“Maybe we should go back,” Flywhisker called out to her. “We could try around the other side. It might be safer there.”
Bristlefrost twitched her tail-tip back and forth in frustration. Because of the way the spit of land curved around, she could see the clearer area with the stalks of borage just a few tail-lengths ahead. Only a narrow stretch of ice separated the patrol from the life-giving herb.
What if that stalk of borage could save Bramblestar? Surely it would be worth the risk then!
“We’re so close,” she meowed. “Maybe if one cat went alone, very fast, so their paws hardly touched the ice . . .”
“No!” Spotfur protested. “It’s too dangerous. If one cat fell in, how would the others even get them out?”
“You’re right, we should turn back.” Poppyfrost shuddered. “I remember when Flametail fell through the ice. No cat should have to go through that.”
Bristlefrost remembered hearing that story from the elders when she was a kit. Flametail had been a ShadowClan medicine-cat apprentice and had drowned in the lake when the ice gave way during another hard leaf-bare. She shivered at the thought of something so terrible happening again.
But the ice must be thicker now. . . . Every cat says there’s never been a leaf-bare as bad as this.
Bristlefrost gazed across the ice at the borage stems. They were so close, and yet they might as well have been countless fox-lengths away.
Without giving herself time to think, she leaped forward, sprinting across the ice so fast that her paws only skimmed the surface. She held her breath, determined to keep her nerve, and a few heartbeats later she sprang off the ice and across a scatter of rocks to where the borage grew.
“I made it!” she yowled triumphantly, glancing back at her Clanmates, who were staring at her, strung out behind her along the shore.
Bristlefrost nipped off a few stems of borage with her teeth and made them into a bundle so that she could carry them back. But as soon as she launched herself back onto the ice, she heard a sharp crack, and the ice where she had landed began to tilt. Dark water, painfully cold, welled up over Bristlefrost’s legs as she scrabbled vainly at the slick surface in an attempt to keep her balance. Letting out a terrified screech, she plunged deep into the icy lake.
I’ve done it now . . . I’m going to die . . . , Bristlefrost thought as the water closed over her head. She didn’t expect that her Clanmates would be able to save her. They’d be risking their own lives. . . . When she had saved Rootpaw, he had been close to shore, and rescuing him had been easy. And he had been an apprentice. . . .
I’m a warrior, old enough to know better.
Bristlefrost thrashed her paws helplessly, but the cold was sapping her strength. She had lost her sense of direction; she didn’t know where the surface was. Then something hard struck her on the shoulder. Instinctively she grabbed at it and sank her claws into wood. A moment later her head broke the surface, and she saw Spotfur on the more solid ice nearby, hauling her to safety at the end of a long branch.
Scrambling up onto the ice, Bristlefrost collapsed at Spotfur’s paws, coughed up a mouthful of water and ice, and looked up at her Clanmate. “Thank you!” she gasped. “I thought I was dead for sure.”
She noticed that Spotfur’s fur was disheveled and she had a tiny trickle of blood over one eye. Bristlefrost realized that she must have plunged into the gorse and brambles to get the branch, and then ventured out onto the same treacherous ice that had just given way under her own paws.
“We’d better get you to a medicine cat right away,” Spotfur meowed. “You must be freezing.”
Bristlefrost shook the ice crystals out of her pelt, beginning to shiver as she recovered enough to feel the cold. “I’m so sorry,” she mewed, as the rest of her patrol gathered around, concern in their eyes. “It was a stupid thing to do. I put you all in danger—especially you, Spotfur. You were so brave.”
And now I can understand what Stemleaf sees in you, she added to herself. You’re a brave cat, and a loyal Clanmate.
“I’ll tell Squirrelflight it was all my fault,” Bristlefrost promised. “I won’t let her blame any of you that we didn’t get the borage.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Spotfur assured her. “We’re all worried about Bramblestar, and that puts us all a little on edge. Besides, there’s no need to worry Squirrelflight about any of this. You did get what you came for!”
For the first time, Bristlefrost realized that a few stalks of borage were lying just in front of her, at her paws, where she had coughed up the ice and water she had swallowed. Her eyes widened and laughter bubbled up inside her.
“I got it after all!” she exclaimed.
Stemleaf padded up to her and rubbed his cheek against hers. “I should have known you could do it,” he told her. “You can do anything!”
Bristlefrost staggered to her paws, embarrassed by Stemleaf’s praise, and yet happy too. She carefully collected the stalks of borage and waved her tail to gather the patrol together.
I can’t do everything, she thought as she led the way back to camp. But at least I did something.
Her paws numb from patrolling the border, Bristlefrost limped across the camp toward the medicine cats’ den. She was chilled through and exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in her nest for a well-deserved nap, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she found out whether Bramblestar was responding to the borage treatment.
When she had returned to camp the previous day, carrying the few precious stems, Alderheart had chewed them up and trickled the pulp and juices between Bramblestar’s jaws, while Jayfeather massaged the Clan leader’s throat to encourage the Clan leader to swallow.
“Now there’s nothing to do but wait,” Jayfeather had mewed grimly.
Reaching the den, Bristlefrost poked her head around the bramble screen. In the dim light she could barely make out Bramblestar’s dark tabby shape, half buried in the moss and bracken of his nest. Alderheart sat beside him, close to his head, and as Bristlefrost watched, he reached out and laid one paw on his father’s neck. His eyes were troubled, and he let out a faint sigh.
Jayfeather appeared from the back of the den. “Any change?” he asked.
Alderheart shook his head. “No . . . he might even be growing weaker.”
Bristlefrost felt her belly cramp with apprehension. This isn’t supposed to happen! Why isn’t the borage working?
“It wasn’t much of a chance,” Jayfeather murmured, almost as if he were answering Bristlefrost’s unspoken question. “And now . . . there’s nothing more that we can do.”
“We can’t give up!” Alderheart’s voice was anguished. “There must be a way to save him. We have to talk to Shadowpaw again.”
Jayfeather let out a hiss of fury. “I’ve told you before, we are not listening to that useless ShadowClan lump of fur! Tigerstar is using him to—” He broke off suddenly and swung around to face Bristlefrost. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Eavesdropping?”
How did he know I was here, unless he has eyes in his tail? Bristlefrost wondered, until she remembered that though Jayfeather was blind, his other senses were extraordinarily sharp; he would easily have picked out her scent among all the others in the den.
“I only wanted—” she began.
Alderheart interrupted her, his voice suddenly filled with authority. “This isn’t our decision to make,” he told Jayfeather. “Bristlefrost, fetch Squirrelflight.”