The tom squeezed past Lionpaw and padded to her nest. “Has Puddleshine been taking good care of y ou?”
“Of course.” Her gaze flitted to Puddleshine. “I’m very proud of him. He practically saved the Clan single-pawed.”
Lionpaw huffed at the entrance. “I wish he’d told us he was going to gather lungwort.
Birchpaw and I could have helped.” Was that envy in Lionpaw’s mew?
“There wasn’t time to ask for help,” Puddleshine told his littermate. “If I hadn’t gathered it then, I couldn’t have gathered it at all.”
“What m ade Onestar change his m ind?” Scorchfur looked at Puddleshine, eyes glittering with suspicion.
“May be StarClan sent him a m essage,” Puddleshine answered vaguely. He hadn’t told any cat exactly how he’d gotten his paws on the lungwort, and, clearly, he wasn’t going to share the inform ation now.
Scorchfur grunted and stalked from the den. Spikefur touched his m uzzle fondly to Pinenose’s head, then followed.
Dawnpelt blinked at Violetpaw. “You must be hungry.” They’d been helping Puddleshine with the sick cats since dawn. “Let’s go and see if there’s any thing left on the fresh-kill pile.”
Violetpaw left the sparrow beside Snowbird and nodded to Puddleshine. “Should I bring y ou som ething to eat?”
Puddleshine shook his head. “I’ll fetch som ething when I’m done here.”
The medicine cat looked skinnier than ever. Dawnpelt must have noticed too.
“You need to take care of y ourself,” the cream she-cat warned him. “If you collapse, there’s no one else to take care of the Clan.”
Puddleshine dipped his head to her. “I won’t be long,” he prom ised.
Violetpaw followed Dawnpelt to the fresh-kill pile. A vole and a lizard were left over from yesterday’s catch.
Dawnpelt glanced around the camp. “Haven’t the hunting patrols been out y et?” The m orning sun was lifting about the treetops. Mistcloud and Sparrowtail sat beside the flat rock, eyes half-closed. Scorchfur and Spikefur were m urm uring to each other at the far end of the clearing.
Tawny pelt was gazing expectantly toward Rowanstar’s den. Wasn’t the ShadowClan leader up y et? And where was Tigerheart?
Strikestone padded toward Dawnpelt. He greeted his mother with a purr. “I hope Tigerheart organizes the hunting patrols soon.” He glanced at the vole and lizard. “I’m hungry for fresh prey.”
Dawnpelt tossed the stale vole toward Violetpaw and pulled the lizard closer. “Why hasn’t
Tigerheart organized the patrols?”
“Rowanstar called him into his den,” Strikestone told her. “May be they’re deciding who’s fit to hunt.”
“Let’s hope they don’t spend too long talking. Hungry bellies make grum py cats.” She leaned down and tore the head off the lizard and began chewing it.
Violetpaw shuddered. She’d never liked lizards, although her Clanmates happily gobbled them down as though they were a delicacy.
She sniffed the vole. It still sm elled stale, but she suddenly realized how hungry she was and bit into it. As its m usky flavor bathed her tongue, she saw Strikestone turn his head toward Rowanstar’s den. Rowanstar and Tigerheart appeared at the entrance and padded out toward their Clanmates.
Tawny pelt turned to face them at once. But Rippletail, eyes glinting with disdain, crossed the clearing and m urm ured som ething in Spikefur’s ear. The dark brown tom curled his lip, his icy gaze on Rowanstar.
The vole seem ed to turn dry in Violetpaw’s m outh. What were the warriors say ing? Nothing pleasant, by the look of it.
Tigerheart padded to the head of the clearing, Rowanstar at his side. “We’ve been discussing the hunting patrols,” he called, his eyes flitting around the Clan. “Our Clanmates are recovering and have good appetites, but som e are not y et fit to hunt. This means that the rest of us must hunt harder than ever. I want the fresh-kill pile full by this evening.”
