Spottedpaw woke early from dreams filled with flashes of gray-and-white fur, Thistleclaw’s sweet scent, and threatening shadows that loomed from the undergrowth. She stood up and tiptoed out of the den.

Outside, the sky was soft and milky like the underside of a dove’s wing. Dew laced the grass, and Spottedpaw left neat wet footprints as she padded across the clearing. She could just make out the golden tabby shape of Lionheart sitting on the other side of the gorse, guarding the sleeping Clan.

“You’re up early,” commented Featherwhisker, stepping out of the ferns. He tipped his head to one side and studied her with his bright amber gaze. “Is something wrong, Spottedpaw?”

Spottedpaw looked down at her toes, studded with shining droplets of dew. There was no way she could tell him about Thistleclaw visiting the Dark Forest. That would bring all kinds of trouble, and after all, Thistleclaw hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? For a moment Spottedpaw recalled Goosefeather’s strange comment that she loved blindly and had a foolish heart. Was this what the old cat had been talking about?

“Spottedpaw, what is it?” Featherwhisker padded over and rested the tip of his tail on Spottedpaw’s flank. “Are you sick?”

Spottedpaw shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I… I had some strange dreams, that’s all.”

“I heard that you ran off from battle training yesterday,” Featherwhisker commented gently. “Tigerpaw gets too rough sometimes. He needs to remember to keep his claws sheathed when fighting his Clanmates.”

“But we won’t always be fighting our Clanmates, will we?” Spottedpaw argued. “One day I’ll be fighting a real enemy, and I’ll have to use my claws and my teeth and everything I’ve learned just to survive…”

Featherwhisker looked concerned. “Warriors face many challenges, but the warrior code protects them, Spottedpaw. No cat should ever be killed, even in the heat of battle. We fight to defend our borders, not maim the cats on the other side.”

“Some cats seem to enjoy fighting, whoever their opponent is,” Spottedpaw mewed quietly.

“Battles are only a very small part of our lives,” Featherwhisker went on. “A true warrior has more love in her heart than hatred. Love for her Clanmates, for the forest that shelters her, for the prey that feeds us all.”

The brambles around the warriors’ den rustled, and cats started gathering beneath the Highledge. Tawnyspots walked among them, choosing cats for the dawn patrol. Spottedpaw blinked in alarm as Stormtail emerged from the brambles. The warrior had lost weight, and he looked unsteady on his paws. The first thing he did was walk over to the heap of soaked moss outside the elders’ den and drink deeply, as if he had not seen water for a moon.

Spottedpaw padded over to him. “Are you feeling all right, Stormtail?” she mewed.

Stormtail turned to look at her, his eyes bleary and ringed with sleep. “I’m fine,” he rasped, but Spottedpaw noticed that his muzzle was dry and his breath smelled like crow-food.

“I don’t think you are,” she meowed. “Why don’t you see Featherwhisker? I think you might be sick.”

Stormtail lashed his tail. “Don’t fuss. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Bluefur overheard and came over. “My father knows if he is sick or not,” she told Spottedpaw. “Leave him alone. The patrol is ready to go.” She nodded to Stormtail, who followed her to the other warriors.

“I want you to head up past Snakerocks and then follow the border along the Thunderpath,” Tawnyspots ordered. “We’ve chased off a couple of rogues there recently and I want to be sure they haven’t come back. They didn’t look dangerous but our territory is full of prey at the moment and they might see it as easy pickings. Speckletail, you take the lead.”

The tabby she-cat nodded and trotted toward the gorse tunnel with the rest of the patrol bunched at her heels. Spottedpaw winced as Stormtail stumbled, but he gathered himself up and vanished into the gorse on Bluefur’s heels. His flanks were so pinched and bony that Spottedpaw could see Bluefur’s haunches clearly on either side of Stormtail’s lean shape.

She watched as the gorse stopped quivering behind the cats, then turned and padded into the medicine den. Featherwhisker was sorting a pile of tansy leaves and the air smelled green and fragrant. The space seemed larger now that Goosefeather had finally agreed to move to the elders’ den, and his ragged nest among the ferns had been cleared away.

“I think Stormtail is sick,” Spottedpaw blurted out.

The medicine cat put down the leaf he was unfurling and looked at her. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s not walking properly, his muzzle is dry, and his breath smells bad. And he drank nearly all the water from the elders’ moss before he went on patrol. I don’t know if he’s eating, either. He’s so thin!”

