Leafpool paced as Alderheart leaned over Larksong, wiping away the dark liquid pooling at the side of the warrior’s mouth. Jayfeather rummaged quickly through the herb store once more.
“Should we give him more yarrow?” Alderheart asked the blind medicine cat.
Jayfeather shook his head. “He’s too weak, and besides, we’re not sure this is caused by something he ate.”
Sparkpelt’s pelt ruffled along her spine. “There must be something you can try.”
Jayfeather tore open a bundle of chervil. “We could see if he can swallow a few of these leaves.”
Leafpool stopped beside Squirrelflight. “Let’s talk outside,” she murmured.
Squirrelflight’s belly tightened as Leafpool guided her toward the entrance. “Is Sparkpelt all right?” As concerned as she was about Larksong, she was more afraid for Sparkpelt’s kits.
“She’s fine and so are the kits.” Leafpool nosed her way through the brambles.
“But she’s so upset.” Squirrelflight followed her through. The drizzle had eased, but raindrops still dripped from the canopy into the clearing.
“I can feel the kits moving,” Leafpool told her. “And Sparkpelt hasn’t had any cramps. I’ve given her thyme to help with the shock. She’s strong and sensible. She’ll be okay.” Her gaze darkened. “I just wish we knew what was wrong with Larksong. His breathing has steadied, but it’s still shallow. And his heartbeat is weak.”
Squirrelflight fought back fear. “Have you seen anything like it before?”
“No.” Leafpool gazed toward the trailing brambles. “Even Jayfeather is baffled. He says he’s never smelled a sickness like this. And we’ve never seen a sickness that stopped a cat breathing so suddenly.”
“Could it be contagious?” Squirrelflight’s heart lurched. Larksong had nuzzled Sparkpelt before he collapsed.
“We don’t know.” Leafpool looked at her helplessly. “He’s bringing up bile, which makes us think that the sickness is in his belly. But that’s all we know.” She looked toward the clearing. Bramblestar sat at the edge with Thornclaw and Finleap. Twigbranch and Birchfall stood nearby. Outside the elders’ den, Millie and Graystripe eyed the medicine den anxiously, while Hollytuft paced beside them. Leafpool called to Hollytuft. “You were on patrol with Larksong this morning. Did you see anything unusual while you were out?” Leafpool called.
Hollytuft twitched her tail. “Nothing out of the ordinary. We caught a squirrel, but we put it on the fresh-kill pile when we got back.”
Leafpool glanced toward the pile. There was nothing left but the few bedraggled mice Graystripe had turned his nose up at earlier. “What did Larksong eat before he got sick?”
Squirrelflight frowned. “He said he’d had two mice before he came to the nursery.”
Bramblestar got to his paws. “Check the prey,” he told Hollytuft. “But be careful.”
As Hollytuft hurried toward the fresh-kill pile, Twigbranch glanced at it nervously. “Do you think it was something he ate?” the young warrior asked.
“The prey might have been rotten,” Finleap suggested.
“But we only caught it this morning,” Thornclaw pointed out. “It was fresh.”
“Perhaps he ate sick prey,” Twigbranch mewed.
Squirrelflight narrowed her eyes. “Surely he would have smelled the sickness before he ate it?”
Outside the elders’ den, Graystripe pricked his ears. “He might have been too hungry to notice.”
Millie sniffed beside him. “No cat is too hungry to smell sickness in prey. Even a kit would know that kind of sourness.”
Bramblestar fluffed out his fur. “If it’s a new sickness, we wouldn’t recognize it.”
Hollytuft sat back on her haunches beside the fresh-kill pile. “It all smells fresh and healthy to me,” she told Bramblestar.
“We should get rid of it anyway,” Bramblestar answered.
“I’ll see to it.” Squirrelflight wanted something to keep her busy. She headed toward the pile.
“Help her, Hollytuft.” Bramblestar nodded toward the black she-cat, then glanced toward the apprentices’ den. Flippaw and Bristlepaw were watching anxiously from the entrance. “You two can help, too,” he told them.
They hurried out eagerly, as though relieved to be given something to do.
Squirrelflight beckoned them with a flick of her tail and sniffed the mice. “Let’s take them out of camp and bury them in the forest.” She caught Hollytuft’s eye. “We can dig a hole between the brambles at the top of the slope.”
Hollytuft nodded. “We’ll need to dig it deep to stop foxes finding them.”
Flippaw blinked at her. “Why do we care if foxes get sick from this prey?”
“Sickness harms everyone,” she told him. “Do you want a fox carcass rotting near the camp?”
Bristlepaw looked warily at the prey. “What if we get sick from carrying it?”
