offered.

“No, thank you.” Mothwing shifted her weight. “It’s not much farther.”

“But the shore is stony.”

“I’ll treat my paws when I get home,” Mothwing insisted. “I’m already depriving you of enough supplies.”

“We can spare them.” But only just. The parched forest had yielded few herbs over greenleaf, and leaf-bare waited like a fox in the shadows.

“Longtail seems to be stiffer than ever,” Mothwing observed. “Have you tried crushing poppy seed and combining it with marigold and comfrey in a poultice?”

Jayfeather looked at her in surprise. Why had he never thought of that? The poppy seed would reduce the pain at once while the comfrey and marigold worked on the inflammation. “That’s a great idea!”

“It used to work on Voletooth’s shoulder.”

“Thanks.” He spread the herbs in front of her. “There’s tansy, watermint, and feverfew here.” His mind was fizzing with curiosity. How had she felt overseeing Mistystar’s receiving her nine lives? Did she finally believe in StarClan now that she’d seen it for herself?