Yellowfang crept across the marsh, her pads sore from treading on rock-hard mud and ice-rimmed tussocks of grass. Though the snow had melted, the air was still bitterly cold, and Yellowfang’s breath puffed out in a cloud. Reeds poked up at the edge of frozen pools, the rattle of their feathery tops the only thing that broke the silence. There was no sound or scent of prey.
A moon had passed since the kittypet attack, and though the Clan cats’ wounds had healed, their strength hadn’t returned. It seemed as if leaf-bare would go on forever. Every cat was hungry all the time. Yellowfang could feel the bones jutting through her fur, and she couldn’t sleep at night because she felt the pangs of hunger in the bellies of her Clanmates.
We hunt all the time, day and night. And we still can’t find enough to eat. What’s going to happen to us?
She paused, watching Raggedpelt, who was padding along softly a few tail-lengths ahead of her. After a moment he stopped, his ears pricked to listen. Yellowfang slid toward him, following his gaze to a clump of grass about halfway between them. As she drew closer she heard a faint scratching among the brittle stems, and picked up the scent of a shrew.
Raggedpelt signaled to Yellowfang with his tail, then leaped at the clump of grass, swiping it with his forepaws. The shrew panicked and scuttled into the open, heading straight for Yellowfang. She dropped swiftly into the hunter’s crouch, but as she pounced one of her hind paws slipped on a patch of ice and she stumbled, landing awkwardly a tail-length away from her prey. Raggedpelt bounded forward, but he was too late. The shrew darted off, taking refuge in a tangle of scrubby thorns.
“Fox dung!” the tabby tom snarled. “Yellowfang, if that’s the best you can do, you’d better go back to camp.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yellowfang snapped back at him. “Have you never lost a piece of prey? You know we have to keep hunting.”
Raggedpelt snorted, but said no more. As he and Yellowfang turned back toward the trees, Russetpaw and her mentor, Featherstorm, emerged from the shadow of the branches, heading toward the camp. Yellowfang bounded forward to meet them; as she drew closer she saw that Russetpaw was carrying a crow, her ears sticking up from behind a jumble of black feathers.
“You’ve managed to catch something!” Yellowfang meowed. “That’s great! There’s not so much as a mouse stirring out on the marshes.”
“Russetpaw found it,” Featherstorm responded, with an approving look at her apprentice.
Russetpaw’s eyes shone with pride, though Yellowfang noticed that Raggedpelt was bristling with a scowl on his face.
“The Clan will be pleased,” Yellowfang mewed, walking away. “We’ll see you later.” When Featherstorm and her apprentice were out of earshot, she turned to Raggedpelt. “There’s nothing wrong with Featherstorm praising Russetpaw. She deserved it.”
Raggedpelt sniffed. “That crow was a mangy old thing,” he muttered.
Impatience welled up inside Yellowfang and she let it spill over. “I’ve had enough of the way you always treat Russetpaw like a heap of mouse droppings,” she hissed. “It’s not her fault that Hal was her father, too. You have to find a way to deal with it. She’s not just your Clanmate, she’s your sister!”
Raggedpelt halted and stared at her. Too late, Yellowfang remembered that on the night of the battle he had headed for the camp with Boulder before Russetpaw had revealed that she was Hal’s daughter.
So? It won’t hurt him to face up to the truth.
“Don’t ever say that again!” Raggedpelt growled with a lash of his tail. “I have no father. Russetpaw is nothing to me.” He turned his back on her, then glanced over his shoulder to add, “You’re lucky I was there to defend you when he started to attack. You didn’t stand a chance.”
Yellowfang felt her neck fur rise in shock. That’s not how it happened! But she knew there was no point in trying to make Raggedpelt see reason. He was too desperate to distance himself from Twolegplace and the cats who lived there.
Raggedpelt began to stalk away, then stopped, angling his ears toward a nearby clump of reeds. Easing her way around the stalks, Yellowfang spotted a blackbird pecking at the ground with its back to her. Paw step by paw step she crept up on it, while Raggedpelt edged forward on the other side.
StarClan! Don’t let me miss this one. Yellowfang prayed as she dropped into a crouch. Leaping forward, she felt her claws sink into the bird as it fluttered up, then went limp between her paws.
