Night Whispers

Littlecloud shook his head. “I’m getting better,” he assured Flametail.

“I want to be sure of that.” Flametail began to reach into his store.

“My fever has gone, and my chest is loosening. Save the catmint. Leaf-bare always drags on longer than you think.”

Flametail turned his gaze toward his denmate. “I’m glad we didn’t lose you.”

“You and me both.” Littlecloud’s eyes glowed. “Now go check on Mistkit.”

Flametail gathered the tansy stems together, putting one aside, and pushed them into the store with the catmint.

“Check Cedarheart, too,” Littlecloud went on. “I heard coughing from the elders’ den last night.”

“Okay.” Flametail picked up the tansy stem and headed for the entrance.

Kinkfur was pacing outside her den. She hurried to greet Flametail. “Mistkit was chattering like a starling this morning, but when she woke after her nap, she couldn’t speak.”

“Don’t worry.” Flametail hopped through the den entrance. “Even if she’s sick, we have herbs now.”

It was warm and dark inside the nursery. Sparrowkit was charging across the sandy floor, a moss ball only whiskers from his grasp. He batted it upward, and Dewkit jumped, snatching the ball in her paws. Sparrowkit lunged, knocking Dewkit into Flametail. Flametail dodged out of the way.

“Careful,” Kinkfur warned, pushing into the den.

Mistkit peeked out from a nest woven from hazel stems.

Sparrowkit untangled himself from Dewkit. “Mistkit’s really sick!’

“We’ll have her better in no time.” Flametail dropped the stem beside the nest. He sniffed at the kit. She was warm, but there was no sourness on her. If anything, it was whitecough. He nipped off one end of the tansy and laid it carefully at Kinkfur’s paws.

“Chew it up and give her the pulp to swallow after her next feed,” Flametail instructed.

Kinkfur nodded and pawed the stem out of the way as Sparrowkit and Dewkit bounced over to investigate.

“Blargh!” Dewkit shuddered.

Sparrowkit made a face. “Does she have to eat herbs?”

Flametail leaned down till his nose was level with theirs. “Don’t go too near her, or you’ll have to eat herbs, too.” He left Sparrowkit squeaking with disgust and nosed his way out of the den.

Cedarheart was lying outside the elders’ den, his flanks shuddering as he swallowed back a cough.

“Here.” Flametail dropped the rest of the tansy stem in front of the old tom’s muzzle. “Chew this,” he advised. “Make sure you swallow it all.”

Cedarheart pushed it away. “Save it for the young ’uns,” he croaked. “I’ve survived this long. A cough won’t harm me.”

“Probably not,” Flametail agreed. “But swallow it anyway. It’ll make my life easier.”

“In that case…” Cedarheart scooped up the tansy with his tongue, chewed it, grimacing, then swallowed. “I’ll be more glad to see this newleaf than I’ve ever been,” he grunted.

Flametail yawned. “I think I’d better stretch my legs,” he meowed. “Or I’ll be asleep before the dusk patrol leaves.”

He headed for the camp entrance. Outside, the air was already brittle with frost.

Shrieks sounded from the lake. Flametail pricked his ears. Was a cat in trouble? Then he recognized the voices of Redwillow and Pinepaw. They didn’t sound in fear for their lives. In fact, they sounded happy.

Paws pounded over the frozen snow toward him. A tortoiseshell pelt flashed, and Olivenose skidded to a halt beside him. She was out of breath. “We’re playing on the lake! It’s completely frozen,” she panted. “You could walk right over to RiverClan territory if you wanted.”

Dawnpelt caught up to her. “I’m going to fetch Scorchfur and Owlclaw!” She trotted past, heading for camp. “Go and play, Flametail,” she called over her shoulder. “You’ve been looking much too worried lately. Go and have some fun.” She disappeared into the brambles.

Flametail’s paws pricked. It had been a long time since he’d felt carefree. He’d been turning into an elder, obsessed with aches and pains and worrying about every cough and sneeze.

Olivenose bounded away. “Come on!”

Flametail raced after her, weaving between the bushes down to the shore. The Twoleg halfbridge jutted out into whiteness, clamped by ice. Olivenose trotted along the wooden boards and beckoned from the end with her tail. Flametail caught up to her and stood at the edge of the bridge.

The lake was completely frozen, a broad sheet of ice glowing pink under the sinking sun. Redwillow, several fox-lengths from the shore, raced over the gleaming whiteness, then flung himself down and skidded, spinning, on his belly. Yowls of amusement followed him from where Crowfrost and Ratscar stood watching. Even the senior warriors were enjoying themselves.

Olivenose jumped down from the halfbridge and landed on the ice. “Come on; it’s safe,” she called.

Nervously, Flametail hopped down, relieved to find the ice firm beneath his paws. He tentatively padded away from the halfbridge, heading for where Starlingpaw and Pinepaw were sliding stones to each other.

“What are you playing?” Flametail called.

Pinepaw jumped up. “Well done, Olivenose!” she meowed. “Now we’ve got enough players.”