Scorchfur and Spikefur exchanged glances.
Tigerheart went on. “Spikefur, take Lionpaw, Mistcloud, Whorlpaw, and Rippletail to the ditches and hunt there. Scorchfur, take Birchpaw, Grassheart, Flowerpaw, and Sparrowtail to the lake to hunt. Dawnpelt, take Violetpaw, Tawny pelt, and Strikestone to the alder grove near the border. There will be good hunting there now that it’s newleaf, but watch out for the rogues.”
Dawnpelt straightened, swallowing the last of her lizard, and nodded to the deputy.
Spikefur stared at Tigerheart. “Where will you and Rowanstar be hunting?”
“Rowanstar needs to rest,” Tigerheart told him. “He’s still recovering from his illness.”
“He looks fine to m e,” Spikefur looked the leader up and down scornfully.
Rowanstar’s eyes flashed. “I will hunt,” he mewed hoarsely, “if the Clan needs it.”
Scorchfur nodded toward the den where the rem aining sick cats lay. “The Clan needs it,” he growled.
Worry darkened Tigerheart’s gaze. “You shouldn’t risk y our health,” he mewed to Rowanstar.
Rowanstar m et his deputy’s gaze. “I must show m y Clan I am still strong.”
Spikefur snorted. “It’s a bit late for that.” Flicking his tail sharply, he headed out of camp, his patrol hurry ing after him.
Violetpaw watched him go, her pelt rippling with unease. Even ShadowClan’s warriors were showing no respect for their leader now. She glanced toward Dawnpelt, hoping for reassurance, but her m entor was already following the other patrols out of camp. I came back here because I wanted to live by the warrior code. But right now she felt as though ShadowClan had forgotten the one thing that m ade them warriors: they seem ed to have forgotten loy alty.
She followed Dawnpelt. Perhaps tonight’s Gathering will remind them what it is to be a true Clan.
Violetpaw draped the last piece of dried m oss inside the freshly woven bracken nest and sat back on her haunches to adm ire her work. Outside, the full moon was rising, so bright that it lit the camp and shafts of moonlight speared the elders’ den.
Ratscar nodded approvingly at the new nest. “Oakfur will be pleased with it.”
“Puddleshine say s he can return to the elders’ den tom orrow,” Violetpaw told him. “I wanted him to be com fortable.” She glanced at Ratscar’s shabby nest. “I can make you a fresh nest tom orrow if you like.”
A purr rasped in Ratscar’s throat. “That would be great.” His gaze flitted to the third nest in the den, now stale and cold. “It’s going to be quiet in here without Kinkfur,” he m urm ured sadly.
“Oakfur isn’t much of a talker.”
“ShadowClan!” Rowanstar’s call sounded outside the den.
Blinking at Ratscar, Violetpaw hurried out. Let Rowanstar choose me to go to the Gathering.
She wondered if she’d see Twigpaw, then pushed the thought away. Why would I want to see her?
Anger flashed beneath her pelt. She left me.
Tawny pelt and Tigerheart were already standing expectantly in front of Rowanstar. At the edge of the clearing, Strikestone plucked at the grass eagerly, the rem ains of the fresh-kill he’d been eating beside him. Dawnpelt crossed the camp, heading toward Rowanstar, her tail high.
Violetpaw hurried to j oin her m entor, her paws prickling with excitem ent as Rowanstar began to call the names of the cats who would travel with him to the island. “Tawny pelt, Tigerheart, Violetpaw.” He chose me! Violetpaw purred as she reached Dawnpelt.
“Puddleshine!” The medicine cat was already crossing the clearing as Rowanstar called his name.
“Dawnpelt, Strikestone, Spikefur, Mistcloud, Whorlpaw, Sparrowtail, Flowerpaw.”
Violetpaw glanced over her shoulder, scanning the clearing for the young apprentices. Their first Gathering! Flowerpaw was hurry ing toward Rowanstar, her eyes shining. Whorlpaw followed at her heels.