Talltail turned away, his gaze blurring. This battle had been fought over rabbits—and now Shrewclaw was dead. Were ShadowClan’s warriors so hungry they were willing to kill for stolen prey, or did their hatred for WindClan run deeper than he’d ever imagined?
Chapter 44
Talltail stretched, enjoying the warmth of the newleaf sun on his pelt. Beside him the heather was bright with green bud. Overhead, a blue sky stretched, cloudless, across the moor. In another half moon, the gorse would be aflame with yellow flowers.
He could hear Hopkit purring outside the medicine den as Hawkheart picked fleas from the young tom’s spine. Hopkit was well enough to groom his own pelt and should have moved back to the nursery by now. His fever had healed in the moon since the battle with ShadowClan, but the nursery was overcrowded. Pigeonkit and Sorrelkit were too big to share a nest, Meadowslip was restless, and Ryestalk had just moved in, her belly swelling with the promise of new kits.
“Sit still,” Hawkheart growled, cracking a flea between his teeth and spitting it onto the grass.
“Hawkheart?” Hopkit rolled lazily over. “If Heatherstar says I can’t become a warrior, do you think I could be a medicine cat?”
“No.” Hawkheart sat up. “You’re too fidgety.” He gazed across the clearing to where Barkface was making sure that Dawnstripe’s battle wounds had properly healed. “Besides, WindClan doesn’t need another medicine cat.”
Hopkit held up his paw. Although the infection had gone, his foot was limp and flat, and he had no feeling in it. “But how can I be a warrior with this?”
“You can walk on it, can’t you?” Hawkheart wasn’t giving a drop of sympathy.
“I can limp.”
Hawkheart snorted. “If you can limp, you can walk. If you can walk, you can hunt.”
“What about fighting?” Hopkit persisted. “What if I can’t fight?”
“Then you’ll just have to argue your enemies to death.” Hawkheart settled onto his side and half closed his eyes. “You’re great at arguing.”
“No, I’m not.”
Talltail’s whiskers twitched. He wondered if Hawkheart was mellowing now that gray whiskers were showing on his muzzle. But he suspected it was Hopkit’s warmth that had thawed the stern, old medicine cat.
Barkface headed across the clearing. Talltail sat up as he neared. “Is Dawnstripe okay?”
“She’s fine. An extra scar on her muzzle, but it’s healed cleanly.” Barkface settled down beside Talltail, narrowing his eyes against the bright sun. “I’m worried about Reedfeather’s shoulder, though,” he mewed. “The battle made it worse and he’s not getting any younger. If he strains it again, he could be lame for life.”
Talltail gazed across the Meeting Hollow to where the WindClan deputy lay beside Heatherstar, sharing a plover. Reedfeather’s pale tabby pelt looked as ragged as an elder’s. Talltail felt a pang of sorrow for the old warrior. He’d served his Clan loyally for moons. He deserved to be leader one day, but he’d never survive for another eight lifetimes.
The heather shivered as Palebird padded into the camp. A mouse hung from her jaws. Wrenkit looked up from where she was stalking Flykit behind the Hunting Stones. She bounded toward her mother. “Is that for us?”
Flykit chased after her, Bristlekit and Rabbitkit popping up from the grass and scrambling over the tussocks. Palebird dropped the mouse at Wrenkit’s paws. Wrenkit hooked it toward her with a claw. “Don’t worry, Palebird,” she told her mother earnestly. “I’ll make sure everyone gets a fair share.”
“You’re a good little warrior,” Palebird purred, before heading toward Talltail.
Talltail lifted his chin. “Hello, Palebird,” he meowed. “Good hunting?”
Palebird licked her lips. “Very good.”
Talltail was pleased to see Palebird catching her own prey again. She seemed a lot more cheerful now that she had begun to leave the camp to hunt.
Woollytail called to her from the bracken patch. “Did you bring something back for me?”
Palebird looked at him fondly. “Catch your own prey, you old badger! I’m already feeding four mouths.”
Woollytail flicked his tail happily but didn’t move from his nest.
“Do you think he misses the tunnels?” Talltail asked his mother.
“Of course,” Palebird meowed. “We all do. But at least I don’t have to worry about cave-ins anymore.”
Talltail shifted his paws. Cave-ins weren’t the only danger to warriors. Life aboveground held just as many risks. Once more, Shrewclaw’s death flashed in his mind. Talltail had managed to wash the young tom’s blood from his paws, but he couldn’t wash away the terrible memory. He tried to distract himself. “How’s Ryestalk settling in?” He nodded toward the nursery.
“Fine, but it’s crowded. She’ll be more comfortable once Heatherstar’s made Pigeonkit and Sorrelkit apprentices. They must be six moons by now. They’re as big as hares.”
“Is Ryestalk still grieving for Shrewclaw?” Talltail meowed.
“Of course,” Palebird told him, looking surprised. “But her grief will ease once she sees his kits.”
Knowing that Ryestalk carried the dead warrior’s kits had given comfort to the whole Clan, and they fussed over Ryestalk like she was a precious egg waiting to hatch. The young queen had more wool in her nest than an elder, and was never alone. Lilywhisker made sure there was always someone to watch her, bringing her food whenever her belly rumbled and fetching water-soaked moss if she mentioned thirst.
Guilt flickered through Talltail. “I wish I’d fought harder,” he mewed. “Shrewclaw might still be alive.”
Palebird’s gaze softened. “You can’t save everyone, Talltail.”
Outside the medicine den, Hopkit pounced lopsidedly as Hawkheart tossed a clump of moss for him to catch. Talltail straightened up, an idea flashing in his mind. “I might not succeed,” he murmured. “But I can try.” He trotted across the grass to the Meeting Hollow. “Heatherstar.” He stopped by her side. “May I speak with you?”
Reedfeather struggled to his paws. “Should I go?”
“No,” Talltail told him. Why shouldn’t the WindClan deputy know what he was planning?
“What is it?” Heatherstar sat up, licking a feather from her lips.
“I’d like to be Hopkit’s mentor,” Talltail announced.
Heatherstar blinked. “You think he’s fit enough to train?” She glanced past Talltail to the medicine den. Hopkit was chasing Hawkheart’s moss bundle in spirals, springing up to bat it down with his lame paw as it flew into the air.
Talltail followed her gaze. “Don’t you?”
Reedfeather shifted his paws. “He looks agile.”
“He can play,” Heatherstar conceded. “But can he hunt or fight? Would he be any use in battle?”
“You might as well wonder if Pigeonkit can fight,” Talltail pointed out. “His legs are short. And Sorrelkit will never have the speed of Stagleap.”
“Or you.” Reedfeather dipped his head to Talltail.
“We all have our flaws,” Talltail pressed. “But we overcome them.” He suddenly thought of Jake. His friend’s kittypet softness hadn’t stopped him from leaping into battle with a fox. “And sometimes, it’s our flaws that make us who we are.”
Hopkit bounced again and again for the moss, undeterred even when he missed.
Reedfeather nodded toward the young tom. “He’s Clanborn,” he meowed. “What else can he be but a warrior? Would you confine him to the elders’ den for life?”
Heatherstar met her deputy’s gaze, then turned to Talltail. “Very well.” She stretched. “Let’s do it.” Leaping onto Tallrock, she called to her Clan. “Let all cats old enough to catch prey gather beneath Tallrock.”