“Great catch!” Raggedpelt exclaimed, padding up. His eyes gleamed; his bad temper had vanished. He bent to sniff the prey, then added, “I wonder when we’ll get our first apprentices. We must be ready to be mentors by now.”
“Sure we are,” Yellowfang responded. “But it might be a while. There’s only Cloudkit in the nursery.”
Raggedpelt nodded. “I want us to be mentors together.” He fixed his warm amber gaze on Yellowfang. “Wouldn’t it be great if I was leader and you were my deputy?” He paused, and Yellowfang caught a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. “That is, if you want to be with me,” he added.
Yellowfang blinked up at his handsome face and troubled eyes. She wished he could always be open to her like this, that he could curb his temper and his occasional obstinate silences. But what must it have been like, growing up without knowing who his father was? And then to discover that his father was a kittypet who wanted nothing to do with him? If Raggedpelt was angry sometimes, or reluctant to talk, wasn’t that understandable? “Of course I want to be with you,” she whispered.
Raggedpelt gave her ear a quick lick. “I’m glad. Now let’s take your prey back to camp,” he mewed.
Several cats clustered around them as Yellowfang dropped her blackbird onto the pitifully small fresh-kill pile.
“Good job, Yellowfang,” Deerleap murmured, making Yellowfang feel warm with pride at the praise from her former mentor. A few more cats congratulated her, too, though she noticed that others turned away with disappointed sniffs.
“Just a scrawny blackbird,” she heard Foxheart complain. “What use is that to any cat?”
Yellowfang ignored her. Since she had entered the camp a strange feeling was creeping over her: a tingling beneath her pelt, as if she was hot and cold at the same time. What’s the matter with me now?
Leaving the cats beside the fresh-kill pile, Yellowfang tried to figure out where the feeling was coming from. Her paws carried her to the elders’ den; thrusting her head inside she saw Littlebird tossing restlessly in her nest. Her eyes were glazed and she was muttering something under her breath.
Oh, no! I’m picking up Littlebird’s fever!
Yellowfang raced across the camp to get Sagewhisker. “Come quickly!” she panted as she slid between the two boulders that formed the entrance to the medicine cat’s den. “Littlebird has a fever.”
Sagewhisker looked up from where she was counting dock leaves. “Okay, fetch the herbs she needs,” she prompted.
“What?” Shock struck Yellowfang like a badger’s paw. “Sagewhisker, have you got bees in your brain? I’m not a medicine cat! I’d give Littlebird the wrong thing. I might even kill her!”
Sagewhisker hesitated for a heartbeat more, then shrugged and headed for the holes where she stored her herbs. Yellowfang could see how far down she had to reach to retrieve a few shriveled borage leaves. The store must be almost empty. Yellowfang felt her fur bristle with fear. There are so few herbs left, and it’s too cold for fresh plants to grow. What will we do, with our cats starving and getting sick?
Sagewhisker turned around with her mouth full of herbs. Nodding to Yellowfang, she padded out of the den. As the medicine cat bounded across the clearing, she passed Raggedpelt, who stood in the middle of the camp looking around. Yellowfang trotted over to him.
“There you are!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you. I thought we’d do some battle training with Foxheart and Wolfstep.” He flicked his tail toward the two young warriors who were waiting eagerly behind him.
Between her hunge
r and the sensations of Littlebird’s fever, Yellowfang knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on practicing battle skills. “No, thanks,” she replied. “I’m going out hunting again.”
“Oh, come on,” Raggedpelt insisted. “We hunted all morning.”
Anger flared up inside Yellowfang. “Fight moves aren’t going to fill our bellies,” she growled. “The Clan needs to find food, not prepare for battles that might not even happen! All the other Clans are too busy trying to fill their bellies to have time to attack us.”
Raggedpelt took a step back, confusion in his eyes. “I thought you wanted to be the best warrior you can be,” he protested. “Let the apprentices hunt. We can’t ignore battle training just because they can’t find enough for us to eat.”
Yellowfang opened her mouth to argue. Since when has it been the job of the apprentices to feed the entire Clan? Especially now, when there’s so little prey to be found.
“Leave her, Raggedpelt.” Foxheart pushed up close to Raggedpelt’s shoulder. “I’ll get Lizardstripe to come with us.”