Featherwhisker’s eyes darkened. “You’re right. I’d noticed he was looking rather bony, but I assumed he’d had an upset stomach and not wanted to bother me. But if his muzzle is dry and he’s that thirsty… He shouldn’t have gone on patrol, that’s for sure. Do you know where they were headed?”

“Up past Snakerocks to the Thunderpath.”

“Right, I’ll go after them and bring Stormtail back. Thanks for letting me know, Spottedpaw.”

Featherwhisker was halfway through the ferns when there was a commotion in the clearing and a pale gray shape bundled into him.

“Whoa, White-eye!” Featherwhisker meowed. “What’s the rush?”

The she-cat bounced back onto her haunches. “I’ve got a thorn in my eye!” she spat. “It caught me as I was coming out of the den, would you believe it?”

“Okay, let me take a look,” Featherwhisker mewed, and he guided White-eye to the little space outside his den. The she-cat lurched beside him, letting out a little moan of fear. Spottedpaw felt her belly flip over. White-eye was already blind on one side, but it was her good eye that was closed and weeping from the thorn scratch.

Featherwhisker gently pried open her eyelid. “The thorn isn’t there now, thank StarClan. Let me bathe it with some marigold and you should be fine.”

White-eye sagged with relief. “I’m so scared of losing that one as well,” she murmured.

The medicine cat stroked her shoulder with his tail. “I would be, too.” He looked over White-eye’s head at Spottedpaw. “Can you get Stormtail, please? I want to treat White-eye first.”

“Of course!” Spottedpaw jumped up and pushed her way through the ferns.

Thrushpelt was washing his chest outside the warriors’ den. “Hey, Spottedpaw!” he called. “You need to clean out the elders’ den today, remember?”

“I’ll do it later,” Spottedpaw called back. “I have to do something for Featherwhisker first.”

Thrushpelt narrowed his eyes. “You’re not his apprentice.”

“This is really important,” Spottedpaw snapped. “Stormtail’s sick!”

She brushed past her mentor and hurtled through the gorse tunnel. As she plunged into the trees above the ravine, she flashed back to her dream of fighting for her life in a dense, shadowed forest, and for a moment her paws froze. Then she shook herself. She was in her own territory now, and there were no enemies here. Just a sick warrior who needed her help.

She raced along the path that led past Snakerocks and skidded to a halt at the edge of a thick swath of brambles. She could hear monsters rumbling along the Thunderpath on the other side. She swiveled her ears, trying to pick up the sound of the patrol. A crackle of twigs made her spin toward Twolegplace and struggle through the long grass around the edge of the brambles. She burst through a clump of dead bracken and came face-to-face with Thistleclaw.

“Spottedpaw! Are you looking for me?” he meowed.

She shook her head. “No, Stormtail. Is he with you?” She peered past him.

Bluefur was renewing a scent marker on a crooked oak tree. “What are you doing here, Spottedpaw? You’re not on this patrol.”

“I need to find Stormtail,” Spottedpaw panted. “Featherwhisker sent me to get him.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thistleclaw’s eyes darken.

“You’re looking for Stormtail?” meowed Speckletail, joining them. She glanced over her shoulder. “I thought he was behind me, but he seems to have disappeared.”

“He must have stopped to check the scent marker beside the Thunderpath,” Bluefur mewed.

“Actually I’ve just done that one,” mewed Rosetail, popping up from a clump of grass.

“Where’s he gone?” muttered Speckletail.

“We have to find him!” Spottedpaw cried. She plunged past the warriors and followed the trail they had left, marked out by fresh scent and evidence of broken twigs and crushed grass. Behind her, she heard Speckletail ordering the rest of the patrol to spread out and look for their Clanmate. Spottedpaw paused at a spot where the trail seemed to separate and opened her muzzle wide to taste the air. The breeze carried the faintest tang of a rank, stale scent. Spottedpaw tensed. That’s Stormtail!

She bounded toward the smell, flattening her ears to keep them out of the way of the brambles. “Stormtail! Are you there?” she yowled.

She stopped to listen, but there was only the alarmed chack of a blackbird startled from a holly bush. Startled by what? Spottedpaw wondered. She headed toward the bush, and at once the stale scent grew stronger. A blue-gray shape was slumped beneath the holly, as still as a boulder.

“I’ve found him!” Spottedpaw screeched. She raced over to Stormtail and pressed her cheek to his muzzle. She felt the faintest stir of air against her whiskers. He’s alive! Bracken crackled as the rest of the patrol joined her.

