Tallstar’s Revenge

Tallpaw closed his eyes. “He’s dead,” he whispered. His legs crumpled beneath him and choking mud seemed to swamp him once more. He could feel the suffocating weight of earth and water, and he imagined his father thrashing against the flood as it grew heavier and heavier until at last he was pinned without light or air, lungs screaming, heart bursting.

“Tallpaw?” Hawkheart leaned over him. “Swallow these leaves.”

A pungent scent wafted beneath his nose. Numbly he lapped up the green specks beside his mouth.

“Bring more thyme, Barkpaw,” Hawkheart called. “And some of the poultice we made for the wounded warriors.”

“Are you all right, Sparrow?” Bess’s anxious mew sounded nearby. Tallpaw opened his eyes and saw the black-and-white cat pacing around the brown warrior. Reena was sniffing at his filthy pelt.

“I’ll live.” Sparrow shook out his fur, showering his companions with muddy water.

Hawkheart turned his head. “All Sparrow needs is a good wash,” he growled. “Help him get cleaned up.” He nosed Tallpaw onto his side and began sniffing his scratches. “Great StarClan, what a mess.”

“I had to drag him out,” Woollytail meowed.

“He’s pretty shredded,” Hawkheart muttered. “But no deep wounds.”

Paw steps pattered closer and a wad of herbs landed beside Hawkheart. “Is he okay?” Tallpaw recognized Barkpaw’s mew.

“He’ll be fine.” Hawkheart began to lap herbs into a wound on Tallpaw’s pad. Tallpaw winced at the pain but held still. “Go and soak moss in the spring,” Hawkheart told Barkpaw. “Plenty of it. I want you to wash as much of this mud out of Tallpaw’s fur as you can.”

The medicine cat’s mew faded into buzzing, and darkness swallowed Tallpaw. Hawkheart poked him sharply. “Stay awake. You’ve had a shock. You can sleep later.” He began pressing the herbs more firmly into Tallpaw’s wounds. The pain jerked Tallpaw into wakefulness.

“These will heal in no time,” Hawkheart promised. “We just have to get you clean.” He nosed some more pungent thyme toward Tallpaw. “Keep chewing this. It’ll help.”

Tallpaw lapped up another tongueful of shredded leaves and began chewing. His thoughts started to clear. By the time Barkpaw returned and began sluicing his pelt with soaked moss, he was able to turn and watch.

“I’m sorry about Sandgorse.” Barkpaw didn’t lift his eyes from what he was doing.

“I’m sorry about Brackenwing,” Tallpaw meowed.

Barkpaw didn’t reply, just kept washing Tallpaw’s pelt. The long, cool strokes lulled Tallpaw and eased his pain.

“Do you want some food?” When Barkpaw had gone to rinse out the mud-filled moss, Reena clambered over a tussock and sat down beside Tallpaw. “You haven’t eaten all day.” She twitched her tail toward the prey heap, stacked high with fresh-kill.

Tallpaw shook his head. “I’m not hungry, thanks.”

“Then I could just sit with you,” Reena offered.

Tallpaw shook his head. He didn’t want company. His pain was all on the inside now, too deep for anyone to touch. He could see Palebird outside the nursery staring into space, her eyes glazed. For a moment Tallpaw understood why she always seemed so distant. If she didn’t let herself feel anything, she might protect herself from her grief for Finchkit. Now he wanted to do the same. “I’d rather be alone,” he mumbled.

“Are you sure?” Reena leaned close, the scent of rabbit on her breath.

“I’m sure.” Tallpaw watched her pad away to the Hunting Stones, where Bess, Algernon, and Mole were tucking grass around Sparrow.

Bess pulled up a pawful of moss from beneath one of the rocks and packed it beneath Sparrow’s shoulder. “Is that more comfortable?”

Sparrow wriggled. “Much better,” he purred.

Tallpaw growled under his breath. Anger felt better than grief. He watched the sun sink below the heather. It glowed on Dawnstripe’s pelt as she padded toward him. A mouse dangled from her jaws. She stopped beside him and dropped it at his paws. “You should eat something,” she meowed.

How did Dawnstripe think he could eat? Didn’t she know he’d just lost his father? “I told Reena: I’m not hungry,” Tallpaw muttered.

“It won’t always feel this bad,” Dawnstripe promised.

He glared at her. “Yes, it will!” he snapped. “I’ll never feel happy again. StarClan doesn’t want me to be happy. They should have taken me, not Finchkit.” He glared across the camp at Palebird. “Maybe Sandgorse wouldn’t be dead if my sister were alive.”

Dawnstripe stiffened. “Don’t say things like that!”

“I’ve done everything wrong,” Tallpaw snarled. “If I’d insisted on being a tunneling apprentice, Sandgorse would have been exploring the gorge tunnel with me, not Sparrow. I wouldn’t have left him behind.”

“You’re upset.” Dawnstripe got to her paws. “You’re not thinking straight. I’ll come and check on you later, when you’ve had some rest.” She padded away and settled down beside Redclaw and Appledawn, but her gaze flashed anxiously toward Tallpaw as she shared tongues with her Clanmates.

Appledawn’s voice carried on the breeze. “Sandgorse should never have taken Sparrow down those tunnels.”

Tallpaw sat up.