Yellowfang was roused by a whimpering noise close by. Cloudpaw squirmed in his nest, letting out feeble cries. His whole body was burning with fever. Yellowfang dripped more water into his mouth, and laid a paw gently on his shoulder in an effort to stop the movement. “Keep still, little one,” she murmured. “You’ll open your wound again.”
The moment he settled, she got up to visit the herb stores again, finding what she needed more by scent than touch in the faint starlight.
Sagewhisker stirred behind her. “How is he?” she asked, her voice blurry with sleep.
“Feverish,” Yellowfang responded, finally finding the herb she was looking for.
“Cloudpaw!”
The yowl startled Yellowfang, and she turned to see Nettlespot pushing her way between the boulders into the den. “I have to see my son!” she meowed.
Sagewhisker rose from her nest and blocked Nettlespot before she could reach Cloudpaw. “It’s the middle of the night,” she told her. “Cloudpaw mustn’t be disturbed. Come back tomorrow.”
“But I need to see him!” Nettlespot insisted.
“Not now.” Sagewhisker’s voice was gentle. “Cloudpaw needs his rest. I promise you, if he gets worse, we
Nettlespot hesitated, then turned and left the den, her tail drooping. Yellowfang was glad to see her go, though she could understand her fear.
“It’s hard for her,” Sagewhisker commented, as she padded over to look down at Cloudpaw. Her expression grew even more worried. “Yellowfang,” she whispered, “you can’t save every cat.”
“No, but I can save
Sagewhisker nodded. “Mix in a couple of borage leaves,” she suggested.
Yellowfang chewed up the herbs and thrust the pulp between Cloudpaw’s jaws. As the night wore on she repeated the treatment, not caring how low the stocks of the herbs were growing.
As dawn light began to seep into the sky there was movement at the entrance to the den, and Raggedpelt pushed his way between the boulders. “How is he?” he croaked.
“Holding his own,” Yellowfang replied. She felt her heart ache as she watched the tabby warrior bend over the motionless form of his apprentice. As Raggedpelt drew away, she met his gaze. “I
She couldn’t speak of what they had been doing when Cloudpaw was hurt, and she could see that Raggedpelt would never speak of it either. Their guilt ran too deep.
“I’ve ordered more border patrols,” Raggedpelt told her, “to make sure those rogues don’t come back.”
Yellowfang nodded. “Don’t let the apprentices patrol there until we’re sure it’s safe,” she advised.
Raggedpelt gave a brusque nod. “Of course not.”
He left, and Yellowfang remained by Cloudpaw’s side. Throughout the day, one by one, the members of ShadowClan crept into the den to visit him. Yellowfang kept guard over the apprentice, not letting any of his visitors stay for long—even Nettlespot, whose panic over her kit was no help at all.
As the sun was going down again, Sagewhisker tapped Yellowfang on the shoulder with her tail. “It’s time you got out of here for a while,” she meowed. “No,” she went on, forestalling Yellowfang’s protest. “You can’t care for Cloudpaw if you fall ill yourself. Go for a walk around the camp, have some fresh-kill and a drink, and you’ll feel much better. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Reluctantly Yellowfang stumbled into the clearing and wandered around in a daze, aware of the glances of other cats. Every one of them knew how ill Cloudpaw was.
Brightflower bounded up to her and steered her toward the fresh-kill pile. “Here’s a good juicy vole,” she mewed, pushing it toward Yellowfang. “I’m going to sit with you and make sure you eat every bite!”
Yellowfang was sure she couldn’t choke down a single mouthful, but as soon as she tasted the prey she realized how ravenously hungry she was. She gulped down the fresh-kill and went for a drink at the tiny stream at the edge of the camp before making her way back to her den.
Another long night’s vigil with Cloudpaw stretched in front of her. The apprentice still had not recovered consciousness, but Yellowfang, watching him as if he were a piece of prey she was about to pounce on, thought that his breathing seemed a little stronger. Once again she raised her eyes to StarClan, shining in frosty splendor above her. “Take me, if you must,” she prayed with all her heart. “But save him. None of this is his fault. I’m so sorry.”
Eventually, worn out by grief and guilt, Yellowfang dropped into a light, troubled sleep. She woke to find Sagewhisker prodding her in the shoulder. Panicking, she sprang to her paws. “Is it Cloudpaw?” she demanded. “Is he worse?”
Sagewhisker’s eyes were gleaming. “No,” she purred. “He’s waking up. He’s still in a lot of pain, but he’s asking for water.”
Yellowfang gazed down at the apprentice. His blue eyes were glazed, but his breathing was normal and the fever was down.
