Leafpool’s Wish

“Then you have to give her something to sleep through it!” Brightheart insisted. “Shall I fetch poppy seeds?”

Leafpool thought for a moment. Poppy seeds would make Whitepaw sleep more deeply, and if she had already been knocked out, would that be dangerous? She wanted the apprentice to wake up as soon as possible and indicate if she was in pain anywhere else. “No,” she meowed at last. “The pain won’t last long, and if it helps to rouse Whitepaw, that might be a good thing.” Brightheart let out a yelp of dismay but Leafpool ignored her. “Thornclaw, fetch a stick and put it between Whitepaw’s jaws in case she bites down. Brackenfur, hold her hindquarters steady like this.” She demonstrated by placing her paws firmly on Whitepaw’s haunches. The little cat let out a murmur.

Brackenfur gritted his teeth and followed Leafpool’s directions. “You’ll have to be quite strong,” Leafpool warned. “Her tail might not go back easily.”

She realized her paws were trembling. She tried to picture the skeletons of shrews and rabbits that Cinderpelt had used to demonstrate the way bones fitted together. For a moment she hesitated, terrified that she was going to damage the apprentice even more.

Brackenfur murmured in her ear, “I know you can do this, Leafpool. Go on.”

Leafpool took a deep breath and curled one paw over Whitepaw’s tail, close to the tip. She rested her other paw on the base of the little cat’s spine. With Brackenfur holding the haunches steady, Leafpool began to twist the tail. Whitepaw’s eyes stayed shut but she let out a dreadful screech. Brightheart lurched forward but Cloudtail held her back. Brackenfur grunted with the effort of holding Whitepaw still. Leafpool kept up the pressure until she felt a tiny click underneath Whitepaw’s fur. Suddenly the tail relaxed in her paw and Whitepaw gave a small sigh.

“You did it!” breathed Brightheart.

Whitepaw shivered and opened her eyes. “Where am I?” she mewed.

“You’re safe,” Brightheart told her. She ran her paw over Whitepaw’s head. “Leafpool has fixed your tail.”

“My mouth hurts,” Whitepaw whimpered. The swelling on her jaw was making it difficult for her to speak.

“Perhaps next time you see a hare you’ll let it run away,” Leafpool mewed. “You’ll have a nasty bump there for a little while, but I can give you something to help with the pain. Thornclaw, Brackenfur, carry Whitepaw into my den. I’ll send Birchpaw to fetch clean moss and feathers for her nest.”

Thornclaw carefully eased Whitepaw onto her mentor’s shoulders and with Brightheart holding her steady, they made their way to the cleft in the rock.

“You did very well, my dear,” commented a voice behind Leafpool.

“Sandstorm!” she meowed. She hadn’t realized her mother had been watching.

“I’m so proud of you,” Sandstorm mewed, her green eyes glowing. “You even managed to keep Brightheart calm.”

“No queen wants to see her kits in pain,” Leafpool meowed.

“Of course not,” Sandstorm agreed. She took a step forward and let her tail tip fall against Leafpool’s flank. “Even when her kits are grown up, a she-cat is always a mother.” Her breath was warm and sweet scented. “Are you all right, Leafpool?” she murmured. “You seem distracted at the moment, as if something is troubling you. You can tell me anything, you know.”

No I can’t! Leafpool felt a tiny quiver inside her, and suddenly she wanted to get out of the hollow, away from Sandstorm’s too-close questions, from her mother’s knowledge of what an expecting she-cat looked and smelled like. “I need to fetch fresh stocks of yarrow,” she meowed. “Tell Brightheart to stay beside Whitepaw, but she mustn’t give her any poppy seeds. I won’t be long.”

Sandstorm nodded, looking troubled, but she didn’t try to stop her. Leafpool turned to push her way out of the barrier of thorns. Without thinking, she headed up the slope toward the ridge. There was yarrow closer to the camp, beside the lake, but her paws carried her to the plants that grew along the edge of the stream on the border with WindClan. She breathed in the scents of moorland and rabbit, and felt the kits shift inside her. Do they know this is where their father comes from?

She had just nipped through a fleshy yarrow stalk when she heard the sounds of cats approaching on the other side of the stream. A WindClan patrol! Leafpool poked her head up to see four cats racing over the grass. Crowfeather was leading, his dark gray fur flitting like a shadow across the ground. A black she-cat ran close beside him, matching his stride.