Dovewing's Silence (6 page)

“You can't bring cats back to life,” Dovewing whispered.

“Then what is the use of having any power at all?” Jayfeather hissed. He bent closer to Foxleap's belly, running his paw over the dressing. “Go away, Dovewing. Talk to me when I'm not trying to save a warrior's life. Right now, there is nothing more important than that.”

Dovewing staggered out of the cave and stood at the edge of the clearing, letting the wind cool her scorched pelt. Something was terribly wrong with Jayfeather, that was for sure. Was it simply that the Clan had lost so many cats? Or did he know something about their powers?

“Dovewing?” called a voice from the elder thicket. It was Purdy, peering through rheumy eyes. Now that the nursery had been repaired, Daisy and Brightheart had taken the kits out of the elders' den. “I think I've got a tick on my back, an' I can't reach it,” the old tom grumbled.

“Okay, I'll take a look,” Dovewing mewed. With so few apprentices in the camp, the warriors were sharing duties among themselves. Dovewing knew it was Berrynose's turn to deal with Purdy but he was out on patrol, and since she was
here, she wasn't going to refuse to help. She followed the tom into the den and waited for him to settle stiffly in his nest.

“Oh, that chill's got into my bones,” he griped as he folded his legs under him.

“Do you want me to find some feathers for your nest?” Dovewing offered.

Purdy blinked. “Only if you've got time. I know you're all stretched, with so many cats still recoverin'.”

Dovewing ran her paw over his bony spine, searching for the tick. “Most of us are okay now. Only Foxleap is still in danger.” Purdy grunted as she rubbed against the tick. “Found it!” she declared. “I'll put some mouse bile on that and it'll be gone in a flash.” She started to leave but Purdy beckoned her back with his chin.

“That can wait a while,” he rasped. “Talk to me first. It's so empty in here without Mousefur.” He stared at the abandoned nest, cold and dusty but still imprinted with the shape of Mousefur's body. “I miss her so much, you know,” he murmured. “She was a grouchy old fox at times, but she had the best heart. At least she died protectin' her Clan. It's what she would have wanted.”

“It is,” Dovewing agreed.

“So why does everyone still look so miserable?” Purdy snorted, propping himself up on his front legs. “I go outside an' it's like we're still buryin' our Clanmates. Have they forgot we drove those blighters out? No Dark Forest cats around here, are there?”

Dovewing wasn't sure what to say. “I . . . think we're all
aware of what has been lost,” she stammered.

“And what about what we won?” the old cat demanded. “Did Mousefur, did any of 'em, die for nothing? It's an insult to their memory, that's what it is, to act like we lost everything.” He slumped back into his nest with a cough. “Sorry, young 'un. I was forgettin' myself.”

“No, it's okay, Purdy,” Dovewing mewed. She reached out her paw and smoothed the tom's untidy black pelt. “You're right. We did win, and we should honor our fallen Clanmates by knowing they didn't die in vain. Now, let me fetch that mouse bile for you.”

She stood up and squeezed out of the den. Sharp drops of rain splashed onto her pelt, and she ducked her head as she ran back to Jayfeather's den. She hoped he wouldn't mind if she helped herself to some bile. As she neared the opening to the cave, a terrible moaning sound stopped her in her tracks.

“Foxleap, no! Not now! I've done everything I could! Oh StarClan, why can't you let me help these cats?”

Dovewing nearly retched at the raw grief in Jayfeather's voice. Foxleap must have died—and Jayfeather was left in agony. What about Dustpelt? First his mate, now his son, lost to the Dark Forest. How would he ever recover? Dovewing rocked on her paws as Leafpool brushed past her, shedding leaves from her jaws.

“Jayfeather! What's wrong?” The she-cat pushed through the brambles and Dovewing heard a wail. “Oh no! Foxleap!”

“StarClan wanted him more than we did,” Jayfeather growled. Leafpool began to murmur comforting words to him
and Dovewing turned away, reeling with despair. She almost bumped into Graystripe, who was heading to the fresh-kill pile, his fur blown the wrong way by the wind.

When the big warrior looked down at her in surprise, Dovewing spat, “The Dark Forest is not finished with us. Foxleap is dead!”

“Hargh! Hargh-argh! Sorry,” Sandstorm spluttered before
another bout of coughing racked her body. “
Hargh-argh-argh!
”

Bumblestripe stirred beside Dovewing. “I feel sorry for her, but none of us are getting any sleep,” he murmured, his breath warm on her neck. “Maybe she should see Jayfeather.”

“I'm sure she's thought of that,” Dovewing muttered back. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and she wished Sandstorm would be quiet too, but she felt nothing but sympathy for the poor she-cat, who had kept them awake for three nights in a row now.

A dark shape brushed past Dovewing's muzzle. “Have some soaked moss, Sandstorm,” urged Poppyfrost. There was a soft squelching sound as she placed it beside the she-cat's nest. “That might help.”

“Thanks,” Sandstorm croaked. “I'm so sorry, everyone.” Dovewing listened to her sucking on the moss, then a merciful silence descended on the den and she drifted into sleep.

