Erin Hunter - Dovewing’s Silence

Cinderheart bounded over to him. “What happened?”

Lionblaze shook his paws, scattering scarlet drops onto the moss. “I caught it on a root,” he meowed. “I’m okay.”

Cinderheart tipped her head on one side. “Are you sure?” Her voice was heavy with meaning, and Dovewing understood. Lionblaze wasn’t supposed to get hurt like other cats. It was the power that made him invincible in battle. If the Dark Forest cats couldn’t injure him, why should a harmless tree root?

Lionblaze turned back to the hole. “I told you, it’s nothing,” he growled, his voice muffled by flying earth.

Dovewing started digging again. It doesn’t mean anything , she told herself. Lionblaze is exhausted from the battle. He can’t protect himself like he usually does. The buzzing in her ears drowned out the sound of her paws scrabbling in the dirt until Dovewing could hear nothing except her own breathing.

At last the five cats had been laid in their earthy nests and covered over. Purdy checked each one carefully to make sure that no scent clung to the top layer of leaves. “We don’t want to attract anything that might be hungry,” he explained. Dovewing felt a rush of affection for the old cat. At this moment, no one would ever think he wasn’t Clanborn, and had never been a warrior.

The cats trailed back to the hollow and sank down in the clearing, too exhausted to fetch anything from the fresh-kill pile. It was well-stocked with two sparrows and a squirrel; Dovewing guessed that Birchfall and the others had gone hunting. A gesture of reconciliation, she wondered? But she noticed that none of the cats who had been involved in the burials made any effort to thank their Clanmates, or even speak to them. Dovewing winced as Dustpelt walked straight past Birchfall without looking at him. He’s your son! she wanted to yowl. He’s not your enemy!

Night was falling and cats were just starting to stir in search of their temporary nests when the sound of paw steps came from the entrance to the hollow and Bramblestar leaped over the flattened brambles. Jayfeather followed more cautiously, picking his way through the tendrils.

Dovewing stared at the new ThunderClan leader. His dark brown coat looked glossier than before, as if lit by starshine, and his amber eyes glowed. Was that because he had been given nine lives? Dovewing strained to hear the whispers of StarClan warriors around him, but there was nothing but the sound of her Clanmates moving tiredly through the camp. She scolded herself for being fanciful.

Squirrelflight limped over to meet Bramblestar in the center of the hollow. “Welcome back,” she purred, dipping her head. She seemed to be in awe of him too.

Bramblestar looked around and narrowed his eyes when he saw Birchfall, Thornclaw, Mousewhisker, and Blossomfall sitting at the edge of the clearing, a little distance off from the other cats. “What’s going on?” he mewed. “Haven’t you all been burying the others today?”

Squirrelflight moved closer to Bramblestar. She spoke close to his ear, the flicking of her tail-tip betraying her discomfort. Dovewing leaned toward them, straining to hear what the deputy was saying.

“I don’t think that’s a conversation for your ears,” meowed a voice behind her.

Dovewing jumped and looked around to see her mother watching her with concern in her pale blue eyes. “You… you said you can hear things,” Whitewing went on. “Even when you’re not close enough to listen like other cats.”

Dovewing nodded. To her surprise, Whitewing sighed and stroked Dovewing’s shoulder with her tail. “That must feel very strange,” she murmured. “Do you ever get any peace? I wish you had told me sooner. I might have been able to help.”

“It was part of a prophecy,” Dovewing mewed, feeling very uncomfortable. “I was given this power to help the Clans against the Dark Forest. It’s okay, I promise.”

Her mother straightened up, still looking troubled. “If you ever want to talk to me about it, I’m always here.” She nodded toward Bramblestar and Squirrelflight. “And I still think that even if you can hear something, it doesn’t mean that you should .”

Dovewing glanced down at her paws. “It’s okay,” she mewed. “I can’t make out what they’re saying anyway. My ears haven’t stopped buzzing from the battle yet, and my head hurts.”

“Why don’t you go and see if Jayfeather can give you something for that?” Whitewing prompted. “All the injuries have been treated now. There’s no need for you to be in pain.”

Dovewing padded to the entrance to the medicine den and peered through the screen of brambles. “Jayfeather? May I come in?”

The medicine cat’s head appeared through the fronds. His fur stood on end and his face was taut with tension. “Is it urgent?” he snapped. “Leafpool’s asleep and I’m in the middle of changing Foxleap’s dressings.”

“How is he?” Dovewing asked, her belly tightening.

Jayfeather looked over his shoulder at the warrior, who was a faint hunched shape inside the den. Briarlight was propped on her forelegs beside him, licking his ears. “Not good,” Jayfeather replied. “Now, what do you want?”

“It’s okay, it can wait,” Dovewing meowed. She started to back away. “I’ll come back tomorrow if I need to.”

Jayfeather vanished back into the den, leaving Dovewing staring at the quivering brambles. She was used to Jayfeather’s short temper and brisk manner, but this was different. He seemed… frightened. But what could be more terrifying than the attack from the Dark Forest? The battle had been won. Surely there was nothing left to be scared of?

“Ouch! Mind my eyes!”

“Sorry!” Dovewing dropped her end of the bramble and backed off to let Bumblestripe scramble clear. They were working on the collapsed wall of the warriors’ den. Dustpelt was supposed to be supervising but he had vanished; Dovewing guessed he was visiting Ferncloud’s burial place. It had only been two sunrises since they buried the cats who fell in the battle, and neither Dustpelt nor Brackenfur seemed willing to leave their mates alone in their cold earthen nests. None of their Clanmates had challenged them on it; there was nothing but compassion for their unspeakable grief.

The cats who had fought briefly on the side of the Dark Forest, however, were still being treated as if they had greencough. They had taken to sleeping separately in a space behind the elders’ den. Last night Ivypool had joined them, and Dovewing wondered if her sister felt guilty because she seemed to be treated more favorably by the cats who had seen her take on Hawkfrost. Dovewing’s pelt pricked at the injustice of the situation, and she waited for Bramblestar to say something but he was busy with Squirrelflight, organizing patrols to hunt for food and repair the dens.

Bumblestripe nudged Dovewing. “It’s all right, I think I escaped with my sight,” he joked. “Come on, help me untangle this ivy.” They started to unravel the knot of dark green leaves. All the cats were trying to salvage as much of the dens as they could to save having to find fresh leafy branches so late in the season.

Suddenly Cinderheart, who was working on the other side of the wall, let out a soft mew. “Blackstar’s here!”

Dovewing peered around the den and saw the ShadowClan leader hobble into the clearing with his deputy Rowanclaw close beside him—so close, in fact, that their shoulders were touching, as if Rowanclaw was holding his leader upright.