Night Whispers

Flametail trotted along the tracks left by his Clanmates, his fur pricking with excitement when he saw a drift rise in front of him, the snow dented where Pinepaw had fallen into it. He burrowed through, ignoring the cold that stung his paws, until he felt the first stab of bramble. Wincing, he drew back the stems and saw, safely sheltered, the dark green leaf of unscorched borage.

Thank StarClan! He nipped off as many leaves as he could reach, then shuffled backward out of the snowy burrow. But worry still pricked his pelt. If only it had been catmint or even tansy. Borage was only good for easing fever. It didn’t drive out infection, and Littlecloud’s lungs were thick with it. What if his sickness turned to greencough? With no catmint, Flametail would be helpless.

He pushed the thought away. Enjoy StarClan’s blessings, he reminded himself.

Flametail headed for the camp. He liked the cold, crisp weather, and though it made his paws ache, he enjoyed the crunch of snow.

“Flametail!”

As he ducked through the camp entrance, Tawnypelt hurried to meet him. “You’ve found herbs!” She licked him roughly on the cheek. “Well done!”

Flametail screwed up his face, reminding himself that he was lucky to have such affectionate kin. Sometimes at Gatherings he glimpsed Breezepelt eyeing Crowfeather and Nightcloud with undisguised rage. Crowfeather and Nightcloud never noticed; they were usually too busy exchanging harsh words between themselves.

“You’re looking thin,” Tawnypelt fretted.

Flametail shrugged. His jaws were too crammed with borage to speak. Of course he looked thin. It was leaf-bare.

Tawnypelt glanced toward the medicine den. “You’d better go to him. He’s been coughing again.”

Flametail brushed his mother’s cheek with his tail as he hurried away. The medicine den smelled of infection. Flame-tail dropped the borage beside the store. “You should be in your nest.”

Littlecloud was slowly sorting leaves at the back of the den. The fresh herbs were piled on one side; the dry were pushed to the other. “There’s no feverfew at all,” he sighed.

“Let me help,” Flametail offered.

“I can manage.” Littlecloud burst into a fit of coughing, which sent the dried leaves fluttering over the den floor.

Flametail gently steered the medicine cat to his nest. “I’ll find the comfrey and take it to the elders’ den,” he promised.

“Stupid cough,” Littlecloud grumbled as he climbed into the moss. He looked relieved as he sank into its softness. “It’ll clear up in a day or two.”

“Of course.” Flametail padded to the herbs. Littlecloud had been saying the same thing for days. He’d been too sick to travel to the Moonpool again, and he was no better now.

Flametail had been secretly relieved that Littlecloud hadn’t gone to the Moonpool, because he hadn’t gone, either. Raggedstar had told them to stay away from the other medicine cats. With Littlecloud too sick to travel, Flametail could obey Raggedstar without arguing with his mentor. When half-moon had come, Flametail had gone alone into the forest and waited out the night in the shelter of a hollow log.

He started tidying the leaves that Littlecloud’s cough had scattered.

“Have you had any dreams?” Littlecloud asked suddenly.

Flametail began to roll a wad of comfrey ready for Tallpoppy. “No.”

“What about when you went to the Moonpool at half-moon?”

Flametail stiffened. “It was the same as before. We must stand alone.”

A growl sounded in Littlecloud’s throat. “Why are you lying?”

Flametail stopped rolling the comfrey. “Lying?” he echoed, trying to keep his voice calm.

“About going to the Moonpool.” Littlecloud’s nest rustled. “I’ve been waiting for a quarter moon for you to tell me the truth.” He coughed hard. “When you got back, there was no scent of water or stone or the other medicine cats on you. Only damp wood and fear.”

Flametail turned to face his mentor. “I’m sorry.” He meant it. He searched for the right words to explain what was going on. “Raggedstar told me to stay away from the other medicine cats, remember? I’ll go to the Moonpool alone if you like.”

“Why are you so sure you interpreted your vision correctly?” Littlecloud challenged.

“There was nothing to interpret!” Flametail swallowed against the frustration rising in his throat. “Raggedstar was clear. War is coming. We must rely on our ancestors to guide us through it. No one else!”

“But Blackstar agrees with me. We must be cautious.”

Flametail flexed his claws. “I’m a medicine cat. I answer first to StarClan!”

“If war is coming, alliances may be our only hope!” Littlecloud’s mew was growing hoarse. “Joining forces with the other Clans kept us alive on the Great Journey, and before that it helped us to defeat Scourge and BloodClan.”

Flametail stared at his mentor. “That was then. This is now. Times have changed.”

“The warrior code never changes.”

“We’re not warriors!” Flametail snapped. “We’re medicine cats.”