[TB] TWILIGHT -- Chapter 22 (Patreon)

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“How are you feeling today, Sorreltail?” In the quiet emptiness of the nursery, Shadepool felt like she was shouting. The tightly-woven walls were thick, stopping any noise from the outside world from getting in. It was its own little world, warm and comfortable away from danger, perfect for raising the Clan's little ones.

“Better,” Sorreltail admitted. She nestled deeper into her nest, which Sun had made for her. The Tribe she-cat had scoured the territory for anything remotely useable. Sorreltail chuckled ruefully, “It's certainly easier to get sleep without listening to Graystripe snoring all night...”

Shadepool twitched her whiskers with amusement. She sniffed Sorreltail's flank. “Everything seems to be alright,” she reported. “I'm glad you're getting more sleep.”

“I didn't want to move in so early, but I guess I can't complain.” The tortoiseshell she-cat stretched out one of her legs, flexing her claws. There was a look of guilt on her face. “Of all the times to be confined to the nursery, though, huh?”

Shadepool grimaced. The news of yesterday's disastrous attempt at parley had spread through the camp like wildfire. Outside this quiet haven, preparations for war were now going at double speed, with every cat who wasn't laid up in the medicine cat's den on their paws strengthening the thorn barrier, patrolling, training, or hunting. Anything to weather the storm coming their way.

“I can't believe WindClan thinks they can drive us out,” Sorreltail hissed. “And over something we didn't even do!” She looked to Shadepool, eyes bright with indignation in the gloom. “StarClan can't want this, right?”

Shadepool's tail trembled, and she tucked it out of Sorreltail's sight. “No,” she answered, calm as she could, “they certainly don't.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Sorreltail wondered. Her own tail lashed. “None of us would ever murder someone - are we supposed to just pick out one of us and pretend they did it?”

“Of course not!” Shadepool breathed, deeply troubled by the idea. “Tinystar would never allow that!” Grimly, she pointed out, “I don't think Mudstar would fall for it, anyway.”

“Probably not,” Sorreltail agreed. She lowered her muzzle to the edge of her nest and sighed. “Shade... I'm so scared.”

Shadepool felt a pang of sorrow for her. She traced her tail-tip down her friend's spine. “It'll be okay, Sorrel,” she murmured.

“Sun is worried that our kits might never know her kin in the mountains,” Sorreltail mewed on. “But if WindClan drives us out, they won't even know ThunderClan. They'll have no one at all.”

Shadepool didn't know what to say to that. Her mouth felt dry. The idea of ThunderClan, the cats she knew and loved so dearly, scattered to the winds, lost and confused and without one another, was horrifying. She recalled hearing a story of a Clan that had faced a similar fate from her father, cats who lived by a cliffside far from the old forest after they had been driven away.

Where would we go? she wondered. The old forest was probably gone by now, and life in the mountains would be very difficult. Would StarClan follow us somewhere else?

“Hey,” Sorreltail offered. She nudged Shadepool's paw with her own. “If I'm okay, I don't mean to keep you from your other duties.”

Shadepool dipped her head in gratitude. She touched her nose to Sorreltail's ear and mewed, “Try to get some sunshine when you feel up to it. It's good for you.”

Sorreltail shifted in her nest. “Will do,” she promised.

Shadepool slid out of the nursery. In sharp contrast to the dark, gloomy warmth, the stone hollow was blindingly bright and chilly, alive with the motion and chatter of cats preparing for the inevitable conflict. Between all the noise, Shadepool could hear the trilling of birds and the trickle of meltwater as it ran down the rocky walls. Earthy scents filled her nose, while the sun warmed her back.

Newleaf had officially begun.

Quickly, Shadepool trotted into the clearing. As she wound around the fallen tree, she spotted Sun and her patrol depositing some prey onto the fresh-kill pile. Sun grabbed a pair of mice and passed Shadepool, nodding to her as she made her way into the nursery.

Cinderpelt had taken over for Dustpelt, directing Ferncloud as they worked together to reinforce the thorn barrier. Some cat must have gone out to dig up more materials, as there was a large pile of sticks and torn-up bushes near the camp entrance that the two were using. Shadepool bet herself that she would be pulling splinters from their pads before sunhigh.

Snowmelt had flooded the glade in the forest, so training had to be moved into the camp, even for Spiderpaw and Mousefur, who were practicing battle moves over by the apprentice's den. Across the clearing, by the tumble of stones Shadepool had used to sneak out of camp, Mistyfoot was tussling with Rainwhisker while Sootfur and Cloudtail looked on.

Shadepool flinched as she watched Mistyfoot deliver a fierce mock bite to Rainwhisker's shoulder. Rainwhisker yowled something, and the two parted, panting, and at Mistyfoot's signal, Cloudtail and Sootfur replaced them.

