Jayfeather nipped Briarpaw’s backbone again, a little farther down.
“Ow.”
He nipped again, working his way gradually toward her tail.
With each nip she stiffened, but stifled her mew.
He nipped her lower.
“Aren’t you going to do it again?” she asked.
The question turned Jayfeather’s blood cold. He reached into the nest with one paw and poked a claw into the same spot. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Briarpaw twisted around to see.
“No, don’t look,” said Jayfeather. He dug his claw in harder. “Now?”
Briarpaw started to shake. “I can’t feel anything.” Panic edged her mew.
“What are you doing?” Millie barged past as Jayfeather stuck his claws in hard. “You’re making her bleed!”
“Is he?” Briarpaw struggled to see.
Jayfeather hardly heard them. “You couldn’t feel my claws, could you?” he murmured numbly.
“No,” Briarpaw whispered.
“Your backbone is broken,” Jayfeather told her. “There’s no pain because there’s no feeling past the break.” He pressed his paw gently against her flank. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” she squeaked. “If I can’t feel pain, surely that’s a good thing?”
“You won’t ever be able to feel pain in your legs again,” Jayfeather told her slowly. “You won’t ever feel anything in your hind legs again.”
Millie gasped. “What do you mean? Broken bones mend.”
“Not backbones.”
“How do you know that?”
“Littlecloud had a warrior with the same injury,” he told her.
Briarpaw was craning her head toward him. “What happened to him?” she mewed.
Jayfeather didn’t answer.
“He died, didn’t he?” Briarpaw whimpered.
Jayfeather felt Millie barge into his shoulder, shoving him until she had bundled him right out of the den.
“How could you tell my kit she was going to die?” she hissed. “She can’t feel her legs, that’s all! You’re not fit to be a medicine cat! Do something!”
“What’s going on?” Squirrelflight dashed across the clearing and slid between Jayfeather and her snarling denmate.
“He says she’s going to die!”
Squirrelflight stiffened. “Did you say that, Jayfeather?”
Jayfeather shook his head.
“I didn’t think so.” Squirrelflight’s voice grew calm. “Littlecloud’s patient died. It doesn’t mean Briarpaw will.”
“We can feed her and help her move to keep her healthy,” Jayfeather put in. “If we keep her active, she stands a good chance of beating this.”
Millie’s breath was coming in quick gasps. “She’ll recover?”
“Her legs won’t,” Jayfeather meowed gently. “But she doesn’t have to die.”
Squirrelflight’s tail swished the air. “We need to keep her as active as we can, so that her chest stays clear. If we can do that, she’ll be okay.”
“Okay?” Millie sobbed. “She’ll never hunt. She’ll never be a warrior! She’ll never have kits!”
Graystripe bounded into camp. “What’s happening?” He skidded to a halt at Millie’s side.
“Our poor kit!” Millie buried her muzzle in his shoulder.
The trailing brambles at the entrance to the den swished. “Briarpaw can hear you!” Brightheart hissed. “I think you should come in, Jayfeather, and explain to her exactly what’s happening.”
Squirrelflight’s nose brushed his cheek. “I’ll look after Millie and Graystripe,” she told him.
Heart heavy as a stone, Jayfeather padded into his den. He settled beside Briarpaw’s nest. Panic was flooding in waves from the young cat.
“I’m never going to walk again, am I?”
Jayfeather rested his muzzle on her trembling head. “No,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
CHAPTER 13
“StarClan honors your courage and spirit.” Firestar touched his muzzle to Briarpaw’s head. Watching, Dovepaw felt a surge of excitement.
“I name you Briarlight.”
Bumblestripe and Blossomfall, already named, were the first to start the cheering for ThunderClan’s newest warrior.
“Briarlight, Briarlight!”
The voices of the Clan shook the chilly air and rang up through the hollow into a clear blue sky. Millie and Graystripe pressed against each other, their proud gazes sharpened with grief.
Briarlight shifted her forepaws, propping herself higher, raising her chin. Dovepaw tried not to look at her hind legs, splayed uselessly behind her.
