Warriors: Power Of Three 1 - Sight (6 page)

“And ThunderClan are more used to hunting in the forest,” Stormfur added.

“Firestar still shouldn’t have given it up so easily,”

Spiderleg insisted.

Lionkit watched nervously from his hiding place as Spiderleg glared at Stormfur. The long-limbed black warrior was more hotheaded than his father, Dustpelt. But Stormfur refused to be intimidated.

“We gave up nothing but a piece of barren land that was too close to Twoleg territory!” he hissed.

“You sound like Brambleclaw.” Dustpelt curled his lip. “He only agreed with Firestar’s decision because any cat knows he’d rather face a pack of dogs than a Twoleg!”

Lionkit’s fur bristled with anger. His father wasn’t scared of anything!

“Brambleclaw sided with Firestar because it was a wise decision, not because he was scared of Twolegs!” Stormfur retorted.

“Was it wise to stand before all the Clans and announce that ThunderClan can no longer defend its boundaries?”

Spiderleg meowed hotly. “ShadowClan have no right to set one mangy paw on ThunderClan land!”

“Well, it’s ShadowClan land now,” Stormfur concluded.

Spiderleg glared at him. “Of course, you don’t care how much territory we give up,” he snarled. “You’re not a ThunderClan cat!”

Lionkit flinched. Stormfur had fought off the invading ShadowClan warriors as fiercely as any cat. He watched closely, waiting to see how the gray warrior would react. But Stormfur only stared back at Spiderleg, his eyes wide with shock.

Brackenfur stepped between them, his eyes glinting anxiously in the moonlight. “It doesn’t matter if we disagree,”

he meowed. “The decision has been made.”

“But now ShadowClan will think they can take whatever they want from us!” Spiderleg objected.

“Firestar made it clear that he was doing ShadowClan a favor when he let them take the land,” Brackenfur reminded him. “He left no cat in any doubt that he was acting out of wisdom rather than weakness.”

“Then why did Onestar and Leopardstar look so interested?” Dustpelt snapped. “It was obvious they thought ThunderClan couldn’t defend their territory.”

“What if WindClan decide they want a piece of the forest on the other side?” Spiderleg chipped in. “Onestar hasn’t exactly been a friend of ours since he became leader.”

“He’s been okay since he helped us with the badger attack,”

Brackenfur pointed out.

“But he’s still going to be looking out for his Clan,”

Dustpelt argued. “If he thinks we’re weak he might see a chance to expand his territory.”

“Can you imagine Firestar giving up any prey-rich part of our territory?” Stormfur asked.

Dustpelt glared at him for a moment, then dipped his head. “No,” he conceded.

“And we don’t have to worry about RiverClan,”

Brackenfur pressed. “We share no boundaries with them, and Leopardstar’s been pretty quiet since Hawkfrost died on our territory.”

“Does any cat really know what happened to Hawkfrost?”

Stormfur asked.

“Only that Firestar found his body while he was on patrol with Brambleclaw and Ashfur,” Spiderleg meowed.

Lionkit did not fully understand. He had heard Daisy and Ferncloud talking about Hawkfrost, the RiverClan deputy who had died on ThunderClan territory, impaled on a wooden spike from a fox trap. No one was sure what the RiverClan warrior had been doing there. Lionkit had tried to ask his father once about Hawkfrost—after all, Hawkfrost was Brambleclaw’s half brother and therefore Lionkit’s kin—

but Brambleclaw had been reluctant to answer. The only information he would give was that Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight had carried the dead RiverClan warrior back to his camp as they would have done with any fallen warrior, and that he had been mourned by his Clanmates.

As Lionkit strained to hear whether the warriors’ conversation would reveal anything new, he felt the thorn barrier rustle around him. He realized with a jolt that he was right beside the small entrance that led to where the cats made their dirt—the same entrance that he, Jaykit, and Hollykit had sneaked out of in search of the fox cubs. Alarmed, Lionkit sniffed the air. Mousepaw was squeezing his way back through less than a tail-length away.

He shrank further back into the shadows, but he could not escape Mousepaw’s sharp nose.

“Lionkit?” Mousepaw hissed into the darkness.

Lionkit wondered for a moment whether to bury himself deeper in the barrier, but he didn’t like the look of the thorns, and besides, his pride would not let him. “I’m in here,” he confessed.

As he spoke, Dustpelt’s amber gaze flashed toward them.

“Mousepaw?” he called.

Lionkit held his breath. Would the apprentice give him away? They had been denmates for a while in the nursery, but Mousepaw might side with the warriors now.