Shivering, Shadepool looked away. She had learned a few basic battle moves on the journey to meet Midnight, but nothing like that. Much as she itched to use her claws at times, Shadepool was certain she'd never be able to deliver hard blows like a warrior could.

A dark shape flickered in the corner of her vision. Atop the Highledge was Tinystar, perched above his Clan, his eyes piercing. He didn't seem to be looking at any one thing in particular, but Shadepool knew her father was searching for any sign of trouble as if he could feel every bit of his territory in his paws.

Did he even sleep last night? she wondered. She had delivered his poppy seed - one of their last few - but she hadn't the time to see her father take it, and its potency was questionable at best now.

Not wanting to be caught in her father's gaze, Shadepool put on some speed and, a moment later, slid past the dry lichen and into the medicine cat cave.

A low moan greeted her.

Shadepool's ears pricked. Brackenfur was bent over Dustpelt, pressing a bundle of soaked moss into his throat wound. Dustpelt moaned again, his eyes glazed with pain. The cave smelled slightly sour, making Shadepool's pelt prickle.

“Infection?” she hissed, sliding up to Brackenfur. Whitewing was resting across the cave, and Shadepool didn't want to wake her unnecessarily.

Brackenfur nodded confirmation, his expression grim.

“He was fine when I woke up!” Shadepool breathed. “How...?”

She looked down at Dustpelt. His fur was matted around his wound, which was oozing blood and pus at a sluggish pace. The brown tabby tom bared his teeth at Brackenfur when the medicine cat dragged the moss down the wound again.

He must've opened it in his sleep somehow, Shadepool thought.

“Check Whitewing,” Brackenfur ordered.

Wordlessly, Shadepool obeyed, crossing the cave to see the young white she-cat. Her nose was buried beneath the ginger stripes of her tail, and a quick sniff told Shadepool that, unlike Dustpelt, her belly wound was free of infection. From what she could tell, the wound was healing well. Whitewing was sleeping soundly, and Shadepool didn't want to do anything more that could wake her.

“Whitewing is fine,” Shadepool reported. She joined Brackenfur at the back of the den, where the shallow pool of water trickled in from the forest above. Thankfully, the snowmelt hadn't caused it to flood. “What do we do for Dustpelt? Sweet-sedge? Sorrel?”

“We're out,” Brackenfur told her, “of both.”

Shadepool's ears pricked in shock. “Completely?”

Brackenfur nodded, pressing a ball of fresh moss into the water. “Whitewing's wounds haven't displayed any sign of infection yet, so she can do without, but Dustpelt...”

Dustpelt groaned again. Shadepool grimaced at the sound. She suggested, “Perhaps we should move Whitewing to the elder's den, then, so she can keep resting? No one's there at the moment.”

“We should, yes,” Brackenfur agreed.

“What about poppy seeds?” Shadepool wondered. There had to be some way to ease Dustpelt's pain. “How many are left?”

Brackenfur sighed. “Some, but they're not strong enough anymore.”

Shadepool took a deep, quavering breath. “Juniper, then?”

“Weak, too, in this case - but there's more of them than the poppy,” Brackenfur mused. “Fetch some.”

Shadepool nodded and got to her paws. In a few steps, she was ducking into the storage cave. Even by scent alone she knew it was perilously empty, but she grabbed a pawful of the shriveled juniper berries in her teeth and brought them out to Brackenfur, who was still dabbing at Dustpelt's wound.

Dropping the berries beside Dustpelt, Shadepool touched her nose to his, pulling away when she felt how warm it was. Concerned, she rolled a few of the misshapen juniper berries over to his muzzle. He lapped at one or two, grunting as he swallowed.

Shadepool was about to open her mouth to speak when she heard paws scuffing on stone. Turning, she spotted Ashfur and Larchpaw at the entrance to the cave.

“Brackenfur? Shadepool? Are you in?” Ashfur called.

A quick sniff told her there was no blood, but something clearly wasn't right. She was just about to ask why they were here when Larchpaw began to cough. Shadepool could hear his lungs rattling from a tail-length away.

StarClan help us, she thought, a cold feeling washing over her spine. Is that whitecough? Now, of all times?

“He was sniffling all morning, and I thought it might've been allergies,” Ashfur sighed, looking down at his apprentice worriedly. “But when he tried to chase a bird, he lost his breath almost immediately.”

Shadepool flicked her tail to one of the free nests, away from Whitewing and Dustpelt, and Ashfur guided Larchpaw there. When Larchpaw laid down, Shadepool heard him wheeze.

“How are you feeling, Ashfur?” Shadepool asked as she leaned in to test Larchpaw's temperature.

“Fine,” Ashfur said, “but I know how quick this stuff can spread...”