It had been a quarter moon since the tree fell. Dovepaw was weary, like the rest of her Clan. The work of clearing the camp of debris on top of the regular patrols had left every cat exhausted. And with each shortening day, prey was starting to grow leaner and scarcer.
Dovepaw longed for a good night’s sleep. She had been plagued by terrible dreams. If only she’d given more warning, then Longtail might have been saved and Briarlight would be scampering around her littermates right now. A dream had woken Dovepaw only last night: the tree splintering into the clearing yet again, a trapped cat wailing.
Ivypaw!
In every dream it was Ivypaw who was trapped underneath the beech tree, not Briarlight; and in every dream Dovepaw struggled in vain to reach her sister.
“Dovepaw?” Whitewing’s mew brought her back. “Are you all right?”
Dovepaw shook herself. “I’m just glad Briarlight’s got her warrior name.”
“She’s a warrior at heart,” Whitewing murmured.
It was true. Briarlight had never stopped fighting for a moment. Jayfeather had devised exercises to keep her chest clear and strengthen her forelegs. And Briarlight never missed a chance to practice them: stretching and twisting, reaching out with her forepaws until she trembled with the effort and her pelt grew matted. The past few days she’d insisted on fetching her own food from the fresh-kill pile, though her Clanmates often tripped over one another trying to be the first to carry the tastiest morsel to her nest in the medicine den.
“I’ll get my own,” Briarlight had told Cherrykit, who had tried to give her own meal to the injured young cat.
Cherrykit had stared with round eyes at Briarlight as she hauled herself with her forepaws across to the fresh-kill pile.
“Look, Molekit!” Cherrykit had called. “She’s doing it herself!”
Molekit had come running. “Go, Briarlight!” he cheered.
Dovepaw secretly thought the two kits and Jayfeather had been Briarlight’s greatest allies; they alone accepted her entirely as she was now. Millie’s gaze was still clouded with grief, and pity flashed in every warrior’s eyes when they saw the young cat hauling herself across the camp. Mousefur could not even look at Briarlight. She still blamed herself for the tragedy that had killed her best friend and crippled the young warrior.
In spite of their horror, most of the Clan was getting used to Briarlight’s injury. They no longer stared with startled eyes at the medicine den when she wailed and yowled under Jayfeather’s instruction.
“It’ll keep your chest clear,” he’d encouraged. “Yowl your head off if you have to. Your Clanmates won’t mind.”
The treatment seemed to be working. Briarlight’s hind legs were no better, but her fur was sleek, her eyes brighter each day, and her forelegs as strong as any warrior’s.
They didn’t even tremble now as Molekit clawed his way up the newest warrior’s pelt and balanced on her shoulders. “Briarlight!” he cheered.
Millie nosed him off crossly. “Be careful!”
“It’s okay,” Briarlight insisted. “I bet I can carry both of them.”
“Really?” Cherrykit’s eyes sparkled.
“Don’t you dare!” Millie warned the kits.
Graystripe softly pushed his mate away. “Let them have some fun.”
“We’ll be warriors,
too, soon!” Molekit bundled his sister over in a surprise attack.
“You’re not even apprentices!” Briarlight teased.
Dovepaw gazed at her old denmate. How could she act so cheerful?
Whitewing leaned forward and licked her daughter’s ear. “Don’t forget, we’re gathering moss for the new elders’ den.”
How could she forget? For days, she’d been helping to weave the honeysuckle around what was left of the beech branches where the old den had stood. The new den was spacious and strong. Purdy and Mousefur would move in as soon as the new nests were built.
She gazed around the camp, accustomed now to its new shape. The warriors’ den was lost for good, crushed by the trunk. But the thick boughs of the beech, which arched over half the clearing and pressed against one side of the hollow, gave plenty of new shelter. There were plans to shape a brand-new warriors’ den around the thickest of them; rescued branches had already been stacked, ready for construction to begin. The nursery looked safer than a badgers’ set, enclosed in a thick tangle of roots that had been woven where possible to form a protective shell around the old bramble bush.
“Come on.” Whitewing flicked Dovepaw’s flank with her tail-tip. She beckoned to Toadstep and Rosepetal. “Are you ready?”
The two warriors trotted to meet them.