It seemed as if Dovewing had only closed her eyes for a moment before Squirrelflight was standing over her, prodding her with a paw. “Come on, sleepy hedgehog! I want you
to lead the dawn border patrol.”

Dovewing stumbled groggily to her paws and followed the deputy out into the frost-sharp morning. Almost a whole moon had passed since the Great Battle and leaf-bare had fallen over the forest like a pelt of ice. Dovewing shivered as her breath made clouds in the air.

Toadstep joined her, squinting in the early light. “I can't remember the last time I got a full night's sleep,” he muttered. “I'm going to take Sandstorm to Jayfeather myself if she doesn't see him today.”

Dovewing didn't have the energy to argue. After listening to Squirrelflight's instructions, she led Toadstep, Hazeltail, and Rosepetal out of the newly rebuilt entrance and down to the lakeside border with WindClan. The moor was empty and quiet, draped with mist, and the patrol returned to the camp without spotting any trace of rival warriors. The clearing was full of cats sharing prey, stretching cold limbs, and talking quietly. Sandstorm stood in a corner, her back hunched in another coughing fit.

“Bramblestar!” Berrynose called to the Clan leader. “Can you ask Sandstorm to sleep in the elders' den tonight? She can't keep us awake every night, or we'll never be able to keep up with the patrols.”

Dovewing noticed Purdy's ears perk up.

Bramblestar looked questioningly at Sandstorm. “What do you think? Would that give you a better chance to recover, if you're not worried about waking the other warriors? I know we're planning to build a second warriors' den to give you all
more room, but that won't be finished for another quarter moon.”

There was a flash of defiance in Sandstorm's green eyes. “It's just a touch of whitecough!” she croaked. “Are you saying that I'm only fit to be an elder now? I still have moons in me to serve my Clanmates!”

There was a harsh note of fear beneath her words that gave Dovewing a stab of empathy.
I know how she feels. Whatever's wrong with my senses, it's making me feel useless as well!
She hadn't made a decent catch for the fresh-kill pile in days, and her ears ached from straining over the boundaries when she was on border patrol. A tiny voice in her mind whispered,
What if your powers never come back?
, but Dovewing pushed it away.
How can I serve my Clan if I'm deaf and blind?

Bramblestar padded over to the ginger she-cat and pressed his muzzle against her shoulder. “No cat is asking you to retire,” he assured her. “I just want you to be as fit as possible for leaf-bare. And if you're keeping the other cats awake, you need to think about them as well.”

Sandstorm lifted her head. “I'll ask the medicine cats for some honey.” She sniffed. “I'll be fine. And why don't I sleep in the apprentices' den, since that's empty? That way I won't disturb anyone.”

Purdy's shoulders slumped and Dovewing wondered if she should offer to sleep in Mousefur's old nest beside him. He must be feeling cold on his own, now that the frost had taken hold. Before she could say anything, Berrynose stepped forward.

“The warriors' den is kind of cramped,” he mewed to Bramblestar. “Poppyfrost and I would be happy to sleep in with Purdy, if he'll have us.”

The old tabby cat's eyes lit up. “Glad to give you room,” he meowed. “I'd better go and sort out some nests.” He bustled off, his tail straight up.

“That was kind of Berrynose and Poppyfrost,” Dovewing murmured to Ivypool, who was standing beside her.

Her sister narrowed her eyes. “Do you think so? Or are they just desperate to get away from those ferocious Dark Forest cats who sleep too close to them?”

Dovewing stared at her in shock. “But it's been almost a whole moon since you swore your new oath! Surely you've been forgiven by now?”

“Not by some cats,” Ivypool growled. “Haven't you seen how Dustpelt would rather wait until the fresh-kill pile has been stripped of all the best prey, rather than go up at the same time as one of us?” She padded away, her tail leaving a tiny line in the frostbitten grass.

“We'll sleep in the elders' den too,” piped up Cherrypaw, nodding to her brother, Molepaw.

That makes sense, since Poppyfrost and Berrynose are their mother and father
, Dovewing thought. But then she saw Molepaw glare at Birchfall, and her belly flipped over. Those cats had done nothing but serve their Clan loyally since the Great Battle. How could there be anything left to forget?

“That's fine,” meowed Squirrelflight to the young cats. “I'll join Sandstorm in the apprentices' den, and that way there
will be more room for the other warriors while the new den is being built.” When Sandstorm started to protest, Squirrelflight blinked affectionately at her mother. “I'll be there whether you like it or not,” she purred. “It's too cold for you to sleep alone.”

There was a flurry of activity as the cats scattered to prepare new nests. Dovewing stayed where she was, as if her paws had frozen to the grass. Her ears were buzzing again and shadows clustered at the edges of her mind, making her heart beat faster. Dividing the warriors into separate dens felt like a terrible omen; the Clan was splitting apart, in spite of everything they had survived together. Had the Great Battle been forgotten already? Or were her Clanmates determined only to remember whose loyalty had been questioned, without recalling the courage every cat showed to drive out the Dark Forest attackers?

