Sunrise

“You’ll be fine,” Firestar assured the apprentice; Jayfeather hadn’t heard him come down from the Highledge. “Who have we got for hunting patrols, Graystripe?”

“I thought I’d lead one,” the gray warrior meowed. “I’ll take Sorreltail and Mousewhisker.” In a lower voice he added to Firestar, “If you or I do the border patrols, every cat will think there’s something to be scared of.”

“Good thinking,” Firestar agreed.

“Dustpelt, will you lead another hunting patrol,” Graystripe went on more loudly. “Cloudtail and Brightheart can go with you. Try the ShadowClan border, but remember what Brambleclaw said about being careful not to cross it.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, thanks,” Dustpelt snapped, irritation sparking from him.

“Should we take Icepaw?” Brightheart asked. “She doesn’t get out much, now that Whitewing is in the nursery.”

“Sure,” Graystripe meowed. “Icepaw! Stop batting that bark around and come over here.”

Jayfeather heard the scampering of paws and excited mews as the other apprentice bounded up. “You’re going hunting with Dustpelt, Cloudtail, and Brightheart,” Graystripe told them. “We’re counting on you to bring back a lot of fresh-kill.”

“I’m sure you will,” Firestar assured her. “You’re doing so well.”

Jayfeather could feel the apprentice’s happy pride as she padded over to join the senior warriors.

“It won’t be long before we’ll be holding another warrior ceremony,” Firestar remarked to Graystripe.

Although his words sounded cheerful, Jayfeather picked up the doubt buzzing beneath them. He knew that his Clan leader’s thoughts were with the patrol of Clanmates who were heading off to find Sol.

Did Sol really kill Ashfur? Was I right to send so many warriors to look for him? Will my Clan be vulnerable without them? Jayfeather could hear his leader’s thoughts as clearly as if Firestar had spoken them aloud. To his surprise, he realized that Firestar still felt weak after the attack of greencough that had taken one of his nine lives. Lurking in his mind was the fear that the sickness would return.

And maybe he’s right, Jayfeather thought. He could hear Spiderleg wheezing over by the nursery, as his kits tumbled all over him.

“That’s right,” their mother, Daisy, meowed. “You can practice your fighting moves with your father. Spiderleg, can’t you be a scarier badger than that?”

“Badgers…don’t”—Spiderleg was finding it hard to catch his breath—“get…greencough,” he finished painfully.

Nearby Millie was grooming her three kits, breaking off every now and then to cough. “Don’t stay out if it gets too cold,” Graystripe warned her, bounding over to her side. “And you three kits—don’t play too rough with your mother.”

Jayfeather heard Blossomkit’s high-pitched mew. “We won’t.”

“Right, the patrols can go now,” Graystripe announced as he returned. “Keep a good lookout, and report anything you see that’s at all strange.”

The stone hollow was quiet after all the patrols had left; the remaining warriors returned to their den to get out of the cold. Daisy and Millie rounded up the kits.

“It’s time for some exercise,” Daisy meowed. “Running around will keep you warm. Who can fetch me a twig from the thorn barrier and get back here first?”

“I can!” all the kits yowled together, and they pelted across the clearing. Jayfeather jumped back to avoid being knocked over and retreated into his den.

As soon as he set paw behind the bramble screen, the dust from churned-up moss and bracken hit him in the nose. “What’s going on?” he asked, stifling a sneeze.

“I’m changing the bedding,” Leafpool explained. “Can you come over here and roll up this moss, please?”

Jayfeather padded over, his paws sinking into the heaps of moss and bracken that Leafpool had already clawed together. “I think it’s going to snow,” he pointed out. “All the fresh stuff will be soaked with it.”

“We can squeeze the water out,” Leafpool replied. “This old bedding is disgusting. How can we ask sick cats to sleep in it?”

I’d rather sleep in it, Jayfeather thought, than go outside to get freezing cold and wet.

He was starting to push the piles together, half burying himself in dried fronds of fern and clumps of moss, when he heard a cat brush past the brambles. He picked up Firestar’s scent above the dusty smell of the bedding.

“How are you, Leafpool?” Firestar meowed.

“Fine, thanks.” Leafpool’s tone was brisk, and she didn’t stop raking out the remains of the bedding.

“There’s something I want to ask you….” Firestar’s voice trailed off, and Jayfeather picked up strong waves of anxiety coming from him. He crouched among the ferns, trying not to sneeze again and hoping that whatever Firestar had to say didn’t need to be said in private.

“Well?” Leafpool prompted.

“It’s just—” Firestar broke off again.

Spit it out! Jayfeather urged him silently.