Warriors Super Edition: Yellowfang’s Secret (41 page)

“You look tired,” Brambleberry mewed to Yellowfang. “Is there sickness in ShadowClan?”

Yellowfang shrugged, trying not to show how relieved she was that Brambleberry had given her an excuse for her weariness. “Just the usual leaf-bare stuff,” she replied. “Nothing we can’t cope with.”

“That’s good to hear,” Featherwhisker murmured, with that oddly curious look that Yellowfang knew well. “And everything else is going well for ShadowClan?”

“Everything’s fine,” Yellowfang told him. “Isn’t it time we were heading for the Moonstone?”

“We know that!” Goosefeather snapped at her. “Young cats, think they have to teach their elders to eat mice …” He lapsed into his mumbling again.

“Come on, Goosefeather,” Brambleberry meowed kindly, laying her tail on the old cat’s shoulders. “Let’s you and I lead the way.” She padded into the tunnel with Goosefeather by her side.

Wanting to avoid any more of Featherwhisker’s probing questions, Yellowfang fell into step beside Hawkheart, leaving the second ThunderClan medicine cat to bring up the rear.

“How are you finding life as a medicine cat?” Hawkheart asked her. “It took me a while to forget that I wasn’t a warrior anymore.”

“Me too,” Yellowfang agreed, remembering the battle with the rats.

“It helps if I remember that I’m more use to my Clan where I am now,” Hawkheart went on, his voice warm and friendly in the darkness. “Every cat has the potential to be a warrior, but only a few of us can be medicine cats.”

“That’s true,” Yellowfang acknowledged.

“When I look at a wounded cat,” Hawkheart went on, “I try to imagine how the wound was caused. That’s often a help in knowing the best treatment.”

“Oh, I get that!” Yellowfang meowed, beginning to relax and enjoy the talk. “Like, whether it was teeth or claws or a sharp bit of a branch.”

“Right,” Hawkheart agreed. “Sometimes—” He broke off.

Ahead of them, Goosefeather had halted suddenly, and Yellowfang had to take a pace back to avoid bumping into him.
I’d never hear the end of it if I did!

Hawkheart stumbled into her, thrown off balance by the sudden change in direction. “Sorry,” he muttered, then added, “Is that parsley I can smell on you?”

Yellowfang’s belly clenched. She had forgotten that she might be carrying the scent of the herb she used to dry up her milk.
Mouse dung! I should have rolled in some ferns or something on the way here to hide the scent
.

“I’m surprised you still have stocks of that in leaf-bare,” Hawkheart continued as they set off again down the passage.

Yellowfang couldn’t think what to say. “I guess we’re lucky,” she mewed after a moment. “I found a sheltered clump just the other day.”

She sent a silent prayer of thanks to StarClan that they reached the cave of the Moonstone at that moment. The moon was already shining through the hole in the roof, waking a frosty light in the heart of the stone. There was no more time for talking. Yellowfang closed her eyes and leaned her muzzle against the cool surface of the crystal. Every muscle in her body ached with fatigue.
Sagewhisker and I would never let a queen leave the camp so soon after kitting!
Gratefully she sank into sleep.

A warm breeze ruffled Yellowfang’s pelt. She jolted awake to find herself on a sunlit stretch of marshland. The sound of trickling water filled the air, and unseen birds sang overhead. A feeling of being watched crept over Yellowfang as she lay enjoying the sunlight on her fur. Sitting up, she noticed Silverflame beside her, gazing at her with eyes that were soft with sympathy.

“Oh, Yellowfang,” she murmured.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Yellowfang demanded with a snarl. “The night Sagewhisker made me a full medicine cat, I saw the reflection of three kits behind me. Why didn’t you tell me what was going to happen?”

Silverflame sighed. “What good would that have done? I couldn’t change your future. Better that you didn’t grieve before it happened.”

“I should have stopped seeing Raggedpelt!” Yellowfang protested.

Silverflame regarded her gravely. “It was already too late. And not even the medicine cat code was strong enough to make you do that.”

