Night Whispers

Toadfoot groaned as he heaved the stick up with his front paws, balancing on his rear legs and levering the prickly stems from the ground until they were high enough for Flametail and Dawnpelt to squeeze underneath.

“Don’t let it drop!” Dawnpelt warned as she wriggled farther under the brambles.

“I won’t,” Toadfoot puffed.

Flametail followed his sister, his belly scraping the frozen earth. The top brambles were weighted with snow, but here at ground level the stems were bare, and he could see green shoots sprouting among them. “Can you reach?” he mewed to Dawnpelt.

“I think so.” She stretched out her forepaws and began plucking the leaves. “Here.” She passed a pawful back to Flametail. It was coltsfoot. Even if he couldn’t cure Littlecloud, he’d have some way to ease his breathing.

He gathered the leaves Dawnpelt passed him until he was holding a satisfying, green-scented wad between his paws. “Any more?” he called.

“That’s it,” Dawnpelt answered.

Flametail squirmed backward, out from under the brambles, and shook the prickles from his pelt. Toadfoot was panting with the effort of levering the bush up. Flametail dropped the coltsfoot and put his paws under the stick, next to his Clanmate. Together they held the brambles high until Dawnpelt wriggled out.

Flametail gazed happily at the pile of coltsfoot. “That supply should keep us going for a moon, so long as there aren’t too many coughs.”

“Let’s try another bush!” Dawnpelt circled excitedly, scanning the trees. “What about that one over there?” She hared toward another snow-covered thicket.

Toadfoot rolled his eyes. “I guess I’m carrying the stick.” He picked up the sturdy pine branch in his teeth and began to drag it after Dawnpelt.

Suddenly, Flametail heard a sharp crack. Dawnpelt stumbled as ice split underneath her paws. As she started to fall, Flametail felt a rush of dread.

Plunged into a vision, he found himself floundering in freezing black water. It sucked him down, clutching at his fur, filling his ears and mouth. He gasped for breath, and water flooded his chest. Gagging and coughing, he fought his way up, flailing for the surface. His claws hit ice. It blocked the air, trapping him underwater, forcing him back into the sucking depths. Terror roared in his ears as he scrabbled to break it. He felt his claws rip against the smooth surface, and his lungs screamed.

“No!” Flametail hurled himself at Dawnpelt before she could sink through the ice. He knocked her into the snow at the side of the trail.

“What in the name of StarClan are you doing?” she yelped, and pushed him off, scrabbling to find her paws. “Have you gone crazy?”

In the center of the path, a small circle of ice had cracked to reveal a muddy puddle, barely more than a leaf’s thickness deep.

“Were you afraid I was going to get my paws wet?” Dawnpelt demanded.

Flametail stared at the puddle, his flanks heaving. “I… I…” The vision crowded his thoughts, and he could think of nothing but being trapped under that ice in freezing, choking water.

Flametail backed away. Why had a puddle triggered such a vivid vision? He shivered. First fire, now water. He was seeing danger everywhere.

“I know,” he whispered to StarClan. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

He must concentrate on what was important right now. Littlecloud was sick. He had to find herbs to keep his Clanmates strong and healthy. Visions could wait.

Chapter 18

Sandstorm was coughing. Lionblaze broke off from his work patching the elders’ den and glanced at her as she crouched with her shoulders hunched beneath Highledge. She’d been coughing last night, too.

Firestar leaped down the rocks and touched his mate’s head with his muzzle. “Are you okay?”

“Just swallowed a snowflake,” Sandstorm rasped.

Lionblaze pushed another pawful of leaves into a gap in the branches. Though it was sunhigh, the hollow was gray under a gray sky. More snow had fallen in the past days, weighing down the beech tree so that the freshly built walls creaked and buckled, sprouting holes and cracks. Lionblaze had been working all morning to fill them in and stop the icy drafts that sliced through the new dens. Toadstep and Birchfall had been bringing leaves into camp, their paws muddy where they’d dug through the snow to scrape them from the frozen forest floor.

Birchfall dropped another pile at Lionblaze’s paws. Toadstep paced behind him, trying to keep warm. “Do you need more?”

Both warriors were out of breath. Their pelts clung to their bones. Prey had been scarce for nearly half a moon, and the Clan was lucky to eat a few mouthfuls a day.

Lionblaze scooped up a pawful of frostbitten foliage. “If you can find more, I’ll be able to patch the back of the den, too.”

Birchfall nodded and led Toadstep back out of camp.

“Make sure you patch it up well!” Mousefur’s reedy mew sounded through the den wall. “I hardly slept last night, the den was so windy.”