“I wish they had,” Stormfur replied. “We might have got here sooner. We wandered around in the hills until we came across a rogue who knew some cats who live with horses. Do you know them?”
“Oh, yes, the horseplace cats,” Brambleclaw mewed. “We’ve met them—in fact, one of them is here now, with her kits.”
Stormfur looked surprised. “Well, the rogue said they told him a huge number of cats had moved into their area. We knew that had to be you, and the rogue told us which way to come.”
“So you haven’t been to RiverClan yet?”
Stormfur shook his head, but before he could say anything else, Brook prodded Brambleclaw in the shoulder with one paw. “Moss? Your elders will be waiting.”
“Oh, sure. Let’s take these thorns over to the camp entrance, and I’ll show you.”
Brambleclaw and Stormfur dragged the branches across to where Sandstorm, Dustpelt, and Firestar were working on the barrier. Brook followed with her bundle of moss.
“Over there.” Brambleclaw pointed with his tail into the forest. His pelt prickled with horror as he remembered how the badgers had come roaring out of the shadows with death in their eyes. “Keep going straight on, and you’ll find plenty of moss around the tree roots.”
“I’ll come with you, Brook,” Stormfur meowed. “You never know, there might still be badgers around.”
“I’ve posted guards,” Firestar called across. “It should be safe.” He flicked his ears towards the top of the hollow, where Brambleclaw could just make out the shadowy shapes of Cloudtail and Thornclaw.
Stormfur followed his gaze, then turned back to Brook. “I’m still coming with you. We’ll need more moss for the warriors’ den.”
He and Brook headed into the forest. As Brambleclaw turned back into the camp, he spotted Leafpool emerging from her den. When she reached Cinderpelt’s body she stopped, bowed her head, and rested her nose in her mentor’s soft fur.
“Forgive me, Cinderpelt.” Brambleclaw was just close enough to hear her murmured words. “I want to sit vigil with you, but there’s too much to do. I know you would want me to care for your Clan.”
Leafpool lifted her head, seemed to brace herself, and padded on towards Brambleclaw. “I want you in my den now,” she meowed. “Your wounds need treatment.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue, Brambleclaw. Just do it.” For a moment Leafpool sounded as forceful as her sister, Squirrelflight. “How much use will you be if your shoulder gets infected?”
Brambleclaw sighed. “All right. I’m on my way.” As the young medicine cat brushed past him, he rested the tip of his tail on her shoulder. “Thanks, Leafpool. I mean, thanks for coming back. ThunderClan needs you.”
Leafpool flashed him a glance filled with sorrow before padding on towards her father and mother by the camp entrance. “Firestar!” he heard her call. “I haven’t had a chance to look at your wounds yet.”
As Brambleclaw was approaching Leafpool’s den, he spotted Ashfur emerging from behind the bramble screen. His torn ear was wrapped in cobwebs, and more of them were plastered along his flank and on his foreleg.
“Are you OK?” Brambleclaw asked as Ashfur padded past him.
Ashfur didn’t look at him. “Fine, thanks,” he mewed curtly.
Brambleclaw watched him cross the clearing to the nursery, where Brackenfur and Spiderleg were dragging out the broken bramble tendrils. Ashfur set to work beside them.
Just outside the cleft in the rock wall where Leafpool had her den, Birchpaw was curled up asleep in a nest of bracken, one paw over his nose. Though he was only an apprentice, he had fought bravely in the battle and helped to protect Daisy and her kits as they escaped from the hollow. The wounds on his haunches, where fur had been ripped away, were covered with a poultice of marigold; Brambleclaw’s nostrils twitched at the sharp scent of chewed-up herbs.
On the other side of the cleft, Rainwhisker lay among more bracken. As Brambleclaw appeared around the screen of brambles he raised his head and blinked drowsily. “Hi, Brambleclaw.” His voice sounded blurred with sleep. “Is everything OK?”
“It will be. How’s your leg?”
“Not broken, thank StarClan. Just dislocated.” He let out a sleepy purr. “Leafpool put it back in place.” His eyes closed again and he rested his nose on his paws.
Brightheart emerged from the cleft in the rock with a mouthful of herbs. She nodded to Brambleclaw, then bent over Rainwhisker and Birchpaw to give each a quick sniff.
“They’re doing fine,” she meowed. “Brambleclaw, when Leafpool comes back, tell her I’ve taken some marigold to Brackenfur. He’s working on the nursery so he doesn’t have to leave Sorreltail.”
“OK,” Brambleclaw agreed.
He sat down beside the two sleeping cats. Leafpool arrived a few moments later with Firestar following her. Carefully she looked Brambleclaw over, then gave the deep scratch on his shoulder a lick.
“That’s the only serious wound,” she meowed. “I want to take a look at it every day, OK? Wait there while I fetch you some marigold.” She paused, staring into the distance for a couple of heartbeats before taking a deep breath and disappearing into the cleft.
“Will she be all right?” Brambleclaw murmured to Firestar. “No medicine cat is looking after her.”
“I’ll tell Squirrelflight to keep an eye on her.”
Leafpool came back with the marigold leaves, and began chewing them up for a poultice.
“We’re down to the last scraps,” she mewed, glancing up with the end of a leaf poking out of her jaws. “Some cat will need to fetch more first thing tomorrow.”
“I’ll see to it,” Firestar promised. “Or—Brambleclaw, maybe you could organise that? Find a cat who isn’t too badly hurt.”
Brambleclaw dipped his head. “OK, Firestar.”
Leaving the cleft in the rock, he spotted Stormfur beside the warriors’ den, beckoning to him with his tail.
“I think we’re done for tonight,” the grey warrior meowed. “We’ve shifted the worst of the thorns, and I’ve put down some fresh moss. It might be a bit cramped, but you can all get some rest now.”
“What about you?” Brambleclaw asked.
“Brook and I are still fresh. We’ll guard the camp for the rest of the night.”
“Thanks.” Suddenly Brambleclaw felt his legs start to give way beneath him; the prospect of curling up to sleep made him realise just how exhausted he was. He touched Stormfur on the shoulder with his tail-tip, then slid past him into the warriors’ den.
There was a clear space near the trunk of the tree, good enough for cats who were too tired to be fussy about where they slept. Spiderleg and Ashfur were already asleep; just beyond them, Dustpelt and Ferncloud were drowsily sharing tongues. Brambleclaw muttered a greeting to them, and sank into the moss and bracken. A heartbeat later, sleep crashed over him like a black wave.
Leafpool opened her eyes, sticky with sleep, and blinked. She was crouched in the middle of the stone hollow beside Cinderpelt’s body. Next