Night Whispers

Littlecloud stared back with wide, milky eyes. A cough seized him and shook his body. Flametail rushed to Littlecloud’s nest and began to massage his scrawny chest with both paws, trying to ease the tightness he could hear in the cough. He hated arguing with his mentor. Especially when he was sick. Littlecloud had taught him everything he knew, and he trusted him with his life. But Littlecloud hadn’t shared the vision of flame. It had been given to Flametail alone.

Flametail jerked away. Why had StarClan shared the warning only with him? He watched Littlecloud being racked with coughs. Was the old medicine cat going to die? Grief hollowed Flametail’s belly. He began rubbing Littlecloud’s back more urgently.

Gradually the coughing eased. Littlecloud lay back in his nest, fighting for breath. “You must always be honest with me,” he rasped.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about not going to the Moonpool.” Flametail smoothed Littlecloud’s clumped fur with a paw. “I didn’t want to upset you.” He met his mentor’s anxious gaze. “But I couldn’t disobey StarClan.”

Littlecloud nodded. “I understand,” he croaked. “I only ask for the truth.”

“Now you have it.” Flametail straightened. “We must stand alone. Raggedstar has made that clear, and I’m going to honor his wish.”

“Must I?” Littlecloud asked. “I’ve had no dreams. No visions. I’ve no reason to abandon old friends.” His voice was hardly a whisper.

“Are you thinking of Cinderpelt?” Flametail knew of the close bond between the two medicine cats.

Littlecloud’s eyes glistened.

Flametail leaned closer. “She’s dead,” he murmured. “Jayfeather is ThunderClan’s medicine cat now. He’s not Cinderpelt. He’ll want to fight alone if StarClan wishes it.”

“Jayfeather can do what he likes!” Littlecloud propped himself up with a groan. “Cinderpelt saved my life once. That act bonded us closer than friends. I will not abandon the Clan she loved until that debt is repaid.”

The stems around the entrance rustled, and Rowanclaw poked his head in. “Flametail?” he called. “Blackstar wants to see you.”

Littlecloud tried to clamber out of his nest.

“Just Flametail,” Rowanclaw told the medicine cat. “Blackstar heard you coughing. He wants you to rest.”

Littlecloud growled with frustration but sank back into the soft moss.

“I’ll tell you what he says,” Flametail promised, and hurried after Rowanclaw. As he crossed the clearing, he felt pelts brush either side of him. He slowed, puzzled. Rowanclaw was leading. No other cat was near.

Warm scents wreathed his pelt. Russetfur and Sagewhisker! He heard their voices, a soft wind in his ears.

“Stay strong!”

“We are with you!”

He nodded and padded into Blackstar’s den, leaving the ghostly warriors to the breeze.

“Have you had any more signs?” Blackstar was pacing the cramped den. His tail whipped behind him.

Flametail leaned out of the way. “Nothing,” he reported.

“Then why am I having such bad dreams?” Blackstar fixed him with a troubled gaze. “Every night I toss and turn, my dreams filled with blood and violence and death.”

Flametail blinked. The old leader looked haunted, darkness rimming his eyes.

“What dangers do we face?” Blackstar demanded. “Will ShadowClan be destroyed?” He peered through the entrance, anguish sharpening his mew. “When you visited the Moonpool after the battle with ThunderClan, you spoke of a war coming. Who threatens us? ThunderClan? WindClan? RiverClan? All of them? How should we face them? What do our ancestors say?”

Flametail dipped his head. “I told you what they said. We must face the danger alone. Allies will weaken us. So long as we stand alone, we’ll be safe.”

Hope lightened Blackstar’s eyes. “Really?”

“Yes.” Flametail looked down at his paws. “We’ll be fine.” The words sounded hollow, but he had to calm Blackstar. How could they face any battle if their leader lost his nerve?

Blackstar turned away. “We can fight this. We’ll be fine.” The ShadowClan leader had disappeared into his own thoughts. Flametail backed out of the den.

“I hear you found herbs.”

Rowanclaw’s mew made him jump. “Herbs?” he echoed.

“This morning,” Rowanclaw pressed. “Tawnypelt said you brought borage back. Do you want help to collect more?”

Flametail shook out his pelt, clearing his mind. “Yes,” he meowed. “That’s a good idea.”

Rowanclaw scanned the snowy clearing. “Toadfoot! Dawnpelt!” The two warriors were patching the nursery wall with leaves. Rowanclaw signaled to them with his tail. “I have a task for you.”

“What is it?” Dawnpelt reached her father first.

Rowanclaw purred. “Flametail’s found a supply of borage. We should collect it while the leaves are still green.”

“There may be other herbs that have been protected from the snow,” Flametail added. “We must hunt under every bramble.”

Toadfoot shuddered. “We’ll be sleeping with scratched pelts tonight.”

“Not if we’re careful.” Dawnpelt was staring into space. “In fact, I have an idea.”

“Lift it higher!” Dawnpelt called from beneath a clump of brambles.