Yellowfang sprang up and started to pace, sending lizards and frogs skittering from her paws.
Is it my imagination,
she wondered,
or is the breeze turning colder?
“Silverflame, what else do you know about the kits?” she asked, turning back toward the StarClan cat. “Do you know a small cat with black fur? Has he said anything to you? Is he from ShadowClan?”

“A small black cat? Oh, you must mean Molepelt.” Silverflame hesitated, and Yellowfang wondered if she was hiding something. “Molepelt was the ShadowClan medicine cat many, many seasons ago. He makes little sense at the best of times,” Silverflame mewed. “He is treated with kindness, but it doesn’t always pay to listen too closely.”

“He told me that a kit will be born that will bring fire and blood to the forest!” Yellowfang hissed, her voice shaking. “Why would he tell me if it wasn’t one of my kits? There’s something about Brokenkit …”

Yellowfang choked on the rest of her words as Silverflame swept her tail across her mouth.

“A mother says nothing bad about her kits,” the StarClan warrior warned. “If you do not love them, who will?”

“But I can’t be a proper mother to Brokenkit,” Yellowfang meowed wretchedly.

“No, because you are a medicine cat, and your Clan must always come first.” Silverflame took a pace toward Yellowfang, and there was warmth in her gaze. “But that doesn’t mean you cannot be his friend, and a force for good in his life. Don’t give up on him, Yellowfang. You could be his only hope.”

As Silverflame finished speaking the marshland around her started to fade, and Yellowfang knew she was waking up. “Wait!” she cried. “Where are my daughters? Are they here?”

Silverflame was already no more than a glimmering outline, but as Yellowfang stared around, she caught a glimpse of two tiny, pale shapes watching her from a clump of grass.
My precious kits!

Yellowfang’s heart began pounding in her chest. She tried to run to the kits but instead of moving toward them she felt her legs paddling against cold, hard stone. She opened her eyes to find herself back in the cavern, fresh waves of grief surging over her until she could barely stop herself from screeching aloud.

As she and the other cats rose to their paws, preparing to leave, Brambleberry padded up to Yellowfang. “Bad news?” she murmured into Yellowfang’s ear.

Yellowfang shook her head. “Sad dreams, that’s all,” she replied.

Yellowfang slipped out of camp before the dawn patrols had left. Pale light was trickling through the trees, but shadows still lay deep among the undergrowth. Dew clung to every blade of grass and cobweb. Fluffing up her fur against the chill, Yellowfang suppressed a yawn. The weather would warm up later in the day, and here and there she could spot a hint of green on the branches. With newleaf not far off, she was out early every morning, searching the forest for the herbs the Clan needed so badly after the cold of leaf-bare. She would dig carefully through the leaf mold to find the tiniest shoots, clearing away debris so that they could reach the sunlight, and bringing back what she could.

The sun dazzled her eyes by the time Yellowfang returned to camp. She had found a few precious comfrey leaves and tansy to soothe Nightpaw’s persistent cough, as well as a few blackbird feathers for Sagewhisker’s nest. As Yellowfang approached the camp, the first hunting patrol emerged from the tunnel. Raggedpelt was in the lead, with Foxheart beside him, followed by Mudclaw, Deerleap, and Russetfur, who gave Yellowfang a friendly wave of her tail as she passed.

Raggedpelt and Foxheart were talking together; Foxheart broke off to give Yellowfang a scornful glance as they passed by. Raggedpelt didn’t even look at her.

Yellowfang sighed as she plodded on toward the camp entrance.
If they go on like that, they’ll only fuel the rumors that Brokenkit is Foxheart’s. I’d have chosen any other queen in the Clan to be his mother!

Emerging into the clearing, Yellowfang spotted Lizardstripe in a warm patch of sunlight near the fresh-kill pile, sharing tongues with Nettlespot and Ashheart. There was no sign of her kits. Yellowfang assumed they were in the nursery, but as she approached her den she heard shrill squeaking coming from behind it.

Peering around the boulders, she found Deerkit, Tanglekit, and Runningkit all surrounding Brokenkit, who faced them with his dark tabby fur fluffed up.

“We don’t want to play with you,” Deerkit squeaked, screwing up his nose. “You smell funny.”

“Yeah,” Tanglekit added. “Every cat says you’re a kittypet, like your father.”