Raggedpelt nodded; then with a cold look at Yellowfang he turned his back on her and headed across the camp toward the tunnel. For a couple of heartbeats Yellowfang stared after him. Okay, I understand why he behaves the way he does, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it! With an angry shrug, she went to look for Stonetooth. I’ll ask him to send me on another hunting patrol.
Yellowfang found the Clan deputy talking to Cedarstar in the leader’s den among the roots of the big oak tree. As she padded up, she noticed that both cats looked far older than their seasons. They were as skinny as foxes, their muzzles gray with age, their bodies curled together on the damp moss.
They don’t look like the leaders of a strong and powerful Clan. They need newleaf to come, and more prey to fill their bellies.
Pausing at the entrance to the den, Yellowfang dipped her head. Cedarstar roused at the sight of her. “What is it, Yellowfang?”
“I really wanted to speak to Stonetooth,” Yellowfang admitted. “Is there a hunting patrol I could join?”
It was Cedarstar who replied, his voice approving. “You’re working hard, Yellowfang. Make sure you get something to eat before you go out again.”
Stonetooth nodded. “Deerleap is going to lead a patrol with Toadskip and Ashheart,” he meowed, angling his ears toward the fresh-kill pile, where the cats he had named were eating hurriedly. “You can go with them.”
“Thanks!”
Yellowfang dashed off, reported to Deerleap, and grabbed a rather puny shrew from the fresh-kill pile. She was gulping down the last mouthful when Deerleap led the patrol out through the tunnel. The forest still seemed empty of prey. Toadskip caught a mouse that popped up from some roots almost under his nose, but that was all they saw until the walls of the Twolegplace appeared through the trees.
“I hope we don’t go too close,” Ashheart murmured; she and Yellowfang had dropped slightly behind the others. “I don’t want to meet any kittypets. They were crazy to attack like that!”
“They won’t bother us if we stay out of their way,” Yellowfang responded. “Especially now that they realize we didn’t steal Russetpaw and Boulder.”
Ashheart looked unconvinced. “Who knows what kittypets will do? It’s not like they have a warrior code.” She glanced around, flexing her claws as if she expected a battle-hungry kittypet to explode out of the undergrowth. “What was it like when you had to face that big kittypet tom?” she continued. “Were you really scared? Did Raggedpelt save your life?”
Yellowfang didn’t know how to reply. She didn’t want to bolster Raggedpelt’s lie, but she couldn’t give him away to other cats. “I guess …” she mumbled. “It all happened so fast.”
“The kittypets fought better than I’d expected,” Ashheart went on; Yellowfang was relieved that she didn’t probe any further into Hal’s death. “But it’s not like they’ve had warrior training. Which of our battle moves do you think worked best against them?”
At that moment Yellowfang realized that Deerleap had turned back and was padding toward them.
“We’re supposed to be hunting, in case you hadn’t noticed,” the older she-cat rasped. “And here you are, chattering like a pair of starlings.”
“Sorry, Deerleap,” Yellowfang mewed.
“I should think so. Yellowfang, you see what you can find in that bramble thicket. Ashheart, try that bracken over there. Honestly, I shouldn’t have to split you up like a couple of apprentices before you do any work.”
Her pelt hot with shame, Yellowfang headed for the brambles. Parting her jaws to taste the air, she picked up the faint trace of something green and growing. Following the scent trail, Yellowfang came to a piece of bark lying at the edge of the thicket. Turning it over with one paw, she discovered a few stems of coltsfoot, the bright yellow petals just beginning to show in the green buds. The bark and the brambles must have sheltered them from the worst of the icy weather.
Coltsfoot—that’s good for coughs, Yellowfang thought with satisfaction. Carefully she nipped off the stems with her teeth and carried them away from the brambles. Looking up, she saw that Toadskip and Deerleap were watching her with puzzled expressions.
“You’re supposed to be hunting things we can eat,” Toadskip pointed out.
“But Sagewhisker needs these!” Yellowfang protested around the mouthful of stems.
Deerleap nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Leave them on the ground now, while you look for prey.”
“Sorry, I can’t,” Yellowfang apologized. “If I put them on the ground they’ll wither and freeze. I need to take them back to Sagewhisker right away.”