“Dovewing? Are you all right?” Whitewing was peering at her with a concerned look in her eyes.

Dovewing shook herself, sending drops of mist flying from her pelt. “I'm fine.”

“Why don't you help me fetch some moss?” Whitewing suggested. “It feels like ages since I spent any time with you!”

They squeezed through the new barrier of thorns, which seemed denser and pricklier than before, and trotted down the slope toward the lake. Their route to the best moss took them past the place where the dead cats had been buried and Dovewing slowed down to look at the peaceful mounds of soil, each one silvered with a thin coating of ice. “Can you see
what is happening to us?” she whispered. “Do you feel as if you died for nothing?”

“Oh little one, you don't really think that, do you?” mewed Whitewing.

Dovewing jumped; she hadn't heard her mother come up.
Of course I didn't hear! I can't hear
anything
!
She took a deep breath. “It feels as if everything has gotten worse since the Great Battle,” she confessed. “The warriors who were involved with the Dark Forest are being treated worse than rogues, and no one seems to remember that the cats lying here gave their lives so that we could win the battle.” She couldn't bring herself to talk about her senses; that was something she had to deal with alone.

Whitewing rested her tail on Dovewing's spine. “All battles leave deep wounds, whether you can see them or not. And wounds take time to heal. You know that, Dovewing. Don't give up hope.” She turned and headed down toward the lake, which was shining gray and still through the trunks.

Dovewing watched her walk away. She thought of Foxleap, dying from infection in the medicine den.
But some wounds never heal, whatever you do.

It was the night of the Gathering. A huge white moon hung above the hollow, turning the cats to silver and casting sharp-edged shadows across the ground. This would be the first Gathering since the Great Battle, the first chance to see how the Clans they had fought alongside were faring, and yet the mood among the ThunderClan cats was somber, even
reluctant. Berrynose was muttering to Toadstep, close enough for Dovewing to hear.

“I can't believe Bramblestar wants to take Blossomfall and Thornclaw with us. Does he want to draw attention to the traitors in our own Clan?”

Toadstep flicked his thick black-and-white tail. “The other Clans managed to kill most of their traitors,” he hissed back. “Maybe we should have done the same!”

Dovewing bounded forward. “And maybe you should realize that your Clanmates did nothing wrong when it came to fighting our enemies!” she spat.

“Dovewing! Stop! What's going on?” Squirrelflight trotted over, her fur fluffed up in alarm.

Dovewing twitched her ears, reluctant to let Toadstep and Berrynose think she was about to go running to the deputy with her complaint.

“Just a difference of opinion,” Berrynose meowed. He glanced at Dovewing. “Some cats seem to believe we aren't allowed to think for ourselves.”

Squirrelflight narrowed her eyes. “See that full moon up there? This is the night of the truce—and that goes for Clanmates as well as the other Clans. Come on, or we'll be late.” She trotted to the entrance where Bramblestar was waiting with the rest of the Gathering patrol.

Dovewing glared at Berrynose and Toadstep, then followed the deputy. Blossomfall was waiting for her, looking troubled. “I saw what happened,” the tortoiseshell-and-white warrior mewed. “Don't try to fight this battle for us. It will take time
to prove our loyalty, that's all.”

“It shouldn't be a battle!” Dovewing growled. “You swore the oath, and you did nothing to harm us during the Great Battle!”

“The warrior code means everything,” Blossomfall reminded her. “And that's just as it should be.”

They joined the other cats squeezing through the new barrier of thorns, wincing as tufts of fur got left behind on the prickles. “If this barrier doesn't soften up soon, we're all going to be bald!” muttered Graystripe.

As the cats headed down through the trees toward the shore, Dovewing trotted to catch up with Bumblestripe. They'd basked together in an unexpected burst of sunshine earlier that day, and she was feeling warm and affectionate toward him. “Wait for me!” she puffed.

The big gray-and-black tom paused and looked back at her. “Come on, little legs!” he teased.

They reached the shore with the others and turned along the stony beach. The pebbles gleamed in the moonlight, and tiny waves lapped beside them. Dovewing cast her hearing out the way she used to on these nights, listening for the preparations for departure in each of the other Clans. Were they feeling apprehensive about this Gathering, too? But her ears were full of the sound of paws crunching over stones and water washing on the shore.

Dovewing frowned and concentrated harder.
I must be able to hear something! My senses have had time to recover from the battle! I have to make Lionblaze and Jayfeather talk to me about their powers. What if
we're all losing them?
Suddenly her paw was caught underneath a branch and she lurched forward. She would have fallen flat on her face if Bumblestripe hadn't shoved his shoulder underneath her to boost her back onto her feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Dovewing snapped. “I didn't see that branch in the shadows, that's all.” She noticed his ears flatten with hurt and felt a stab of guilt. Even if she couldn't tell him what was going on, he didn't deserve to be treated unkindly. “Thanks for catching me!” she purred. “I'd have looked dumber than a sheep if I'd landed on my muzzle!”