Shattered Sky

Puddleshine sprang up hopefully as Alderheart and the other cats leaped down the bank and landed on the pebbles. “Hi,” he meowed, his ears twitching forward in surprise. “What brings you here?”

“Mothwing and Alderheart have come to collect Mothwing’s herb stores,” Needletail replied. “In exchange, they’re going to tell you how to use some of them, like”—Needletail glanced around a little wildly, then grabbed a sprig of watermint in her claws—“like this,” she finished.

Puddleshine looked slightly confused. “But that’s an easy one. It’s watermint, and you use it to treat a bellyache. Yellowfang showed me that in my dreams, along with…”

His voice trailed off as he gazed at Needletail and Raven, clearly realizing that something was going on that he didn’t understand. Needletail still had the same intense expression, while Raven’s eyes suddenly narrowed with suspicion and she slid out her claws.

I hope Puddleshine figures out that Needletail has a plan, Alderheart thought, though he was still wondering what the plan might be.

“Of course, I don’t know nearly everything yet,” Puddleshine went on. “I could definitely use some help with some things. For example, I was just wondering what this is.” He nudged a marigold flower closer to Mothwing.

Alderheart’s belly lurched. Every medicine-cat apprentice learns about marigold—it’s one of the first herbs we work with! Surely Raven is going to realize that she’s being tricked? But when the black she-cat stayed silent, merely looking on stonily, he breathed a thankful sigh that the rogues knew nothing about medicine cats.

“That’s called marigold. We mostly use it to stop infection,” Mothwing explained, “though it will help aching joints if you can’t get daisy leaves.”

Puddleshine nodded, looking as if he was trying to concentrate and remember. To Alderheart’s relief, Raven relaxed her suspicious stance and began to clean her claws.

“And this is yarrow,” Mothwing continued. “Chewed and swallowed, it will make you vomit, which means it’s good for a cat who’s eaten something they shouldn’t have…”

While the lesson went on, Alderheart nudged Needletail and drew her off to one side. “How are you really doing?” he asked. “Is everything okay? What happened to Rain?”

Needletail flicked her tail, brushing off his concern. “Rain is dead,” she told him, “but it’s fine. It’s a good thing, really.”

Alderheart tried to hide his shock at Needletail’s indifference toward the death of any cat, especially a cat she had cared for. “And how are you?” he meowed.

“Oh, I’m fine.” Needletail seemed to be trying to work up some enthusiasm in her tone, but she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “Everything’s fine.”

Why does she keep repeating that? Alderheart wondered. Is she trying to convince herself?

“Actually,” Needletail went on, “I wanted to ask you about Dawnpelt. How is she doing in ThunderClan?”

Alderheart felt his heart sink right down into his paws. But he knew he would have to answer the question. “Dawnpelt isn’t in ThunderClan,” he replied. “Isn’t she still with you and the rogues?”

“No,” Needletail explained, her eyes widening in apprehension. “She went to ThunderClan to live with her parents and her littermate.”

Alderheart shook his head. “I’m sorry, but she hasn’t come to our camp.”

As he spoke, the fur on the back of Needletail’s neck stood up and terror flashed into her eyes. She looked as if she had suddenly understood something, and it had driven her into the depths of fear.

“What do you—” Alderheart began.

“Well, if something happened to Dawnpelt, it was her own fault!” Needletail interrupted. “She should have been more careful.”

Alderheart wanted to protest at Needletail’s harsh tone—then he realized that Raven still stood close by, watching and listening carefully. There was no way that Needletail could say what she truly meant. Every hair on his pelt prickled as he began to understand her fear.

I’ve seen Needletail in a lot of different moods, but never terrified like this. What is going on here with the rogues?

Chapter 11

Violetpaw crouched under a bush at the edge of the old RiverClan camp, sharing a fish with Loki and Zelda. Each mouthful of the cold, slimy prey threatened to choke her, and it was an effort to swallow.

“I really don’t like fish,” she muttered. “I’d give anything for a warm, juicy mouse!”

“Me too,” Loki agreed. “Or a bowl of the pellets my housefolk used to give me.”

Zelda’s only response was a sigh.