Yellowfang felt a pang of guilt. Every night her dreams were full of blood and darkness, demonstrating over and over that what Brokenstar was doing was absolutely wrong. But there was no guidance from StarClan, not even an appearance from Silverflame to promise that all would be well in the end. Whatever Yellowfang did, it was up to her alone. I have to stop him! she thought. I am his medicine cat; he must listen to me!
Just then, Russetfur came panting up. “Yellowfang!” she gasped. “Runningnose sent me to find you! Brightflower’s kits are coming!”
Yellowfang sprang to her paws and raced back to the camp. But when she reached the nursery, she found Brightflower already curled around two furry little scraps, while Runningnose looked on with satisfaction.
“Oh, they’re beautiful!” Yellowfang exclaimed, with a nod of approval for Runningnose. “Have you named them yet?”
Brightflower looked up from licking a tiny tortoiseshell she-cat. “This is Marigoldkit,” she purred, “and the little gray tom is Mintkit. Kits, this is Yellowfang. She’s your big sister.”
Both kits looked strong and healthy, suckling at Brightflower’s belly with their eyes tightly shut and their soft paws kneading rhythmically. A stab of pain struck Yellowfang as she pictured her own daughters, who had gone to StarClan before they had a chance at life. She bent her head and touched each tiny head gently with her nose. “Hello, kits,” she murmured. “Welcome to ShadowClan.”
“You would have been a great mother,” Brightflower whispered.
Yellowfang tensed. “Never!” she hissed. “This is my life now.”
Then she saw Marigoldkit pummeling at her mother with tiny paws, and love and longing swept over her again. “They’re perfect!” she breathed.
The noise of cats returning to the camp intruded on the blissful silence inside the nursery. Yellowfang raised her head. “Is that news of the battle?”
She scrambled out of the nursery to see Flintfang emerging from the entrance with a crooked black-and-white shape dangling from his jaws.
“Oh, no!” Yellowfang yowled. “Badgerpaw!”
She raced across to Flintfang, meeting him in the center of the clearing. The gray tom laid his burden down and smoothed the fur on his apprentice’s head with one paw. The warrior’s eyes were glazed as if he still saw the blood and terror of the battle.
“He fought like a lion,” Flintfang meowed hoarsely, turning his shocked gaze on Yellowfang. “He should not have died because he should not have been fighting! I will never train kits again. It’s wrong, and it brings shame to our Clan.”
Yellowfang crouched down beside Badgerpaw’s puny body, licking him to clean away the blood and filth of battle. “You will go to StarClan, Badgerpaw,” she murmured between the strong strokes of her tongue. “You will shine so brightly, I promise you.”
“He’s not Badgerpaw anymore,” Flintfang gently corrected her. “I gave him his warrior name before he died. I hope that’s okay. He’s called Badgerfang now.”
A surge of compassion swelled up in Yellowfang for this bewildered, grieving warrior. “It’s a great name,” she told him, “and he earned it. You’re right. This has to stop.” She finished her licking and stood up. “I must tell Fernshade what happened.”
“I’ll tell her,” Flintfang mewed bravely. “I owe her that much, and I can assure her that her son died like a true warrior.”
As Flintfang walked toward the warriors’ den, there was more noise from the entrance. Brokenstar bounded through the thorns with the rest of his patrol. Every cat was buoyant with pride, tails fluffed up and their eyes shining.
“We will feast tonight!” Brokenstar announced, calling to the apprentices. “Off you go,” he ordered when they stood in front of him. “Bring back fresh-kill. We must celebrate. ShadowClan is victorious again!”
As the apprentices dashed off, Yellowfang marched up to Brokenstar. “I have news for you,” she snarled.
Brokenstar stared at her for a moment, then nodded and led the way to his den. He seemed to fill the space between the oak roots with fur and muscle and gleaming eyes.
“Badgerfang is dead. Or did you know that already?” Yellowfang challenged him.
For a second she thought Brokenstar looked shocked, but his confidence returned so quickly that she couldn’t be sure. “That’s a shame,” he meowed. “He would have made a great warrior.”
Yellowfang felt the biting fangs of anger, sharper than a fox’s jaws. “Maybe one day, but he was too young!” she snapped. “You must stop training kits before they are six moons old. You will destroy our Clan before they can become warriors!”
“That is my decision, not yours,” Brokenstar growled.
“Then I will walk with StarClan in my dreams,” Yellowfang threatened him, grief and fury making her paws throb. “I will let them know exactly what you’re doing, and they will take away your nine lives.”
Brokenstar burst into an incredulous mrrow of laughter. “StarClan will do nothing to stop me, old cat,” he retorted. “I have made their Clan glorious! Let them try! You certainly won’t stop me.” He flicked his tail at her. “Now, do your duty and heal my warriors before we celebrate.”
Seething with anger, Yellowfang left. Across the clearing she spotted a line of injured cats already waiting outside her den. There are so many battles now, every cat knows to come straight to my den as soon as they return, she thought. Being wounded is just routine.
She bounded across the clearing and slipped between the boulders into her den. Runningnose was binding a poultice of marigold onto Scorchwind’s shoulder. Warmth flickered into Yellowfang’s heart at the sight of her companion. I couldn’t hope for a more patient and loyal medicine cat to have beside me.
Scorchwind kept turning his head to talk to Boulder, who was waiting with blood dripping from a torn ear. “Did you see me scratch that WindClan tom?” he prompted. “I showed that furball who’s the strongest!”
“You should have seen me fighting with their deputy,” Boulder responded. “I think he must be still running!”
Do they even know that Badgerfang died today?
Yellowfang sighed and went to fetch marigold, goldenrod, and cobweb. “Let me look at that ear,” she snapped at Boulder. “And for StarClan’s sake, keep still!”
While she was cleaning up the savaged ear, Littlepaw crept into the den, holding out one paw that was bleeding where a claw had been torn away. “Is it true?” he mewed. “Is Badgerfang really dead?”
“Yes,” Yellowfang replied curtly.
To her astonishment, Littlepaw’s eyes shone. “Wow, he’s a true warrior now! I hope he’s watching me from StarClan!”
Grief struck Yellowfang like a blow. These tiny cats are far too accepting of death in battle. The warrior code has been trampled in the dust if they have no hope of living long enough to become elders.
When the last injured warrior had been treated, Runningnose helped Yellowfang clean up the leftover herbs. “Are you coming to the feast?” he asked.
Yellowfang shook her head. “I’m not hungry. You go.”
When Runningnose had left the den, Yellowfang did her best to ignore the sounds of celebration outside, and curled up in her nest. As sleep claimed her, she turned her thoughts toward StarClan. They cannot hide from me forever! I have to speak with them!
Opening her eyes within her dream, Yellowfang found herself in the windswept marsh where Brokenstar had received his nine lives. She paced among the reeds and scrubby bushes until she found Cedarstar, his head lowered as he lapped from a pool.