Nightpaw recovered from his coughing fit and trotted over to her. Before he left, his brother Clawpaw touched his nose to the small apprentice’s ear. “Get well soon!” he mewed.
Yellowfang gave him a nod of approval. Clawpaw was a sturdy young cat, inclined to be a bit too rough, but always kind to his weaker brother.
Nightpaw’s cough eased as he and Yellowfang made their way back to camp. Passing her pile of moss, Yellowfang paused to collect a bundle.
“I can carry some of that for you,” Nightpaw piped up.
Yellowfang shook her head. “No, you need to rest.”
“I’ll be fine, honestly,” Nightpaw insisted. “Please. I’d like to help.”
Yellowfang hesitated for a heartbeat and then gave in. Between them, they managed to carry about half what she had collected, and made their way companionably back to the camp. Once in the medicine den, Yellowfang checked Nightpaw from nose to tail-tip. She could hear wheezing in his chest, but his eyes were bright, his gums red, and his heartbeat steady. There was no sign of fever.
“Well, you’re a puzzle,” she mewed at last. “You haven’t got whitecough or greencough, but I don’t know—Sagewhisker?” she called as the old medicine cat came into the den. “Will you have a look at Nightpaw? He was coughing, but there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him.”
Sagewhisker examined Nightpaw, then shook her head. “Very odd,” she commented. “Nightpaw, do you think you might have a furball?”
“No,” the apprentice replied. “I’m sure I don’t. Anyway, my pelt’s so short that I don’t get furballs.”
“Then maybe you just swallowed a seed, or something,” Sagewhisker concluded. “I don’t think you need any herbs. Just be sure to drink plenty of water.”
“I will, Sagewhisker. Thanks!” The apprentice turned to Yellowfang. “I feel fine now. I’ll collect the rest of that moss.”
When he had gone, Sagewhisker guided Yellowfang to her nest. “You need to rest for a while,” she mewed. “Are you feeling okay?”
“How is Brokenkit?” Yellowfang asked, reluctantly settling down into the moss.
There was a guarded look in Sagewhisker’s eyes as she replied. “He’s fine. He’s feeding well and already as strong as his new littermates.”
Something in the old cat’s voice suggested she was holding back. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?” Yellowfang demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Sagewhisker sighed. “Lizardstripe doesn’t seem entirely happy with the extra mouth to feed.”
Yellowfang snorted. “Lizardstripe didn’t want kits in the first place!”
Sagewhisker nodded. “I know, but it’s too bad. That’s the duty of a queen.”
“Some queens shouldn’t have kits,” Yellowfang muttered. Inside, she was desperately worried about her son.
Sagewhisker seemed to guess what she was thinking. “Yellowfang, you have to stay away from the nursery. Brokenkit needs to have a chance to bond with Lizardstripe.”
Yellowfang took a short nap while Sagewhisker went out into the forest to search for herbs. She had just returned when Yellowfang awoke.
“I found more juniper berries,” she meowed cheerfully. “And a whole clump of borage leaves in a sheltered spot. I’d given up hope of more of those before newleaf. They’ll come in handy if Lizardstripe doesn’t have enough milk.”
Yellowfang rose from her nest to help Sagewhisker sort the herbs, discarding the leaves that were too shriveled to be of any use. She was still involved in the task when Foxheart burst into the den. Her fur was bristling and her eyes hot with anger.
“Why do you have the apprentices running errands for the medicine cats?” she snarled.
Yellowfang saw that Nightpaw was trailing behind his mentor with his mouth full of moss.
“Nightpaw was feeling well enough to help me,” Yellowfang meowed. “Why is that a problem?”
“You should have sent him back to training!” Foxheart snapped. “Just stay out of warrior business in future!” She whipped around and stalked out of the den.
Nightpaw dropped the moss onto the pile, gave Yellowfang an apologetic shrug, and trotted after his mentor. Seething with fury, Yellowfang clawed up the moss and tossed it toward the hollow where it was kept. Her aim was poor but she didn’t care.
“Easy.” Sagewhisker rested her tail-tip on Yellowfang’s shoulder. “Go get a piece of fresh-kill and calm down.”
Yellowfang flung a last ball of moss after the rest and stomped out of the den. Across the clearing, Foxheart was talking to Raggedpelt, with a lot of bristling and tail-waving.
Trying to ignore them, she padded over to the meager fresh-kill pile and chose a shrew. As she ate, Rowanberry appeared beside her. “Have you heard about that extra kit in the nursery?” her sister asked excitedly.
“Yes, I heard,” Yellowfang replied brusquely.
