SUNSET. Эрин Хантер
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and Brightheart approached at the same time. Leafpool was carrying a wrap of herbs in her jaws, which she set down as Brambleclaw came up.
“Thank StarClan, Cinderpelt’s den was too small for the badgers to get in,” she meowed. “All her herbs and berries are still intact.” Her voice shook as she added, “Please can we move her body, so the Clan can sit in vigil for her?”
“We’ve come to do that,” Brambleclaw told her.
Leafpool blinked gratefully. “Thank you. Brightheart,” she went on, “please fetch some marigold for Birchpaw. Then tell all the cats who are able to walk to go to my den. It’ll be easier to treat them there. And let me know if there’s any cat who can’t manage it. I’ll need to see them first.”
Brightheart gave a brisk nod and left.
Leafpool led the way into the nursery, followed closely by Brambleclaw, Squirrelflight, and Rainwhisker. Hardly any moonlight penetrated through the brambles, making it shadowy as a cave inside, and Brambleclaw winced as he stepped on a thorny tendril. He could just make out Cinderpelt lying on her side in a nest of soft moss. Her tail was curled over her nose, and she looked as if she were asleep.
Brambleclaw padded up to her. “Cinderpelt?” For a heartbeat he thought she might raise her head and answer him, but when he touched his nose to her fur it felt deathly cold.
Sorreltail was lying on the other side of the dead medicine cat, in the furthest corner of the nursery. Her body was curled away from Cinderpelt’s body, sheltering her kits. Her mate, Brackenfur, crouched beside her, his fur bristling; as the other cats entered he bared his teeth in a snarl.
“It’s all right, Brackenfur,” Brambleclaw meowed. “It’s only us. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Brackenfur relaxed, though he still looked wary, and shifted even closer to Sorreltail. Leafpool squeezed past Brambleclaw and began nosing carefully over the young tortoiseshell. Brambleclaw blinked, waiting for his eyes to get used to the gloom until he could see Sorreltail’s four kits burrowing blindly into her fur. Sorreltail was gazing up at Leafpool, her eyes blank with shock.
Rainwhisker edged up beside Brambleclaw. “What can I say to her?” he whispered. “She’s suffered enough already. Knowing about Sootfur could kill her.”
“Not when she has Brackenfur and Leafpool to look after her,” Brambleclaw reassured him. “Come on—it’s better for her to hear it from you than some other cat.”
Rainwhisker nodded, though he still looked uncertain. “Sorreltail . . .” he began, gently nuzzling his sister’s shoulder.
“Rainwhisker, is that you?” Sorreltail mewed, twisting her head around to look at him. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ll be OK,” Rainwhisker replied. “But I’ve got some bad news. It’s Sootfur. He’s . . . dead.”
Sorreltail stared at him for a couple of heartbeats as if she hadn’t understood. Then she tipped back her head and let out a high-pitched wail. “No! Oh, no!”
Her body twisted in a spasm of grief; Brambleclaw heard a faint mewling of protest from the kits as they were dislodged from her belly.
“Sorreltail, it’s all right!” Brackenfur mewed. He pressed himself to her side, covering her face and ears with licks until she shuddered and buried her head in his shoulder. “Sorreltail, I’m here,” he went on. “Think of the kits. You have to care for them.”
“How did he die?” Sorreltail’s voice trembled, but she shifted until her kits were tucked once more in the curve of her body. The babies scrambled back into place and kept suckling, pressing into her belly with tiny soft paws.
“The badgers killed him,” Rainwhisker told her. “Sootfur was a brave warrior,” Brambleclaw meowed. “He’s safe with StarClan now.”
Sorreltail nodded and reached out to give Rainwhisker a comforting lick. “Thank you for telling me.”
Leafpool nudged her leaf wrap closer to the young tortoiseshell. “That’s borage,” she meowed. “It will help your supply of milk.” She hesitated and then added, “If you can’t sleep, I’ll get you some poppy seed, but it would be better for the kits if you can manage without.”
“It’s all right, I can do without it.” Sorreltail bent over and chewed up the borage, wincing at the taste but swallowing until it was all gone.
“Brackenfur, can you find some fresh-kill for her?” Leafpool suggested. “As for you, Rainwhisker, you’d better stay right here while I have a look at that leg.”
Brackenfur touched his nose to Sorreltail’s ear, promised, “I’ll be right back,” and slipped out of the nursery past Cinderpelt’s body.
Sorreltail’s gaze followed him. “It’s my fault Cinderpelt died.” Her voice rasped with grief. “She could have escaped the badger, but she stayed to help me.”
“It’s not your fault.” Leafpool sounded unusually fierce, and Brambleclaw glanced at her in surprise. “Cinderpelt was doing her duty as a medicine cat. That was the choice she made.”
“That’s true,” meowed Squirrelflight. “Sorreltail, just think—if Cinderpelt had left you, the badger might have killed you too, and your kits. You wouldn’t want that, and neither would she.”
Sorreltail shook her head, shuddering.
“They’re beautiful kits,” Brambleclaw said, trying to distract her. He got a good look at the newest members of ThunderClan for the first time. “Have you given them names yet?”
Sorreltail nodded. “This one is Molekit.” She touched the biggest kit’s head with the tip of her tail. “He’s the only tom. Then this is Honeykit and Poppykit.” She touched in turn a pale bracken-coloured tabby and a tortoiseshell-and-white kit who looked like a tiny copy of Sorreltail. “And this is Cinderkit.”
Brambleclaw heard a gasp from Squirrelflight. The fluffy grey kit looked hauntingly familiar, and he couldn’t help casting a rapid glance at the body of Cinderpelt behind him. Leafpool, bent over Rainwhisker’s injured leg, froze for a heartbeat. “I think Cinderpelt would like that,” she mewed softly, then carried on with what she was doing.
“They all look strong and healthy,” Brambleclaw meowed. “Come on, Squirrelflight, we have a job to do for Cinderpelt now.”
Squirrelflight paused and touched Leafpool lightly on the shoulder with the tip of her tail. “You should get some rest soon,” she mewed. “You look awful.”
“I don’t have time to rest,” Leafpool responded, not looking at her. “What are all these wounded cats going to do if I take a nap?”
Squirrelflight’s gaze was troubled. “But I’m worried about you. I can feel how tough it is for you right now.”
This time Leafpool didn’t reply. Brambleclaw could see that she just wanted to be left alone to take care of Rainwhisker. He nudged Squirrelflight’s shoulder. “Come on,” he repeated, lowering his voice to add, “give her a bit of space. She can cope; she just needs time.”
Squirrelflight still looked uncertain, but she turned round in the tight space and helped Brambleclaw carry Cinderpelt’s limp body out of the nursery. Daisy and the kits were still huddled by the entrance with Cloudtail and Ferncloud. Brightheart had brought the marigold and was treating Birchpaw’s wounds.
“You can’t leave,” Cloudtail was protesting. “You and the kits belong here.”
Daisy shook her head, her gaze falling on the dead medicine cat. “My kits could have been killed,” she mewed. “Or I could have died, and then what would happen to them? They’ll be safer back at the horseplace.”
All three of her kits let out meows of protest.
“But what about the Twolegs?” Cloudtail pressed. “You