“I’m just on my way back to the den,” Mousepaw told Dustpelt. A moment later he squeezed into Lionkit’s hiding place. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the nursery?” he whispered.

Lionkit flicked his tail crossly. He was grateful that Mousepaw hadn’t given him away, but he hated being treated like a feeble kit. “I couldn’t sleep,” he grumbled. “I’m used to having Jaykit around.”

“Why were Dustpelt and Stormfur arguing?”

“They were talking about Firestar’s decision to give ShadowClan the bit of land by the river,” Lionkit explained.

“Dustpelt accused Stormfur of not being a real ThunderClan warrior.”

Mousepaw flattened his ears, shocked. “I’m surprised that Stormfur didn’t shred him!”

“But Stormfur’s not a real ThunderClan warrior, is he?”

Lionkit pointed out, puzzled.

“You’d better not say that to his face!” Mousepaw warned.

“But he was born in RiverClan and lived with the Tribe.”

“Mousepaw!” Dustpelt’s voice sounded from the clearing.

Mousepaw shoved Lionkit further back into the bush. He stifled a squeak of pain as thorns dug into his pelt, and Mousepaw squeezed out from under the branches.

“Shouldn’t you be back in the apprentices’ den?” Dustpelt queried.

“I thought I smelled a mouse,” Mousepaw lied.

“Straying into the camp would be stupid even for a mouse,” Dustpelt muttered. “Go to your den. I’m sure Spiderleg won’t be pleased if you’re too tired for training in the morning.”

“Yes, Dustpelt.” Mousepaw dipped his head and padded quickly away.

Lionkit waited, thorns poking him, until Dustpelt and the other warriors headed to their den. It seemed foolish to risk going to the medicine cat’s den now. As soon as he was sure that no cat stirred, Lionkit dragged himself out from under the thorn barrier and crept back to the nursery.

Several thorns from the barrier had caught in his fur and were tangled in his pelt. They pricked him as he curled gingerly back into his nest. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep, but his conversation with Mousepaw echoed in his mind. It hadn’t occurred to him before how important it was to the warriors whether a cat was truly ThunderClan or not.

His own place in the Clan had always been something he had taken for granted. He supposed that not every cat was lucky enough to be born in the forest, with the Clan deputy and Clan leader as kin. But he still didn’t understand why Mousepaw had taken the quarrel between the warriors so seriously. So long as Stormfur and Brook were loyal to ThunderClan, what else mattered?

Hollykit was dreaming that the nursery was filled with hedgehogs.

They filed in through the entrance, rudely brushing Ferncloud and her kits aside and settling into the mossy nest around her. Their sharp prickles spiked her back. She fidgeted to move away from her uncomfortable new denmates.

“What are you doing here?” she muttered. “Go away!” But the prickles still dug into her. Opening her eyes, she twisted around and saw Lionkit curled up asleep beside her. He looked like he’d fallen out of a tree, his golden pelt ruffled and studded with black thorns.

She jabbed him with her forepaw. “Hey!” she whispered.

“Where did you pick up these thorns? They’re ripping me to shreds.”

Lionkit opened his amber eyes. “What?” he murmured, his mouth stretching into a yawn.

“You’re covered in thorns!” Hollykit guessed he’d been out of the den. “What have you been up to?” she demanded.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Lionkit confessed. “I went for a walk in the clearing.”

Hollykit stared at him in dismay. “Aren’t we in enough trouble? Do you want to stop us from being made apprentices?”

“It’s okay,” Lionkit soothed. “No one saw me.” He sat up and wiped a paw over his face. “Except Mousepaw, and he won’t tell. It was Mousepaw who pushed me into the thorns so Dustpelt wouldn’t spot me.”

Hollykit hissed softly. Why doesn’t he think before he acts? “We’d better get those thorns out of you before anyone else sees them.”

“They really sting,” Lionkit complained, twisting around to tug one from his flank with his teeth.

“I’d better go to the medicine den and get something to treat them with,” Hollykit told him. “We don’t want your scratches getting infected.”

“What will you tell Leafpool?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell her there was a thorn in your bedding and you rolled on it.” She climbed out of her nest and headed toward the entrance. “You start pulling out all the thorns you can reach,” she instructed. “I’ll get the rest when I come back.” Before she began to nose her way out of the den, another thought struck her. “And don’t leave them lying around. If Icekit or Foxkit spike themselves on one, Ferncloud will pluck your whiskers till you’re bald as a bird!”