“Where’s Ivypaw?” Dovepaw glanced around the clearing, and spotted her sister slipping in from the dirtplace tunnel.
“I’m coming!” Ivypaw bounded across the clearing. “See you later, Briarlight!” she called cheerfully.
Briarlight had lain down in a spot of weak sunshine, while Molekit and Cherrykit clambered over her. She lifted her head and purred at Ivypaw. “Can’t you take these two with you?”
“I’m afraid you’re stuck with them for another moon yet,” Ivypaw joked.
“Hey!” Molekit objected. “We’d come if we could!”
Ivypaw bounded to a halt beside Toadstep. “A dawdling cat gathers no moss,” she teased the black-and-white tom.
Dovepaw weaved around them. “I bet I collect the most,” she challenged.
Ivypaw shrugged. “If you say so.”
Dovepaw tensed. Ivypaw was acting really weird lately. She’d been like this since the tree fell. Had she guessed Dovepaw’s powers? Was Ivypaw blaming her for not warning the Clan sooner? Dovepaw shook the thought away. Impossible.
She watched her sister race after Toadstep and Rosepetal toward the camp entrance, still not sure if she was imagining Ivypaw’s coldness.
“Watch this!” Ivypaw called to Toadstep as they reached the slope leading down to the shore. She skidded onto her belly and slid three tail-lengths down the soft grass.
“You look like a duck!” Toadstep huffed with amusement.
Rosepetal was watching the pair through narrowed eyes. Had she seen the change in Ivypaw too?
“Right.” Whitewing gazed along the shore. “Let’s see if we can find swan feathers. After all they’ve been through, I expect Purdy and Mousefur will appreciate soft nests.”
“And Briarlight,” Dovepaw added.
Ivypaw rolled her eyes. “Well, of course Briarlight.”
Whitewing flashed her daughter a stern look. “Seeing as you and Toadstep seem to be getting on so well…”
“Not that well!” Toadstep shifted his paws, his fur spiking up with embarrassment.
“However well,” Whitewing went on, “you may as well gather bedding together.”
Ivypaw nudged Toadstep, her eyes sparkling as she relished the young warrior’s discomfort. “Come on,” she mewed. “I’ll race you to the water.” She charged away down the bank, pebbles crunching as she landed gracefully on the shore.
Dovepaw flicked her tail. Ivypaw was even moving like a different cat.
“You and Rosepetal can work together,” Whitewing told Dovepaw. “I’ll be upshore if you need me.” She flicked her tail toward WindClan territory and headed away.
“Where do you want to start?” Rosepetal asked.
“You’re the warrior,” Dovepaw replied. Ivypaw had left her feeling ruffled.
“Yes,” agreed Rosepetal. “But I was hoping you’d have as good a nose for moss as you do for prey.”
Dovepaw glanced at her paws. “I guess the trees around the stream will have the most moss, and there might be feathers caught there too.”
“Right.” Rosepetal headed downshore to where trees lined the stream that raced into the lake.
Dovepaw padded after her. By the time she’d caught up, Rosepetal was already stripping moss from the roots of a tree.
“You head farther upstream,” the dark cream she-cat ordered.
Dovepaw nodded and walked into the chilly shadows of the trees. The stream chattered past her paws as she searched for the mossiest roots.
Suddenly a white flash caught her eye. A feather was bobbing on the breeze. It danced along the forest floor and Dovepaw gave chase. It was long and downy and would make great bedding. She weaved after it through the trees, then pounced, flattening it between her forepaws. “Got you!”
“There you are!” Lionblaze slid from a clump of ferns. “Whitewing said you’d gone this way.”
Dovepaw sat up, startled. “What is it?” A breeze rustled the ferns and lifted her feather, carrying it away through the trees. “Mouse dung!” Dovepaw started after it.
“Feathers can wait!” Lionblaze called her back.
“What about Mousefur’s nest?”
The fur rose along Lionblaze’s spine. “There are more ShadowClan scents inside the border,” he growled. “Something’s going on. The sooner we find out what, the better. They might be planning to invade. They know about the tree. They probably think it’s weakened us.”
