arrivals.
Their bedding would need to be warm and comfortable, and they should have herbs to help them recover from their long journey.
“Brackenfur, Cloudtail, and Brambleclaw,” Firestar called,
“start moving the brambles.”
“Yes, Firestar.” Brambleclaw hurried away to the browned and brittle brambles pushed into the shadows beside the medicine den. Brackenfur and Cloudtail followed.
“Can I help?” Cinderpaw begged.
Brackenfur stopped and turned, ready to answer, but Cinderpaw was already hurtling toward him. She careened into him, and fell backward, tumbling tail over whiskers.
“Sorry, Brackenfur!” she mewed, scrambling to her feet, her eyes filled with dismay.
Brackenfur purred at his daughter. “You’re always a tail-length ahead of yourself, Cinderpaw,” he meowed. “You remind me of my sister when she was an apprentice.”
“Come on, Cinderpaw!” Cloudtail called. “Help me drag this bramble over to the alcove.”
“Sorry,” Cinderpaw mewed again, and raced over to help her mentor.
By the time dawn broke over the camp, spilling pinks and oranges over the cloud-dappled sky, the den was finished.
With a sleepy nod of thanks, Graystripe and Millie padded inside.
On the other side of the clearing, Sandstorm and Spiderleg were leading Honeypaw and Mousepaw out of the camp on the dawn patrol. Brambleclaw and Cloudtail headed to their den to sleep. Hollypaw stayed with Leafpool outside the makeshift den and admired their work.
“That moss you collected will keep them warm,” she mewed. Leafpool had gathered a little from each of the dens,
and Hollypaw had helped her shape it into a comfortable nest for Graystripe and Millie. Graystripe might be ThunderClan’s rightful deputy; Hollypaw wanted to make his nest as cozy as possible.
“Should I fetch them some herbs?” Hollypaw offered.
“Jaypaw said that Millie’s got an infected wound.”
“How did he know?” Leafpool looked at her in surprise.
Hollypaw shrugged. “He smelled it.” She was groping for the name of some leaf or seed that might help, but after all the excitement of building the den, her mind felt too fuzzy.
“We’ll make sure we see to it come sunhigh,” Leafpool told her. “Right now, Graystripe and Millie need rest more than anything else.”
Hollypaw stifled a yawn.
Leafpool gazed down at her. “You must be tired too,” she observed.
“A little,” Hollypaw admitted. In fact, she was almost numb with exhaustion.
“Let’s get some sleep,” Leafpool suggested. She got to her paws and padded toward the medicine den. Gratefully, Hollypaw followed her. She was looking forward to curling up in her nest and closing her eyes.
When Hollypaw awoke, weak sunlight was flowing
through the brambles, rippling like water on the sandy earth.
Immediately she thought of Graystripe. Firestar had told them nothing would change
ally? Would StarClan expect him to?
She padded from the warm moss, scenting the chilly air.
Her belly rumbled.
Leafpool lay in her nest, eyes closed. But as Hollypaw stirred, she lifted her nose. “Awake already?” She got to her paws and stretched, curling her tail till it shivered. “You had a busy night. I thought you’d sleep longer.”
“I’m hungry,” Hollypaw confessed.
“There’s fresh-kill on the pile,” Leafpool told her, scenting the air.
Hollypaw fetched a mouse for her mentor and a vole for herself. She ate ravenously, swallowing it in a few mouthfuls before licking her paws and washing her face. “Shall we check on Graystripe now?” she asked eagerly.
“Is it sunhigh?”
“Not yet.”
“Then let them sleep a little longer,” Leafpool decided.
She padded over to the piles of herbs at the back of the den and began sifting through them. “I need you to fetch some borage,” she meowed. “We’re running low, and Graystripe or Millie might have a fever. There’s some lakeward, over the ridge.”
Alarm pricked at Hollypaw’s claws. “You won’t wake them before I return?” There might be a lot to learn from the Clan’s newest patients. She hadn’t had a sick cat to treat since she became a medicine cat. She had tried to learn the names of herbs and what they were used for, but she was looking forward to actually using some. It might help her memorize
them a little more easily.
“So long as you don’t dawdle,” Leafpool warned.
“I won’t,” Hollypaw promised.
Leafpool turned back to her herbs, spreading poppy seeds under her paw to count them.
Hollypaw turned to leave, then paused. “The Clan sat vigil for Graystripe, didn’t it?”
“Yes, we did.” Leafpool didn’t look up from sifting through a pile of feverfew leaves.
“Does that mean he’s officially dead? In the eyes of StarClan, I mean?”
“I think StarClan will have noticed that Graystripe’s with us and not them,” Leafpool meowed dryly.
“But what about the warrior code? Is he officially dead according to the warrior code?”
“Did he look like he was dead last night?” Leafpool meowed.
“But if he’s not dead, then surely he’s still dep—”
“We are here to heal.” Leafpool looked directly at her.
“Firestar’s problems are not ours, unless StarClan wishes them to be. Now, are you going?”
“Going?” Hollypaw echoed.
“To fetch the borage.” Leafpool sighed. “If you’re not back before sunhigh I shall wake them without you.”
“I’m going!” Hollypaw promised, spinning around and pushing her way out of the den.
Up on the ridge, a cold, fresh breeze was blowing through the trees from across the lake. Hollypaw thought she could detect the scent of RiverClan on it.
Her paws itched to go exploring, but she wanted to get back before Graystripe and Millie woke up. She ducked her head and began to sniff the ground, hoping to find a scent trail that might lead her to borage. She desperately tried to remember what it smelled like in the medicine den, but her nose was too full of the scents of water and wind.
She padded down the steep slope, heading for where the trees thinned. The sun sparkled on the lake. What a great day for hunting! She pushed the thought away. She
Hunting for borage. Sniffing the ground once more, she picked up a tangy scent that seemed familiar. She followed it carefully, clambering over the low boulders that dimpled the ground, and tracked the scent into some long grass, where she spotted green, jagged leaves growing in a clump on long, thin stems. They carried the scent she had been following. It was stronger up close and more bitter. Was this borage? She had seen this before, she was sure.
She glanced up at the sun. It shone high above her.
Leafpool would be waking Graystripe and Millie soon.
Quickly she nipped a few stems, breaking them at the base, careful not to swallow any of the bitter sap. She pitied the cat who had to eat such a foul-tasting herb as she picked up the fallen stems in her jaws and hurried back to the camp.
“This isn’t borage.” Leafpool stared in dismay at the stems Hollypaw had placed in front of her. “This is
