The Raging Storm

“They are.” Dovewing blinked at him gratefully, then looked back to Ivypool, her tail drooping. “Won’t you come and greet me? I thought you’d understand. I made the best choice I could.”

Ivypool’s eyes glittered with pity. The two sisters stared at each other a moment, before Ivypool dipped her head and hurried to Dovewing, pressing her muzzle against her cheek. “Of course I understand,” she murmured. “It’s just so strange to think that you live with another Clan now, and our kits will grow up without ever knowing one another.” She pulled away. “How are your kits?”

“They’re well,” Dovewing purred. “I wish you could come and see them.”

Scorchfur flicked his tail. “That’s not going to happen anytime soon. Tigerstar doesn’t welcome visitors from other Clans.”

Alderheart shifted uneasily. That explained the frosty reception Twigbranch had reported when she and Finleap had returned from ShadowClan.

Scorchfur was glaring at Bramblestar. “Where is Puddleshine?”

Alderheart’s belly tightened. He stepped forward. “He’s too sick to travel.”

Scorchfur bristled. “Haven’t you treated his wounds?”

“Of course he has.” Bramblestar gazed evenly at the ShadowClan warrior. “But Puddleshine’s injuries are healing more slowly than expected.”

“I’ve dressed them with marigold and horsetail, but infection has taken hold,” Alderheart fought back anxiety as he tried to explain. “I don’t know how. I’m trying to clear it, but I haven’t found the right herb yet.”

Tawnypelt’s gaze sharpened. “You have three medicine cats!” she snapped. “Surely one of you is skillful enough to cure a silverthorn scratch?” She didn’t wait for an answer but marched toward the medicine den. Bramblestar hurried after her as she pushed past Alderheart and into the den. Scorchfur sat down in the clearing, his gaze mistrustful. Dovewing was admiring Ivypool’s kits, her whiskers twitching fondly as they slid beneath her belly, purring while their mother watched happily.

Alderheart squared his shoulders and followed Tawnypelt and Bramblestar into the den.

Tawnypelt was already sniffing Puddleshine while Jayfeather busied himself soaking nettles in the shallow pool at the back of the den. “He smells terrible. Haven’t you been taking care of him?”

Puddleshine looked at her through fever-hazed eyes. “Alderheart has done everything I would have done,” he meowed.

“The smell is something to do with the wounds.” Alderheart hurried to Puddleshine’s nest. “It’s not an infection I’ve seen before.”

“An infection is an infection,” Tawnypelt snapped.

Puddleshine shifted with a grimace. “Alderheart’s doing his best.”

Jayfeather looked up from his work. “Not everything is curable with a poultice and a prayer to StarClan,” he told Tawnypelt. “And getting angry isn’t going to help. Puddleshine clearly can’t walk home, and besides, there’s no one there to treat his wounds.”

“Alderheart can go with him,” Tawnypelt meowed.

“I’m not taking Alderheart away from his Clan,” Puddleshine meowed firmly. “I’ll stay here another few days until Alderheart has managed to treat the infection, and then I’ll return.”

“Who’s going to look after ShadowClan in the meantime?” Tawnypelt demanded.

“Is some cat sick?” Puddleshine asked, anxiety sparking in his gaze.

“No,” Tawnypelt admitted.

Bramblestar steered the ShadowClan warrior gently away from Puddleshine’s nest. “Let him rest,” he meowed softly, laying his tail across her back comfortingly. Tawnypelt relaxed a little beneath his touch, and for a moment, Alderheart thought how strange it was that he sometimes forgot his father had a sister in ShadowClan. “We’ll escort him home as soon as he’s well enough. We know he is needed back in your camp, but in the meantime, if there are illnesses or injuries in ShadowClan, send for us and I will gladly spare Alderheart or Leafpool to help.”

Tawnypelt frowned and then nodded curtly. “Okay.” Her gaze softened as she looked back at Puddleshine. “Get well,” she told him. “We miss you.”

Puddleshine blinked at her gratefully and she headed out of the den.

Jayfeather left the nettles soaking in the pool as Tawnypelt and Bramblestar disappeared. He padded to Puddleshine’s nest. “This is an infection I’ve never seen before,” he mewed thoughtfully. “And that smell!” He wrinkled his nose.

Alderheart could smell it too. It had grown worse day by day and now carried the putrid scent of decay. Fear wormed beneath his fur. “It must be the pus,” he mewed anxiously.

Jayfeather sniffed Puddleshine. “It’s all of him,” he mewed. “As if the infection has spread right into his fur. It’s even on his breath.”

“We need to find an herb that will fight the infection from the inside,” Alderheart speculated.

Jayfeather narrowed his eyes. “Have you tried marigold and goldenrod?”

“In poultices,” Alderheart told him.

“He could swallow some,” Jayfeather suggested.

“Won’t they make him sick?” Alderheart frowned.

“What about horsetail?” Puddleshine looked toward the crack where the herbs were stored. “That’s good for infections.”