Larchpaw's fever was obvious, but not at whitecough levels yet, which Shadepool thanked StarClan for. Perhaps it actually was just allergies from the new growth or a chill from underestimating the warmth of newleaf, like young cats often did.

She suggested as much to Ashfur, who looked relieved. “He needs rest,” Shadepool told him. “A few days, and he'll be fine.”

“That's good,” Ashfur said, exhaling gratefully. “Ferncloud would have my tail if anything happened to him...”

Ashfur left quickly, probably due to patrol or training. Shadepool sighed and fluffed up Larchpaw's nest to help him retain as much warmth as he could. They didn't have any feverfew, coltsfoot, or even catmint, and while the juniper would help ease his coughing, what they had just wasn't strong enough, and Dustpelt needed it, too.

Brackenfur had finally stopped tending to Dustpelt and was back at the pool, washing his paws. She joined him and explained what had happened to Larchpaw, keeping her voice low. She felt her mentor stiffen at the news.

“That could become whitecough very quickly,” he sighed. “If it isn't there already.”

“I know,” Shadepool agreed. She tried to keep her fur from bristling with alarm. “We need herbs.”

“Nothing is growing.”

“Not for us, yet,” Shadepool suggested carefully, “but for the other Clans...”

Brackenfur's eyes flashed. “We have no idea of how their herb stores are faring. There's no guarantee they'd have anything to help, and they've their own Clanmates to aid!”

“It's better than sitting and waiting for plants to grow,” Shadepool pointed out. She felt heat flash beneath her fur. “That could take over a moon! We don't have that kind of time, especially with WindClan's ultimatum.”

Brackenfur hesitated to respond, flattening his ears.

Shadepool pressed on while she had the space to do so: “Ryewhisper can't - or won't - help us, but Littlecloud? Mothwing? They would, for sure! And while I'm gone, we can send a patrol to look for more herbs on our territory. This way, there are at least two chances of some cat finding something that could help!”

There was a long silence punctuated by Larchpaw's wheezing and Dustpelt's occasional groans of pain. Shadepool's heart was in her throat - did Brackenfur trust her like he claimed? Enough for this?

Brackenfur stared her in the eye, clearly thinking - and then, finally, blessedly: “Do it.”

There was no time to waste. Shadepool shot off, bursting out of the medicine cat's cave and into the clearing. Everything was as it had been that morning, though as she headed for the Highledge, Shadepool spotted Brightheart, Silverstream, and Nightfrost returning from a patrol.

She had wanted to talk to her brother about what had happened yesterday, but there just hadn't been an opportunity, and there certainly wasn't one now. While he was greeted Mistyfoot, Shadepool was clambering up to the Highledge to meet her father.

Tinystar noticed her instantly, and the urgency of her expression had him ask, “What is it?” within a heartbeat.

Quickly, Shadepool explained what was happening and her plan. She was surprised it had come out so coherently, with how breathless she was from scrambling up to the Highledge. Tinystar listened intently, his eyes flickering in thought.

“Very well,” he decided. “But you're not to go alone.”

Shadepool hesitated. “But-”

Tinystar yowled, “Nightfrost!”

Shadepool swallowed. Nightfrost? She watched the small, black shape of her brother part from Mistyfoot and begin to head toward the Highledge. She knew what her father was thinking, and she could only wonder if her littermate would even want to come with her after everything they had endured recently.

“I can go alone,” Shadepool insisted, “it would be quicker!”

“If you run into danger, you will be vulnerable,” Tinystar reasoned predictably, “and you'll need a spare mouth to carry anything you're given. Not to mention...”

Nightfrost had scrambled up to the Highledge by then, and, panting, he asked, “What's going on?” He glanced between Shadepool and Tinystar and wondered, “Everything okay?”

“Shadepool needs to visit ShadowClan and RiverClan for herbs,” Tinystar explained. “I want you to go with her and do something else for me along the way.”

“What?” Nightfrost asked, his gaze narrowing slightly.

“I want you to speak to Russetstar and Leopardstar, and tell them about WindClan's threat,” Tinystar explained. His ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly. “I need them to know what ThunderClan is facing, and I need to know if we will have their aid, should the worst come to pass.”

Shadepool stared at her father. Of course, it made sense now. If any cat could convince the other leaders to help ThunderClan, it would be Nightfrost! She was certain he had made friends in every Clan thanks to his willingness to help during the Great Journey.

Yet Shadepool didn't need their connection restored to see that the idea unsettled Nightfrost. The events of the day before had clearly upset him. He shifted on his paws and suggested, “Mistyfoot would do far better than I would, Father...”

“I need Mistyfoot here to help prepare,” Tinystar said resolutely. “No, Nightfrost, you are the best choice. Not the second-best, either.” He didn't wait for Nightfrost to protest any further: “Go, now. StarClan speed you both on your way - ThunderClan depends on you.”