She ran across the clearing, relieved to find it empty. The sun was rising behind the trees that topped the cliffs, but the camp, still in shadow, was cold. Hollykit guessed that the dawn patrol must have left already and the other cats were making the most of their snug dens until the sun had reached into the hollow and warmed the camp.

She reached the medicine den unnoticed and pushed through the brambles that concealed its entrance. Leafpool was nowhere to be seen, and her scent was stale. She hurried to Jaykit’s nest.

“Are you feeling better?”

Jaykit was curled up tight in the moss, a bundle of striped gray fur. His head shot up at the sound of Hollykit’s voice, and he gazed at her with his sightless blue stare.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you confined to the nursery?”

“Lionkit’s got a thorn stuck in him,” Hollykit explained. “I wanted something to keep the scratch from getting infected.”

Jaykit nodded sleepily to the back of the den. “Leafpool used dock on my scratches,” he mewed. “You’ll have to find it yourself. Leafpool’s out collecting stinging nettles.”

“Okay,” Hollykit mewed, hurrying over to the supply store.

“Can you remember what it smelled like?”

“It’s got a sort of tangy scent.” Jaykit lifted his nose and breathed in. “It’s one of the piles near the front,” he told her.

Hollykit stared at the array of leaves and seeds. At the front there were two piles, one darker green than the other.

She sniffed the darkest first. “This smells kind of icky,” she mewed back to Jaykit.

“Dock doesn’t have a bad smell,” Jaykit told her. “Just sharp.”

Hollykit sniffed the other pile and screwed up her eyes. It was definitely tangy. She grabbed a mouthful and carried it over to Jaykit.

“That’s the right one,” he mewed.

The brambles rustled at the den entrance, and Hollykit jumped.

It was Leafpool, holding a bunch of nettles carefully by their stems. The dew still glistened on their jagged leaves.

She dropped them and looked at Hollykit. “You’re up early.”

She noticed the pile of dock leaves beside Hollykit. “Your brother’s healing well,” she meowed. “He doesn’t need any more treatment. He only needs rest.”

“I’m not treating Jaykit,” Hollykit explained. “Lionkit’s been scratched by a thorn in his bedding.”

Leafpool opened her eyes wide in surprise. “How did you know to use dock?”

Hollykit stared uncertainly at the medicine cat. Jaykit told me.

“She remembered the smell from when you used it to treat me,” Jaykit mewed.

Hollykit ran her tail across his flank so he knew she was grateful. It wasn’t that she wanted Leafpool to think she was more clever than Jaykit; she just wanted her to see that she would make a great medicine cat.

“Well done, Hollykit!” Leafpool meowed. Hollykit felt warm to the tip of her tail. She told herself that one day she would know which herb was which and wouldn’t have to pretend.

“Let me show you how to apply it,” Leafpool offered. She crouched over the pile of dock, taking a single leaf in her mouth and chewing it. Once it was well chewed she held out her paw and licked the juice from the dock into her fur. Then she spat out the remainder of the leaf. “Make sure you lick it in firmly so that it seeps right into the wound,” she advised.

“It may sting, but it will save a lot more pain later if you do it properly.”

Hollykit watched carefully.

“Do you want to try it before you go?” Leafpool asked.

“I think I should get back to Lionkit,” Hollykit mewed, wanting to return to the nursery before Daisy and Ferncloud realized she was missing. “He was pretty sore.”

“I could come too,” Leafpool offered.

Hollykit was about to say yes when she hesitated. If Leafpool saw how many thorns were tangled in Lionkit’s pelt, both kits would be in trouble. “Thanks, but you must have things to do,” she mewed. “I’ll come and get you if I need help.”

“Very well.” Leafpool nodded. Was that a knowing glint Hollykit saw in her amber gaze? Had she guessed that Hollykit was not telling her the whole truth about Lionkit’s injuries?

Not eager to find out, Hollykit picked up the dock leaves in her jaws and trotted out of the medicine den. Her heart sank when she saw that the camp was growing busy. Daisy had come out of the nursery and was warming herself in a spot where the sun’s weak rays were just beginning to reach. Her kits huddled together outside the apprentices’ den, blinking sleep from their eyes. They looked like a single soft cloud, Berrypaw’s creamy fur merging with the gray and white of Hazelpaw and Mousepaw. Cinderpaw, Honeypaw, and Poppypaw were sharing tongues by the halfrock. Their slender dappled bodies reminded Hollykit of their mother, Sorreltail, who was nosing through the remains of yesterday’s fresh-kill pile with Thornclaw and Spiderleg.