Эрин Хантер - Legends of the Clans

“I think Stormtail is sick,” Spottedpaw blurted out.

The medicine cat put down the leaf he was unfurling and looked at her. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s not walking properly, his muzzle is dry, and his breath smells bad. And he drank nearly all the water from the elders’ moss before he went on patrol. I don’t know if he’s eating, either. He’s so thin!”

Featherwhisker’s eyes darkened. “You’re right. I’d noticed he was looking rather bony, but I assumed he’d had an upset stomach and not wanted to bother me. But if his muzzle is dry and he’s that thirsty… He shouldn’t have gone on patrol, that’s for sure. Do you know where they were headed?”

“Up past Snakerocks to the Thunderpath.”

“Right, I’ll go after them and bring Stormtail back. Thanks for letting me know, Spottedpaw.”

Featherwhisker was halfway through the ferns when there was a commotion in the clearing and a pale gray shape bundled into him.

“Whoa, White-eye!” Featherwhisker meowed. “What’s the rush?”

The she-cat bounced back onto her haunches. “I’ve got a thorn in my eye!” she spat. “It caught me as I was coming out of the den, would you believe it?”

“Okay, let me take a look,” Featherwhisker mewed, and he guided White-eye to the little space outside his den. The she-cat lurched beside him, letting out a little moan of fear. Spottedpaw felt her belly flip over. White-eye was already blind on one side, but it was her good eye that was closed and weeping from the thorn scratch.

Featherwhisker gently pried open her eyelid. “The thorn isn’t there now, thank StarClan. Let me bathe it with some marigold and you should be fine.”

White-eye sagged with relief. “I’m so scared of losing that one as well,” she murmured.

The medicine cat stroked her shoulder with his tail. “I would be, too.” He looked over White-eye’s head at Spottedpaw. “Can you get Stormtail, please? I want to treat White-eye first.”

“Of course!” Spottedpaw jumped up and pushed her way through the ferns.

Thrushpelt was washing his chest outside the warriors’ den. “Hey, Spottedpaw!” he called. “You need to clean out the elders’ den today, remember?”

“I’ll do it later,” Spottedpaw called back. “I have to do something for Featherwhisker first.”

Thrushpelt narrowed his eyes. “You’re not his apprentice.”

“This is really important,” Spottedpaw snapped. “Stormtail’s sick!”

She brushed past her mentor and hurtled through the gorse tunnel. As she plunged into the trees above the ravine, she flashed back to her dream of fighting for her life in a dense, shadowed forest, and for a moment her paws froze. Then she shook herself. She was in her own territory now, and there were no enemies here. Just a sick warrior who needed her help.

She raced along the path that led past Snakerocks and skidded to a halt at the edge of a thick swath of brambles. She could hear monsters rumbling along the Thunderpath on the other side. She swiveled her ears, trying to pick up the sound of the patrol. A crackle of twigs made her spin toward Twolegplace and struggle through the long grass around the edge of the brambles. She burst through a clump of dead bracken and came face-to-face with Thistleclaw.

“Spottedpaw! Are you looking for me?” he meowed.

She shook her head. “No, Stormtail. Is he with you?” She peered past him.

Bluefur was renewing a scent marker on a crooked oak tree. “What are you doing here, Spottedpaw? You’re not on this patrol.”

“I need to find Stormtail,” Spottedpaw panted. “Featherwhisker sent me to get him.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thistleclaw’s eyes darken.

“You’re looking for Stormtail?” meowed Speckletail, joining them. She glanced over her shoulder. “I thought he was behind me, but he seems to have disappeared.”

“He must have stopped to check the scent marker beside the Thunderpath,” Bluefur mewed.

“Actually I’ve just done that one,” mewed Rosetail, popping up from a clump of grass.

“Where’s he gone?” muttered Speckletail.

“We have to find him!” Spottedpaw cried. She plunged past the warriors and followed the trail they had left, marked out by fresh scent and evidence of broken twigs and crushed grass. Behind her, she heard Speckletail ordering the rest of the patrol to spread out and look for their Clanmate. Spottedpaw paused at a spot where the trail seemed to separate and opened her muzzle wide to taste the air. The breeze carried the faintest tang of a rank, stale scent. Spottedpaw tensed. That’s Stormtail!

She bounded toward the smell, flattening her ears to keep them out of the way of the brambles. “Stormtail! Are you there?” she yowled.

She stopped to listen, but there was only the alarmed chack of a blackbird startled from a holly bush. Startled by what? Spottedpaw wondered. She headed toward the bush, and at once the stale scent grew stronger. A blue-gray shape was slumped beneath the holly, as still as a boulder.

“I’ve found him!” Spottedpaw screeched. She raced over to Stormtail and pressed her cheek to his muzzle. She felt the faintest stir of air against her whiskers. He’s alive! Bracken crackled as the rest of the patrol joined her.

“Great StarClan!” Speckletail swore. “Thistleclaw, Bluefur, get either side of Stormtail and prop him up. Rosetail, you take the weight of his haunches.” The tabby she-cat looked around. “Spottedpaw, you carry his tail, make sure it doesn’t catch on any thorns.”

Spottedpaw nodded and picked up the warrior’s heavy tail in her jaws. The other warriors clustered around him and boosted him to his paws. His head hung down and his eyes stayed closed, but at least he was breathing—ragged, gasping breaths that made his scrawny flanks heave.

It seemed to take a moon to get Stormtail back to the camp, with every root and tendril snagging his limp paws or clutching at his drooping muzzle. When they reached the top of the ravine, Speckletail ordered Spottedpaw to run ahead and let Featherwhisker know they were here. The medicine cat had already prepared a nest of soft moss, with more soaked moss close by for Stormtail to drink. The warriors eased the sick cat carefully through the ferns and laid him down in front of Featherwhisker, whose eyes darkened as he studied Stormtail’s limp shape.

“He has the thirsting sickness,” he murmured, and Spottedpaw pricked her ears, straining to hear from the back of the cluster of warriors. “I cannot cure it, but I can make him more comfortable.” The medicine cat tucked Stormtail’s legs under him and pushed the soaked moss against his muzzle. The warrior stirred and lapped feebly at the touch of water. Bluefur crouched beside him. “You’re safe now,” she whispered. “You’re in Featherwhisker’s den, and he’s going to take care of you.”

Spottedpaw felt a flash of indignation. No thanks to Bluefur, who had insisted Stormtail was well enough to go on the patrol!

“Leave us alone now,” Featherwhisker mewed softly. He looked at Bluefur. “Don’t worry. I will take good care of your father.”

Spottedpaw followed the warriors into the clearing. Bluefur was standing alone beside the tree stump, her tail drooping. Spottedpaw marched up to her. “You shouldn’t have forced Stormtail to join the patrol!” she meowed fiercely.

The she-cat looked startled. “I didn’t force him!”

“You didn’t listen to me either,” Spottedpaw growled. “I told you he was sick.”

“You’re not a medicine cat!” Bluefur retorted. “Why should I have listened to you?” She stomped away, flicking her tail in disgust.

Thrushpelt padded over to Spottedpaw. “I hear you’ve been a bit of a hero,” he meowed. “Stormtail will be very grateful when he’s better.” There was an edge to the warrior’s tone that made Spottedpaw glance warily up at him. Thrushpelt nodded toward the gorse tunnel. “I think we need to talk.”