The Sight

Hollykit was about to say yes when she hesitated. If Leafpool saw how many thorns were tangled in Lionkit’s pelt, both kits would be in trouble. “Thanks, but you must have things to do,” she mewed. “I’ll come and get you if I need help.”

“Very well.” Leafpool nodded. Was that a knowing glint Hollykit saw in her amber gaze? Had she guessed that Hollykit was not telling her the whole truth about Lionkit’s injuries?

Not eager to find out, Hollykit picked up the dock leaves in her jaws and trotted out of the medicine den. Her heart sank when she saw that the camp was growing busy. Daisy had come out of the nursery and was warming herself in a spot where the sun’s weak rays were just beginning to reach. Her kits huddled together outside the apprentices’ den, blinking sleep from their eyes. They looked like a single soft cloud, Berrypaw’s creamy fur merging with the gray and white of

Hazelpaw and Mousepaw. Cinderpaw, Honeypaw, and Poppypaw were sharing tongues by the halfrock. Their slender dappled bodies reminded Hollykit of their mother, Sorreltail, who was nosing through the remains of yesterday’s fresh-kill pile with Thornclaw and Spiderleg.

There’s no reason they should think I don’t have permission to be here, Hollykit told herself. She stalked across the clearing, nodding to the apprentices as casually as she could manage. She avoided looking at Thornclaw and Spiderleg. Her paws burned with every step, but she kept her tail high and tried not to look hurried as she approached the nursery.

She reached the entrance unchallenged and scrabbled through with the dock leaves clamped tightly between her jaws.

Ferncloud’s voice startled her. “Where have you been?”

Hollykit dropped the dock leaves and glanced at Lionkit.

She was relieved to see that he’d gotten most of the thorns out of his pelt and smoothed down his fur enough to look as though he’d spent the whole night in his nest.

“I told Ferncloud about the thorn in my bedding,” Lionkit put in hastily.

“I’ve brought some dock leaves for Lionkit’s scratch,”

Hollykit explained to Ferncloud. “Sorry I didn’t ask first, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You should have waited until I was awake and asked permission. But I suppose you were only thinking of your littermate, and I can’t disapprove of that.” Ferncloud sighed.

“Though StarClan knows how thorns got into the nursery in

the first place!” She glanced at her two kits wriggling at her belly. “You must be careful not to carry anything in on your pelts when there are small kits in the nursery.”

“We’ll be extra careful in the future,” Hollykit promised.

She hurried over to Lionkit with the leaves. “Did you get all the thorns out?” she whispered.

“All except one behind my ear,” Lionkit whispered back.

Hollykit licked the back of Lionkit’s ear and felt the thorn.

Gripping it with her teeth she tugged it out.

“I put the rest under the brambles at the edge of the den.”

He flicked his tail to the den wall near his nest. Hollykit went and spat out the thorn with the others.

“We can reach under from outside and drag them out later,” she mewed. “Now, where are the worst scratches?” She began to chew up a dock leaf while Lionkit twisted and pointed with his nose to a sore spot on his flank.

The dock leaf tasted foul. “Yuck!” Hollykit screwed up her nose as she chewed. She leaned down and licked the juice into Lionkit’s scratch, just as Leafpool had shown her. As she dragged her tongue firmly across the wound, Lionkit flinched and let out a squeak of pain.

Hollykit leaped back in alarm.

“Are you two fighting?” Ferncloud asked, not looking up from her kits.

“No,” Lionkit meowed. “The dock juice hurts; that’s all.”

Hollykit felt her tail tremble. She couldn’t do this! Seeing Lionkit’s pain made her feel queasy. But she couldn’t let any of his scratches get infected, and if she was going to become

a medicine cat, she would have to get used to treating patients.

She chewed another horrible-tasting leaf and set to work licking the juice into another scratch. Lionkit only winced this time, but it was enough to send Hollykit leaping away again.

“Sorry!” she squeaked. Then she remembered Leafpool’s advice. It may sting, but it will save a lot more pain later if you do it properly. Focusing on Leafpool’s words, she carried on, forcing herself to ignore Lionkit’s squeaks of pain and the sickening taste of the dock.

“That feels much better,” Lionkit breathed as she tended to his last wound. Hollykit sat back with relief.

Ferncloud looked up. “Why don’t you two go to the fresh-kill pile and have something to eat? Daisy’s in the clearing.

I’m sure she’ll keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t get into any mischief.”

Happy to be able to leave the nursery without breaking any rules, Hollykit hurried out into the clearing, Lionkit on her heels. But the taste of dock had ruined her appetite, and she followed Lionkit to the fresh-kill pile without enthusiasm.

Mousepaw, Hazelpaw, and Berrypaw still sat in the flattened grass patch in front of their den. Mousepaw could hardly keep still. “Brambleclaw told me that our assessment would begin after sunhigh,” he mewed excitedly.

Hollykit pricked her ears. Daisy’s kits had been training for nearly four moons. It wouldn’t be long before they would be made warriors.

“Who’s assessing us?” Berrypaw asked anxiously.

“Brambleclaw wouldn’t tell me,” Mousepaw replied.

“Do you think it’ll be Firestar himself?” Hazelpaw’s tail twitched with excitement.

“Don’t say that!” Berrypaw breathed. “I won’t remember any of my training if I think he’s watching!”

“Can we hunt together?” Hazelpaw asked.

“Spiderleg said it was up to us,” Mousepaw reported.

Ashfur and Whitewing were sharing tongues nearby.

Ashfur’s whiskers twitched with amusement as he overheard the apprentices talking. “You’d be wiser splitting up!” he called over. “On your own, you might just manage to surprise your prey, but the three of you clumping through the forest will scare everything from here to sun-drown-place!”

Whitewing poked him with her snowy paw. “Don’t tease them, Ashfur!” she scolded. “You were an apprentice once.

You must remember how tense you were about your first assessment.”

Brook trotted through the entrance carrying three mice by their tails. Hollykit watched as the Tribe cat dropped her catch on the fresh-kill pile.

Lionkit helped himself to one and began to eat hungrily.

“Thanks, Brook,” he mewed with his mouth full.

Brook eyed him with her soft gray gaze. “You should eat more slowly,” she advised. “In the mountains we say that prey eaten slowly feeds us longer.”

Lionkit looked at her in surprise. “Okay.” He nodded and began to chew more carefully.

Hollykit watched as the mountain cat twisted to smooth down her brown tabby pelt. She had always liked the sound of Brook’s mew—it was low and strange compared with the forest cats’.

A yowl sounded outside the camp entrance, followed by a threatening hiss. Hollykit recognized Honeypaw’s voice.

Honeypaw’s mentor, Sandstorm, raced toward the

entrance tunnel. “Honeypaw?” she called. “What is it?”

Hollykit held her breath. Was the camp being attacked?

Then she heard a friendly yowl of greeting. Sandstorm returned through the thorn tunnel, leading Mothwing, the RiverClan medicine cat, and her apprentice, Willowpaw.

Honeypaw padded after them, her tail bristling with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she mewed. “I didn’t realize who it was. I just smelled RiverClan.”