Dovepaw sat down crossly. ShadowClan had known about the tree for a quarter moon. They hadn’t invaded yet. She watched her feather flicker out of sight. It’s probably just Tigerheart again. Only StarClan knew what he was up to, but he’d promised there was no danger to ThunderClan. Why would he betray her? They were friends.
“Well?” Lionblaze stared at her. “Have you heard anything from ShadowClan territory? Are they planning something?”
“How would I know?” she answered stubbornly.
Lionblaze rolled his eyes. “Your powers?”
Dovepaw lashed her tail over the forest floor. “If I’d heard something important, don’t you think I’d have told you?”
“You might not know what’s important!”
Dovepaw stood up and faced her mentor. “It’s my power!” A growl rose in her throat. “I don’t tell you how to fight, do I?”
A bramble rustled a few trees farther upstream and Ivypaw popped out. “Hello,” she mewed, her eyes darting from Lionblaze to Dovepaw. “I-I’ve just found the best patch of moss.”
Lionblaze flashed anger at Dovepaw and bounded away into the forest.
“What did he want?” Ivypaw asked. Her mew was softer than it’d been in days.
“He’s my mentor; he was just checking up on me,” Dovepaw snapped, still prickling from Lionblaze.
“But it sounded important.” Ivypaw padded closer. “Why does he think you know what’s going on in ShadowClan?”
Dovepaw tensed. How much had her sister heard? “I don’t know,” she mewed quickly.
“You’re lying!” Ivypaw scowled.
Dovepaw flinched.
Ivypaw leaned closer still. “What is it with you? Why are you always going off to talk with Firestar? Why is Lionblaze always calling you away for secret conversations?”
“They’re just interested in my training.” Dovepaw hated this. With every lie she felt another barrier of thorns spring up between her and Ivypaw.
Ivypaw curled her lip. “Firestar never asks about my training! What makes you so special?”
“It’s not like that, honestly!” Dovepaw’s heart fluttered with panic. “I don’t think I’m special. It’s…” Her voice trailed away. “It’s just complicated.”
Ivypaw t
ook a step backward. “Too complicated to tell your sister? I thought we were best friends!” She glanced away through the trees, her eyes darkening. “Well, you have your secrets; I’ll have mine!”
Secrets? What was Ivypaw talking about?
Suddenly, Dovepaw remembered Ivypaw’s story about the StarClan cat who’d visited her. She dug her claws into the ground, annoyed with herself. Why hadn’t she shown more interest?
“Have you had another dream?” she guessed. “Another visit from StarClan?”
“Jealous now?” Ivypaw sneered. “You weren’t that interested when I tried to tell you before. Too busy chitchatting with Lionblaze. Why should I tell you now? Are you worried I might be more special than you? Are you worried the senior warriors might start taking an interest in me instead?” Rawness edged her mew, and Dovepaw felt a wave of dismay. She hadn’t realized Ivypaw felt like this.
“I-I’m sorry,” she began.
But Ivypaw was already bounding away into the trees. She glanced over her shoulder. “Clearly not sorry enough!”
I’ll explain it all one day! Dovepaw vowed silently to her. Then you’ll understand!
Back in the hollow, Rosepetal and Toadstep dumped the moss in the new elders’ den before hurrying off to find out what duties Brambleclaw had planned for them next.
“You’ll be okay straightening it out?” Rosepetal called to Ivypaw over her shoulder.
“No problem.” The feather wrap muffled Ivypaw’s answer as she slid under the branch arching over the entrance.
Dovepaw followed her sister inside. They worked silently, draping the moss over the bracken that Icecloud and Birchfall had already patted into place at one edge of the den. Late sunlight rippled through the honeysuckle roof, making the den seem underwater.
Wordlessly, Ivypaw unfolded the wrap and placed a pawful on the nest that Dovepaw was shaping.
“Aren’t you going to speak to me at all?” Dovepaw begged.
Ivypaw ignored her. The honeysuckle rustled and Dovepaw turned to see Purdy leading Mousefur into the den.
“See,” purred the old loner. “I told you they’d have the nests ready.” He nodded to Dovepaw and Ivypaw. “They look lovely. Thank you.”
Mousefur stared blankly around the new den. “It’s very big,” she murmured.