“My father is not a kittypet!” Brokenkit yowled, lashing out with one paw.

Tanglekit leaped back to avoid the blow. Brokenkit was bigger and stronger than the others now. Runningkit and Deerkit shrank away from him too.

“My father is the Clan deputy; he’s the best warrior in ShadowClan!” Brokenkit spat.

“But who’s your mother?” Runningkit asked with a sniff. “Even you don’t know!”

“Yeah, she could be anyone,” Deerkit mewed. “A rogue, a kittypet, a
badger
! Badger-stinky! Badger-stinky!”

The other two kits joined in. “Badger-stinky!”

Yellowfang dropped her herbs and feathers and strode into the middle of the group. “Enough!” she exclaimed, glaring around at Lizardstripe’s kits. “Deerkit, Tanglekit, Runningkit, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves! How dare you treat your Clanmate like this?”

Runningkit had the grace to look ashamed, staring down at his paws and sniffling wretchedly. Deerkit and Tanglekit just looked defiant, though they didn’t dare say anything to a medicine cat.

“Brokenkit, come with me,” Yellowfang meowed. She curled her thick tail around him and swept him away.

Brokenkit stomped crossly beside her. “Now they’ll think I’m scared of them! I could have beaten them if you hadn’t turned up! They’re so weak, I don’t care if there’s three of them and only one of me!”

Yellowfang felt confused. She’d expected her kit to be grateful that she’d rescued him from the bullies. “Well, fighting isn’t the answer to everything,” she told him. “Your littermates need to learn how to behave. I’ll tell Lizardstripe and she’ll punish them.”

Brokenkit ran in front of her and turned to face her, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please don’t do that!” he begged. “Lizardstripe will only blame me! She doesn’t like me; she thinks I’m stealing milk from her kits.”

“Of course she doesn’t think that!” Yellowfang exclaimed, shocked.

“Yes, she does!” Brokenkit insisted. “I heard her saying it to Amberleaf. Nobody likes me.”

Yellowfang’s heart twisted with love and regret. “I like you,” she mewed. “And so will all your Clanmates, once they get to know you. Now, why don’t you help me collect all these herbs and feathers and carry them into my den? You’re so strong, you probably don’t need me to help you!”

Brokenkit’s chest puffed out proudly as he collected as much as he could manage, scattering a few leaves and feathers as he marched into Sagewhisker’s den.

Sagewhisker was curled in her nest. She raised her head in surprise as the kit appeared, followed by Yellowfang. “Shouldn’t he be playing with his littermates?” she asked Yellowfang.

Yellowfang knew that the old cat was giving her a warning. She didn’t reply, just showed Brokenkit where to put down his burden.

“My littermates are stupid,” Brokenkit snorted. “Yellowfang’s my friend now.”

Yellowfang could feel the heat of Sagewhisker’s gaze on her fur but refused to share the old cat’s concern or even acknowledge it.
What harm am I doing?
“Brokenkit, would you like to help me fetch some clean moss?”

Brokenkit nodded, bouncing on his paws. “I can carry more moss than any cat!” he boasted.

Yellowfang knew that she couldn’t take him out of the camp, but there were some pieces of bark behind the elders’ den where moss grew. She led him across the clearing, aware of some startled glances from her Clanmates.

“Now, you hold up the bark,” she instructed Brokenkit, “so I can peel the moss from underneath.”

“Like this?” Brokenkit burrowed under a piece of bark and sat up with it balanced on his head like an extra bit of pelt.

Yellowfang
mrrowed
with amusement. “Not quite,” she meowed. “A squirrel might think that you’re a tree and try to climb up you.”

Brokenkit let out a squeal. “I’m a tree! I’m a tree!” He jumped up and down until the bark fell off his head.

Yellowfang showed him how to hold up the bark with one paw while she gathered the moss. When they had collected a good pile they bundled it together and Brokenkit helped her carry it back to her den.

Admiring her son’s sturdy body and gleaming fur, Yellowfang glowed with pride.
Why did I ever doubt his right to be born? He might grow up to be
my
apprentice,
she thought,
and work by my side for the rest of my life. That would be an even greater gift than being acknowledged as his mother!