He was sure that his parents hadn’t made such a fuss when his littermates, Pouncestep and Lightleap, had been warrior apprentices.
Shadowpaw wanted that, too.
“The snow must be really deep up on the moors,” Dovewing mewed. “Make sure you watch where you’re putting your paws.”
Shadowpaw wriggled his shoulders, praying that none of his Clanmates were listening. “I will,” he promised, glancing toward the medicine cats’ den in the hope of seeing his mentor, Puddleshine, emerge. But there was no sign of him yet.
To his relief, Tigerstar gave Dovewing a nudge and they both moved off toward the Clan leader’s den. Shadowpaw rubbed one paw hastily across his face and bounded across the camp to see what was keeping Puddleshine.
Intent on finding his mentor, Shadowpaw barely noticed the patrol trekking toward the fresh-kill pile, prey dangling from their jaws. He skidded to a halt just in time to avoid colliding with Cloverfoot, the Clan deputy.
“Shadowpaw!” she exclaimed around the shrew she was carrying. “You nearly knocked me off my paws.”
“Sorry, Cloverfoot,” Shadowpaw meowed, dipping his head respectfully.
Cloverfoot let out a snort, half annoyed, half amused. “Apprentices!”
Shadowpaw tried to hide his irritation. He was an apprentice, yes, but an old one—medicine cat apprentices’ training lasted longer than warriors’. His littermates were full warriors already. But he knew his parents would want him to respect the deputy.
Cloverfoot padded on, followed by Strikestone, Yarrowleaf, and Blazefire. Though they were all carrying prey, they had only one or two pieces each, and what little they had managed to catch was undersized and scrawny.
“I can’t remember a leaf-bare as cold as this,” Yarrowleaf complained as she dropped a blackbird on the fresh-kill pile.
Strikestone nodded, shivering as he fluffed out his brown tabby pelt. “No wonder there’s no prey. They’re all hiding down their holes, and I can’t blame them.”
As Shadowpaw moved on, out of earshot, he couldn’t help noticing how pitifully small the fresh-kill pile was, and he tried to ignore his own growling belly. He could hardly remember his first leaf-bare, when he’d been a tiny kit, so he didn’t know if the older cats were right and the weather was unusually cold.
Puddleshine ducked out of the entrance to the medicine cats’ den as Shadowpaw approached. “Good, you’re ready,” he meowed. “We’d better hurry, or we’ll be late.” As he led the way toward the camp entrance, he added, “I’ve been checking our herb stores, and they’re getting dangerously low.”
“We could search for more on the way back,” Shadowpaw suggested, his medicine-cat duties driving out his thoughts of cold and hunger. He always enjoyed working with Puddleshine to find, sort, and store the herbs. Treating cats with herbs made him feel calm and in control … the opposite of how he felt during his seizures and upsetting visions.
“We can try,” Puddleshine sighed. “But what isn’t frostbitten will be covered with snow.” He glanced over his shoulder at Shadowpaw as the two cats headed out into the forest. “This is turning out to be a really bad leaf-bare. And it isn’t over yet, not by a long way.”
Excitement tingled through Shadowpaw from ears to tail-tip as he scrambled up the rocky slope toward the line of bushes that surrounded the Moonpool hollow. His worries over his seizures and the bitter leaf-bare faded; every hair on his pelt was bristling with anticipation of his meeting with the other medicine cats, and most of all with StarClan.
He might not be a full medicine cat yet, and he might not be fully in control of his visions … but he would still get to meet with his warrior ancestors. And from the rest of the medicine cats he would find out what was going on in the other Clans.