Deerleap and Toadskip exchanged a glance. “For StarClan’s sake!” Toadskip muttered.
“You’d better go, then,” Deerleap meowed after a moment’s pause. “But be as quick as you can, and come right back.”
Yellowfang nodded and bounded off in the direction of the camp. Hope soared inside her. Herbs are beginning to grow again. Newleaf can’t be far off!
As she approached the camp, she spotted Raggedpelt and Foxheart standing with jaws parted as if they were trying to pick up a scent.
Are they hunting after all? Yellowfang wondered, annoyed after Raggedpelt had made such a fuss about battle training.
“I can scent Lizardstripe,” Raggedpelt mewed as Yellowfang approached. “I think she’s hiding in that hazel thicket.”
“You’re such a great tracker, Raggedpelt,” Foxheart gushed. “Let’s see if we can creep up on her without her hearing us.”
Side by side the two warriors crept through the grass, only to halt as Yellowfang padded up.
“Herbs?” Raggedpelt asked, staring at Yellowfang’s mouthful. “Weren’t you supposed to be hunting?”
Yellowfang rested her bundle carefully on one of her paws. “Sagewhisker needs these,” she mewed.
Raggedpelt rolled his eyes. “Then Sagewhisker should ask the apprentices to gather them for her, not warriors!”
“It’s not like it’s hard,” Foxheart put in.
“It’s a warrior’s duty to care for the Clan,” Yellowfang snapped. “That means collecting herbs as well as hunting for food and fighting.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Raggedpelt’s tail-tip twitched. “You’re not a medicine cat, so sick Clanmates are not your responsibility. Any cat would think you didn’t want to be a warrior.”
“Of course I want to be a warrior,” Yellowfang retorted.
“Then let me know when you want to start battle training again,” Raggedpelt meowed, brushing past her. “Hey, Lizardstripe, come on out! We know you’re in there!”
Yellowfang headed into the camp, wincing at the wall of pain and hunger that hit her as soon as she emerged from the tunnel. I wish I could tell Raggedpelt how I feel when my Clanmates are in pain. But I know he would never understand. She sighed. I didn’t ask for this! I just want to be a warrior!
CHAPTER 17
Yellowfang woke w
ith a jerk and realized she couldn’t breathe. StarClan, help me! She scrabbled with her paws, trying to push away the moss that she thought was suffocating her. But her feet closed on empty air. There was no moss on top of her. She opened her eyes and looked around the den. All the other warriors were sleeping, their flanks rising and falling gently as they breathed.
By now, each wheezing gasp of air took a massive effort. Yellowfang stumbled to her paws and staggered out of the den, barely managing to avoid Nutwhisker, who was curled up in his nest. Cold gripped her as she emerged into the clearing, as if claws of ice were sinking deep into her pelt. The stars glittered in a clear, black sky. Nothing stirred in the camp, but Yellowfang could hear the murmuring of voices coming from the elders’ den.
Still struggling to breathe, Yellowfang limped across the clearing. As she approached the den, she could hear the same rasping breaths, and Lizardfang’s voice meowing, “You can’t go on like this, Littlebird. You need Sagewhisker.”
Yellowfang glanced into the den and saw Littlebird lying in the moss, her chest heaving as she fought to breathe. Lizardfang was looking on helplessly while he stroked Littlebird’s shoulder with one paw.
“I’ll fetch Sagewhisker,” Yellowfang meowed.
When Yellowfang reached the medicine cat’s den, Sagewhisker was curled up in her nest, so deeply asleep that it took several heartbeats to wake her. Yellowfang guessed that she was exhausted from caring for all the cats who had fallen ill from cold and hunger. Once she roused, she blinked up at Yellowfang in confusion. “Wha’?”
Growing impatient, Yellowfang crossed the den to the holes where the herbs were stored and pushed back the ferns that covered them. The coltsfoot she had gathered two sunrises ago had already been used, but she found a few withered juniper berries at the bottom of one hole.
Snagging a single berry on her claw, Yellowfang took it to Sagewhisker and thrust it under her nose. “Littlebird can’t breathe,” she told the medicine cat. “This will help, right?”
Sagewhisker nodded wearily. “Call me if there’s a problem,” she murmured.