Yellowfang’s Secret полностью

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!

The bright newleaf sun shone down as Yellowfang laid out a bundle of borage leaves and some coltsfoot to dry on the flat ground outside her den. Brokenkit was playing close by, sometimes pouncing on the end of her tail, or batting a piece of moss into the air.

“Take that, ThunderClan flea-pelt!” he growled, swiping at it with his paw. “That’ll teach you to stay out of the ShadowClan camp!”

“Look, Brokenkit,” Yellowfang meowed. “These leaves are called borage. They’re good for treating cats who have a fever. And this is—”

“Why are you telling me this stuff?” Brokenkit interrupted. “I’m not going to be a medicine cat! I’m going to be a warrior! Grrr! Watch me pounce!” He fell on the moss ball and shredded it to tiny scraps with his claws.

Yellowfang watched him fondly. She knew that Sagewhisker didn’t approve of the time Brokenkit spent with her rather than with his littermates. But I don’t see why Brokenkit should be treated like an outcast when I can look after him and make him feel special.

She twitched an ear at the sound of sniffling, and looked up to see Runningkit crouched a few tail-lengths away, gazing at her intently as she sorted the herbs. “Hi,” she mewed. “Come and look if you want to.”

Runningkit started, his fur fluffing up in alarm. For a heartbeat he hesitated, blinking anxiously, then with another huge sniff scampered off toward the nursery.

Yellowfang shrugged, turning back to Brokenkit. In two more moons her son would be apprenticed, and then she would hardly see him because he would be so busy training with his mentor. For a heartbeat she felt a pang that he wouldn’t be training with her as a medicine cat, but she consoled herself with the thought that he was clearly going to be a great warrior.

Brokenkit bounced off to find another moss ball and Yellowfang continued laying out her herbs until she saw Nightpelt padding up. He had been made a warrior two sunrises before, and Yellowfang could see his pride by the way he walked and held his head high. But he was still coughing.

I’ve tried everything: herbs, honey, planning his choice of fresh-kill so he never eats anything with feathers. But nothing works.

Every time the young warrior exerted himself, he would start coughing and gasping for breath. Yellowfang could see his frustration as he came up to her, coughing again as he tried to speak. He looks tired and thin, when he should be young and strong like his littermates.

“Sit down,” Yellowfang meowed. “Just breathe gently. I’ll get you some wet moss.”

“There must be some way of fixing this!” Nightpelt rasped when she returned.

Yellowfang shook her head. “No herbs will help,” she told him as she set the moss down beside him. “You just need to calm down and relax.”

“I know. But it’s not easy,” Nightpelt retorted. For all his troubles, there was no anger in his voice; he was still friendly and good-humored.

“I mentioned you to Hawkheart at a recent half-moon Gathering,” Yellowfang went on, as Nightpelt gratefully lapped the water from the moss. “He said that a WindClan cat had the same symptoms—coughing after running around—but without any signs of a fever or sickness. Hawkheart didn’t have a name for it; it was just something the cat had to live with.”

Nightpelt looked up apprehensively. “And what happened to the cat?”

Yellowfang half wished she hadn’t brought the subject up because there wasn’t any good news to give the young warrior. “He was unable to do all his warrior duties, and had to retire to the elders’ den early,” she admitted.

“I’ll never do that!” Nightpelt exclaimed. “I want to be a warrior! ShadowClan deserves that!”

Yellowfang stretched out her tail to rest it comfortingly on Nightpelt’s shoulder. “ShadowClan doesn’t expect its cats to work themselves to the bone when they’re not fit enough. Now, sit down and be quiet until you can breathe normally.”

Sagewhisker bustled out of the medicine cats’ den, thrusting Brokenkit in front of her. Her blue eyes were snapping with annoyance.

Yellowfang rose and went to meet them. “Is there a problem?”