Lizardstripe hissed softly. But she knew better than to argue with Raggedpelt. Yellowfang thought that perhaps she saw the wisdom of his words. As the queen responsible for Raggedpelt’s son—even if the Clan knew she wasn’t his real mother—Lizardstripe would be a significant cat within the Clan.
“All right, fine,” she spat ungraciously. “Give him to me.”
As Lizardstripe nestled her son into the curve of her belly, Yellowfang felt a strong pang of unease.
“His name is Brokenkit,” she meowed, her voice faltering. Lizardstripe nodded, stretching out a paw to touch the bend in his tail. That was where every cat would think his name came from. But Yellowfang knew the truth. She named her son for the feeling in her chest as she left him there, as if her heart were cleaving in two, as if her life had broken down the middle.
Yellowfang staggered back to the medicine cats’ den and curled up in her nest. Everything within her ached, far beyond the reach of any herbs.
Sagewhisker turned from hanging cobwebs on the thorns. “Is it over?”
Yellowfang raised her head a little and nodded. “Yes. It’s over.”
Sagewhisker returned to the herb store and fetched a leaf, nudging it toward her.
“Parsley?” Yellowfang asked.
The medicine cat nodded. “It will dry up your milk. You should take one leaf every day.” As Yellowfang licked up the leaf, she added, “You did the right thing.”
Yellowfang didn’t reply. All she could think of was her tiny son, now suckling at Lizardstripe’s belly. She yearned for him, yet she couldn’t help feeling afraid as she remembered the rage in his face when he had first been born. She couldn’t ignore her fears that he was the kit that the black cat had mentioned in his terrible prophecy. But Yellowfang hoped that by surrendering him, by giving him away to another cat, she had averted whatever doom her dream had foretold.
“The future will be different now,” she hissed to StarClan as she closed her eyes. “Brokenkit is no longer my son.”
Her deliberate cheerfulness didn’t lift Yellowfang’s spirits. She suspected that Sagewhisker was keeping her out of the nursery so that she couldn’t see Brokenkit.
As Yellowfang headed across the clearing to gather moss, Brightflower fell in beside her. “Where were you yesterday morning? I looked for you and no cat knew where you were,” she fretted. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
Yellowfang ached to confide in her mother, but she knew how impossible that was. “Oh, it was just medicine cat stuff,” she mewed vaguely. “And I’m fine, just a bit tired.”
To her relief, Brightflower looked reassured. “I’m so proud that you’re a medicine cat!” she exclaimed. “I have some news for you,” she added after a moment. “Nutwhisker has been spending a lot of time with Fernpaw recently, even though she’s not his apprentice. I really hope he’s ready to settle down with a mate. It will be so wonderful for him to father a litter of kits!”
“Great,” Yellowfang meowed, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”
She padded into the forest, trying to clear the scent of the camp from her head. She felt dazed, sore, and lost without the kits at her belly.
Sighing, Yellowfang began collecting moss from under pieces of bark and around the roots of trees, making a pile of it beside a path ready to take back to camp later. As she worked, she drew closer to the training area. Through the trees she could see all five apprentices practicing battle moves.
“Nightpaw, don’t be such a weakling.” Foxheart’s voice rang out shrilly. “Come on, I’ve shown you how to do that move before!”
“Yeah, it’s no fun fighting with you,” Flintpaw added.
Nightpaw’s only response was a fit of coughing. Hearing it, Yellowfang dropped her moss and bounded through the trees until she reached the edge of the clearing.
“Enough!” she ordered. “Nightpaw is sick.”
Foxheart turned to glare at her. “You should keep out of the training area,” she snapped. “You’re only a medicine cat.”
“This isn’t training,” Yellowfang retorted. “It’s illness. I’m taking Nightpaw back to the camp.”
Foxheart let out a hiss of annoyance.
