“Blackclaw will be fine,” Mudfur replied calmly. “But taking care of him is medicine-cat business. I’m sure you have some warrior tasks you should be doing.”
“I guess.” Mothwing shuffled her paws. She took a few steps away from the den, then stopped.
I feel like I belong in this medicine den.
When Mudfur and Cinderpelt had saved Blackclaw, Mothwing had felt something she’d never felt when she’d learned to hunt, or to fight. She wanted to be able to save sick and hurt cats, not just fight for them.
Maybe I feel like I belong here because this is what I should be doing.
She turned back to the medicine den. “What if I trained to be a medicine cat?” she blurted out, then held her breath.
Mudfur turned then and gave her a long, searching look. “You’d better come in.”
Inside the medicine den, Mothwing sniffed the air eagerly. It smelled mysterious and rich, full of the scents of so many different herbs. Mudfur watched her for a moment, his golden gaze thoughtful, then asked, “Why do you want to be a medicine cat?”
Mothwing shuffled her paws nervously. “When Hawkfrost and I were kits, our littermate drowned,” she began. “I saw how you and the other medicine cats saved Blackclaw today, and I thought … maybe he didn’t have to. I want to save other cats from dying if I can.”
Mudfur gave a short, pleased purr at her answer. “Usually, a medicine cat starts their training as an apprentice,” he told her. “You’re already a warrior. You’ve served one apprenticeship. But I was a warrior before I trained to be a medicine cat, too.”
Mothwing’s chest felt tight with excitement. Mudfur had been a warrior for a long time; he had even mated and fathered a litter. He was Leopardstar’s father. Maybe her idea wasn’t so crazy. “You’d train me?” she asked.
Mudfur shook his head. “Don’t get excited just yet. I’d have to talk to Leopardstar and Mistyfoot first. It’s not like we’ve had a sign from StarClan about you.”
“StarClan?” Mothwing cocked her head, confused. She’d heard of StarClan, of course. RiverClan thanked them every time they caught a piece of prey, and she’d heard the elders tell kits that StarClan was watching over them. But she’d always thought it was just something they said to honor their ancestors. It was a surprise to hear that the medicine cats actually consulted with StarClan before making major decisions. “I’m right here, willing to do the work to help my Clan. Why would we need a sign from StarClan?”
Mudfur blinked. “Of course, you weren’t born in the Clans,” he muttered. “Listen, Mothwing, StarClan guides the Clan’s paws. Medicine cats don’t just take care of their sick Clanmates. Medicine cats also advise Clan leaders as they make their decisions. And for that, we have to speak to StarClan. We tell the rest of our Clan what our ancestors see in our future and what they want us to do.”
Mothwing felt her eyes widening. “You talk to StarClan?” she asked, nearly squeaking in surprise. She could accept that her Clanmates had been showing respect for their ancestors when they talked about StarClan. But she found it harder to believe that the ancestors spoke back. “They tell you what to do?”
Mudfur nodded, his golden eyes fixed on hers. “A medicine cat must have a special connection to StarClan,” he told her solemnly. “It’s the most important part of our duties.”
Mothwing sat back on her haunches, feeling breathless. Mudfur could talk to the spirits of dead cats? And Cinderpelt could, and the other Clans’ medicine cats? If she became a medicine cat, maybe someday she would, too. She remembered how much she would have given to be able to talk to Tadpole after he died. Her pelt prickled with excitement. I hope StarClan believes I can do it.
Mothwing hurried across the camp toward the medicine den. It had been days since she’d spoken to Mudfur, and he didn’t let her sleep there yet—he was still waiting for a sign from StarClan. But Leopardstar had agreed that she could start helping Mudfur to care for their Clanmates.
“Off to play healer?” Mistyfoot was in the clearing, the remains of a fish at her paws.
“I—” Mothwing didn’t know what to say. Was her former mentor angry with her? “I like healing,” she meowed softly.
“It’s all right, Mothwing.” Mistyfoot’s gaze softened. “I think you were a good warrior, and I spent a lot of time training you. But if StarClan decides you can be a medicine cat, it’ll be useful. Mudfur isn’t getting any younger. It’s time he took an apprentice,” she added, licking a front paw, “but try not to be too disappointed if it can’t be you.”
“Why wouldn’t it be me?” Mothwing wondered aloud after Mistyfoot walked away.
“You’d better hope it is you,” growled Hawkfrost. “Or else we’re ruined.”
Mothwing spun around in alarm. She hadn’t seen her brother lurking among the reeds outside the medicine den. “What do you mean?” she mewed.
Hawkfrost sat on his haunches, his eyes glinting with anger. “We finally became real RiverClan warriors. We have a place here, a purpose. Then you go and decide you want to be a medicine cat. If you fail, how do you think that will look for us?”
Mothwing hesitated. She hadn’t thought about how the Clan might see her change of course. She’d only wanted to follow what she believed to be her calling. When she didn’t respond, Hawkfrost continued.
“It will look like you couldn’t commit to being a warrior and weren’t good enough to be a medicine cat. They might decide that means you shouldn’t be part of RiverClan, and I shouldn’t either.”
Mothwing shook her head. “No, they wouldn’t do that,” she insisted.
“It’s not only up to them,” Hawkfrost reminded her. “It’s like Mistyfoot said—StarClan decides if you have what it takes.”
Hawkfrost was right. So much had been left up to ancestors Mothwing didn’t even know. But she had to believe that her skills would count just as much as StarClan’s wishes. “This is our home now,” she stated firmly, trying to feel as confident as her words. “I’ll work hard. I’ll prove to them that I can be a great medicine cat.”
Hawkfrost rose to his paws and started to walk away, stopping after a few steps to peer over his shoulder at Mothwing. “You’d better,” he growled. “For both our sakes.”
As she watched her brother disappear into the reeds, her confidence faltered. Surely StarClan wouldn’t tell Mudfur not to let her be a medicine cat? She didn’t know a lot about StarClan, but she knew they acted for the good of the Clans—how could having another medicine cat not be good for RiverClan? It wasn’t like any other cat was asking Mudfur to train them.
Inside the medicine den, Blackclaw was coughing, a hoarse, painful sound. Mudfur was rubbing his back with one firm paw and talking to him soothingly: “You breathed in too much of that river mud. Go ahead and get it out. You’re getting better all the time.”
Eager to help, Mothwing hurried over to the little caves full of Mudfur’s collection of herbs. What does he use to help Blackclaw breathe? She found some purple juniper berries and began to mash them, then pulled a few coltsfoot leaves from another cave and chewed them to a pulp.
“Nicely done,” Mudfur meowed. Startled, Mothwing looked up from mixing the coltsfoot and berries together and saw him regarding her with approval. “You seem to have a real talent,” the medicine cat added. “Maybe StarClan is guiding your paws.”
Mothwing hesitated. No cat is guiding my paws. I just remembered what herbs you used yesterday! “Th-thanks,” she stammered.
Mudfur blinked at her, his eyes warm. “You know, any doubts I had about making you my apprentice are disappearing. You’ve been working hard, Mothwing.”