Night Whispers

“Is anything wrong?” Cinderheart whispered, leaning closer. “You can tell me anything, I promise. Those wounds couldn’t have been caused by a thorn. You’d have been awake and out of your nest at the first prick.” She sat back and gazed at Ivypaw. “And a thorn wouldn’t have caused infection so quickly, no matter how deeply it scratched. Besides…” She peered at Ivypaw’s wounds. “Thorn scratches don’t rip at the flesh like that.”

Ivypaw had grown stiff as dead prey. What could she say? Her mind whirled while her body froze.

“Tell me the truth,” Cinderheart pressed quietly. “I won’t be angry. I just need to know how I can help you.”

Ivypaw took a deep breath. “I’ve been practicing at night.”

“Practicing?”

“I want to be the best ThunderClan warrior ever.” And I’m going to be!

“Oh.” The word escaped Cinderheart as a sigh. “I understand.” She sounded relieved. “Of course you want to be the best. And you’ve been out in the forest training by yourself.”

“Yes.” Ivypaw cringed. She hated lying to her mentor, who had done nothing but treat her fairly. It’s close to the truth, she told herself. “Dovepaw’s so good at everything. Everybody treats her like a warrior already. Firestar asks her for advice, and Lionblaze never does anything without her…”

Cinderheart stiffened. “You’re every bit as good as Dovepaw!” she hissed. “I couldn’t be prouder of you! If you want to do more training, we’ll fit it in during the day. You’re a growing cat; you need your rest.”

Ivypaw nodded dutifully.

“Will you promise me that you won’t go out again at night?” Cinderheart prompted. “There’s no one to look out for you when the Clan’s sleeping. Who knows what might happen? What if that fox came back?” Worry edged her mew. “You’re as good as any warrior. You don’t need to sneak around training in secret.” Cinderheart’s eyes burned into Ivypaw’s. “Promise me you won’t leave the camp at night again!”

Ivypaw stared at her paws, guilt pricking her belly. “I promise,” she muttered.

Chapter 16

Dovepaw barged out of the apprentices’ den after Whitewing and Bumblestripe. Let Cinderheart fuss over her! I found her a thorn. She can explain the rest.

But her rage quickly ebbed. She wasn’t angry. She was scared. Every night she went to sleep wondering what wounds Ivypaw would wake with. And what if Ivypaw started thinking like a Dark Forest warrior? She needed to talk to Jayfeather. He had to help. She headed for his den.

She stalked past the fresh-kill pile, where Purdy was turning over a muddy-looking mouse. “Do you think this will appeal to Mousefur?” he rasped.

Dovepaw paused. “What?”

“It doesn’t look like much.” Purdy dangled the scrawny mouse from a claw. “But it might tempt her.”

“Isn’t she hungry?” Dovepaw was surprised. Surely every cat in the Clan must be hungry?

Squirrelflight hurried over. “Does she have a fever?”

Purdy shook his head. “She just seems tired and sad.” His shoulders drooped. “I was hoping there would be something on the fresh-kill pile to cheer her up.”

“One of the hunting patrols should be back soon,” Squirrelflight meowed. “They might bring something.” She glanced at Dovepaw. “Isn’t Lionblaze taking you out?”

Dovepaw shrugged. “When he’s ready.” Besides, I have something else to do first. She glanced toward the medicine den, hoping Bumblestripe wouldn’t be hanging around there long.

Purdy let the mouse fall with a soft thud into the snow. “If I were a few seasons younger, I’d go out myself.” He stared dreamily up to the top of the hollow. “I was quite a hunter in my youth. I could catch rabbits.” He puffed out his chest. “And pheasants, although…” His whiskers twitched. “Pheasants aren’t that hard to catch. They prefer eating to flying.”

Dovepaw blinked, her attention snatched from Jayfeather. “You caught pheasants?” Purdy wasn’t small, but even he must have been outweighed by a pheasant.

“When I was younger, nothing was too big for me.” Sighing, the old cat headed away toward the elders’ den.

Dovepaw dipped her head to Squirrelflight and hurried to the medicine den.

Bumblestripe was pacing beside Briarlight’s nest. “You should have seen it! So much blood. All from one thorn. And she’d been sleeping on it all night and hadn’t noticed.”

Jayfeather was soaking his pulp-stained paws in the pool. “Don’t exaggerate, Bumblestripe.” He snatched them out and began licking them. “It was nothing more than a couple of scratches.”

“I’m going to be checking moss for Jayfeather now,” Briarlight announced proudly. “I’m the thorn patrol.” She looked across at the medicine cat. “Perhaps I should check the moss for the nursery before it goes in the nests.”