The Forgotten Warrior

She bounded off toward the lake. Ivypool exchanged a glance with Dovewing, and they both followed. They had just reached the gnarled oak whose roots were covered in thick green moss when Ivypool spotted a flicker of movement in the trees nearby. Her neck fur began to rise and she braced her muscles, ready to attack an intruder, then relaxed as she realized it was Jayfeather. She was still surprised by how confidently the blind medicine cat wove through the undergrowth.

Whitewing had paused, gazing through the trees at Jayfeather. “He shouldn’t be out by himself,” she murmured. “Ivypool, go see if he needs any help.”

Ivypool hesitated. She didn’t want to be alone with Jayfeather; she knew he had been waiting for the chance to interrogate her about the Dark Forest.

“Go on!” Whitewing flicked her tail toward Jayfeather. “He might be a bit moody, but you know he’ll be glad to have your help.”

And hedgehogs might fly! Ivypool thought as she padded after the medicine cat.

“Good luck!” Dovewing whispered after her.

Ivypool quickened her pace, following Jayfeather’s thin tabby shape as he rounded a patch of nettles. “Hi,” she meowed as she caught up to him. “Whitewing sent me to see if you need any help.”

Jayfeather twitched one ear as if a fly had landed on it. “No,” he replied curtly.

Great! I can get back to moss collecting! But then Ivypool realized that Whitewing would never let her get away with that. “At least let me tag along,” she persisted. “Or I’ll just be sent straight back to you.”

Jayfeather shrugged. “Okay. But don’t even think of trying to guide me. I was finding my way through this forest before you were kitted. I’m just going to collect some marigold leaves from the top of the hollow,” he added as Ivypool fell in beside him. “There are some good clumps on the slope above the highest part of the cliff, where the trees have thinned out and sunlight reaches the ground.”

Ivypool was surprised that the medicine cat could describe the spot so well when he had never seen it. She padded beside him over rough ground along the curve of the cliff, where stones poked out of the earth and roots snaked out as if trying to trip them. Soon they reached the edge, and Ivypool looked down into the hollow. She shuddered as she remembered her vision of blood and fighting cats, and wondered again if it had been an omen of the destruction of her Clan.

Then Jayfeather swung away from the cliff top and followed a steeper trail that led through dense brambles. Ivypool had to press herself close to the ground to avoid the tendrils that reached out over the path. She was so busy concentrating on crouching down that she almost bumped into Jayfeather’s hindquarters when he halted with a hiss of disgust.

Ivypool realized that the medicine cat was caught on a bramble tendril, the thorns snagged in his pelt. She reached out a paw to pull the stem off, then stopped herself. He’d claw me worse than the brambles if I tried to help him!

Awkwardly Jayfeather lifted one paw and groped for the end of the bramble, muttering under his breath. After a moment he managed to free himself, though there was a tuft of tabby fur left on the thorns as he crept forward again. When another tendril raked its thorns along his side, he didn’t even pause, just pulled himself away and went on.

Ivypool was glad when they emerged into a small clearing. She flexed her muscles, letting the hot sun soak into her fur, and her jaws watered at the strong smell of rabbits.

“This is the place,” Jayfeather meowed, “but I can’t smell any marigold with this reek of rabbit.”

Padding farther into the clearing, Ivypool looked around for the plants. But all she could see were clumps of nibbled stalks and a scattering of leaves, already shriveling in the sun.

“Oh, no!” she hissed.

“What’s the matter?” Jayfeather demanded.

“There’s no marigold here,” Ivypool told him. “Something has eaten it all. It must have been the rabbits—I can see their droppings here, too.”

Jayfeather was already stalking up to the ruined plants, thrusting his nose deep into the remains of the clumps and sniffing at the hard, dark droppings. “This is a disaster,” he spat. “I’ve tried to grow marigold with my other plants beside the old Twoleg nest, but they only grow well up here in the sun.”

Ivypool walked slowly around the clearing in case there were any plants the rabbits had missed. She couldn’t see any, but suddenly the scent of marigold, strong and sweet, wafted over her. She halted, puzzled.

That smells like a lot of plants. So why can’t I see them?

With her jaws parted to taste the air, Ivypool followed the scent. It led to a beech tree at the edge of the clearing; the scent was pouring down from the branches.

“Plants growing in a tree?” she murmured. “That’s mouse-brained!”