The Raging Storm

Twigbranch shrugged. “They’re probably just pleased to have their territory back.”

“I guess.” As Finleap padded to her side, Snappaw hurried ahead with Flypaw.

“Can we mark every tree?” Snappaw asked.

“It’s a long border,” Finleap told him. “Save some scent for farther along.”

Flypaw was sniffing a fern clump. Curled fronds poked up from the moist earth. “There are so many scents out here.” She turned to sniff between the roots of a tree where fresh grass was sprouting. Then she dug through a heap of rotting leaf mold and sniffed until she sneezed. “What does a mouse smell like?” she asked.

Snappaw padded past her. “You’ve smelled mouse before!” he meowed. “We’ve eaten them in camp.”

“I’ve never smelled a live mouse.” Flypaw blinked at Twigbranch. “Do they smell different from dead mice?”

“That’s a good question!” Finleap commented before Twigbranch could answer.

She shot him a look. Let me train my own apprentice. “Live mice smell sharper than dead ones,” she told Flypaw.

“Sharper?” Flypaw looked puzzled.

“They have a . . .” Twigbranch searched for the word. “A tang. You’ll understand when you smell one.”

But Flypaw had turned away. Twigbranch flexed her claws with irritation. Was it always going to be hard to keep Flypaw’s attention?

The striped tabby’s ears were pricked. “I can smell something else,” Flypaw mewed.

“Is it tangy?” Snappaw lifted his muzzle. “Are there mice around?”

Twigbranch tasted the air. The scent markers were so strong here it was hard to detect another scent. But Flypaw was right. A musky smell tainted the air.

“It smells like a ShadowClan cat,” Finleap meowed.

Twigbranch’s pelt prickled. Was a patrol approaching the border?

Finleap stalked along the border. “This way,” he breathed. “Follow me, but be quiet.”

Snappaw and Flypaw hurried behind him, bumping into each other as they tried to stay close. Twigbranch followed. Another scent was mingled with the ShadowClan smell. Blood. She quickened her pace. Skirting past Finleap, Flypaw, and Snappaw, she took the lead. She strained to see between the tree trunks and, pricking her ears, heard a groan. Breaking into a run, she hurried toward the sound.

A large bundle of silver mesh was caught between two trees. Beneath the mass of thorny twine was a brown-and-white pelt. Puddleshine, the ShadowClan medicine cat, was struggling underneath it, groaning with pain. The scent of blood was strong.

“Puddleshine!” She hurried toward him, careful not to touch the vines, which massed like brambles between the trees. Borage sprouted around him. Was that what he’d been reaching for? She could see that his pelt was caught on the sharp thorns of the vines. Blood welled at every wound.

“Don’t move. You’ll make it worse.” Panic fluttered in her chest as she met the ShadowClan medicine cat’s agonized gaze. “We’ll get you out,” she promised. “Just lie still.”

Finleap caught up, Flypaw and Snappaw at his heels.

“What is this?” Flypaw stared at the mesh, her eyes wide with horror.

“It’s silverthorn. A Twoleg vine,” Finleap explained. “They use it to make barriers around their land. The thorns keep animals trapped in their meadows. Only StarClan knows why they left a bundle of it here.”

“I can reach him.” Snappaw dropped onto his belly and squirmed beneath the silverthorn.

“Be careful!” Finleap warned.

Snappaw wriggled toward Puddleshine. “We’ll get you out,” he told the medicine cat.

“Every time I move, I get more tangled.” Puddleshine sounded weary with pain.

Finleap looked at Flypaw. “Can you find your way back to camp?”

Flypaw nodded.

“Run home and fetch help. Tell Bramblestar that we’ll need many paws to get Puddleshine out. And we’ll need a medicine cat. He’s bleeding badly.”

Twigbranch called to Snappaw. “Go with her. We’ll stay with Puddleshine.” She didn’t trust Flypaw to fetch help alone. What if she forgot the message or got distracted along the way?

Snappaw wriggled from underneath the silverthorn, and the two apprentices hared away between the trees, urging each other to run as fast as they could.

Twigbranch flattened herself to the ground and peered at Puddleshine through the silverthorn. “They’ll be back with help soon.”

Puddleshine looked at her, his eyes glittering with pain. “The thorns are sticking in everywhere,” he meowed weakly.

The borage leaves around him were stained with his blood. Twigbranch could see where the thorns jabbed through his pelt, tearing his fur on both flanks and along his spine. One had snagged the back of his neck, forcing his chin to the earth. She fought back a shudder and blinked at him encouragingly. “Our warriors will find a way to get you out.”

Finleap padded around the edge of the tangled mass, sniffing at the vines, as though looking for a gap that might let him reach Puddleshine. He poked his paw beneath a vine and lifted it gently. The whole bundle shivered, and Puddleshine grunted with pain. Finleap frowned. “It’s going to be hard not to hurt him.”