“Great StarClan!” Speckletail swore. “Thistleclaw, Bluefur, get either side of Stormtail and prop him up. Rosetail, you take the weight of his haunches.” The tabby she-cat looked around. “Spottedpaw, you carry his tail, make sure it doesn’t catch on any thorns.”

Spottedpaw nodded and picked up the warrior’s heavy tail in her jaws. The other warriors clustered around him and boosted him to his paws. His head hung down and his eyes stayed closed, but at least he was breathing—ragged, gasping breaths that made his scrawny flanks heave.

It seemed to take a moon to get Stormtail back to the camp, with every root and tendril snagging his limp paws or clutching at his drooping muzzle. When they reached the top of the ravine, Speckletail ordered Spottedpaw to run ahead and let Featherwhisker know they were here. The medicine cat had already prepared a nest of soft moss, with more soaked moss close by for Stormtail to drink. The warriors eased the sick cat carefully through the ferns and laid him down in front of Featherwhisker, whose eyes darkened as he studied Stormtail’s limp shape.

“He has the thirsting sickness,” he murmured, and Spottedpaw pricked her ears, straining to hear from the back of the cluster of warriors. “I cannot cure it, but I can make him more comfortable.” The medicine cat tucked Stormtail’s legs under him and pushed the soaked moss against his muzzle. The warrior stirred and lapped feebly at the touch of water. Bluefur crouched beside him. “You’re safe now,” she whispered. “You’re in Featherwhisker’s den, and he’s going to take care of you.”

Spottedpaw felt a flash of indignation. No thanks to Bluefur, who had insisted Stormtail was well enough to go on the patrol!

“Leave us alone now,” Featherwhisker mewed softly. He looked at Bluefur. “Don’t worry. I will take good care of your father.”

Spottedpaw followed the warriors into the clearing. Bluefur was standing alone beside the tree stump, her tail drooping. Spottedpaw marched up to her. “You shouldn’t have forced Stormtail to join the patrol!” she meowed fiercely.

The she-cat looked startled. “I didn’t force him!”

“You didn’t listen to me either,” Spottedpaw growled. “I told you he was sick.”

“You’re not a medicine cat!” Bluefur retorted. “Why should I have listened to you?” She stomped away, flicking her tail in disgust.

Thrushpelt padded over to Spottedpaw. “I hear you’ve been a bit of a hero,” he meowed. “Stormtail will be very grateful when he’s better.” There was an edge to the warrior’s tone that made Spottedpaw glance warily up at him. Thrushpelt nodded toward the gorse tunnel. “I think we need to talk.”

In silence, Spottedpaw followed him out of the camp. Her legs ached from her frantic dash through the forest, and she was relieved when Thrushpelt led her to Sunningrocks and settled on a warm, flat rock. The sound of the river soothed her, and her eyelids began to feel heavy.

Thrushpelt sighed. “I have to ask you something, Spottedpaw.”

Her heart started to pound. Did Thrushpelt know she had been to the Dark Forest?

The sandy-gray cat looked at her. “Is your heart truly set on becoming a warrior?” he mewed.

Spottedpaw flinched. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a good cat, Spottedpaw, but you seem distracted in our training sessions, and lately you’ve been more interested in helping Featherwhisker.”

Spottedpaw felt her pelt burn. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll train harder from now on.”

Thrushpelt shook his head. “Spottedpaw, would you like to become Featherwhisker’s apprentice instead?”

She stared at him in astonishment. “Wh-what?”

“Would you like to train as a medicine cat? I’ve seen how good you are at recognizing the herbs, and you probably saved Stormtail’s life today. I know Featherwhisker has asked you before, and I want you to know that it would be okay. I like having you as my apprentice, but if your heart lies elsewhere, then I won’t stand in your way.”

Spottedpaw opened and closed her mouth like a fledgling waiting for food. “I-I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.

Her mentor tilted his head to one side. “Think about it,” he urged. “But remember that if you do become a medicine cat, it would mean giving up more than just your warrior training. Very few cats can make the commitment that Featherwhisker has. I think you’d be a great medicine cat, but you have to want it with all your heart.”

Spottedpaw blinked. How had Thrushpelt noticed so much, yet said nothing before now? Did he really believe she would be a good medicine cat? She shook her head. She had wanted to be a warrior since the day she was born. There was nothing more honorable than protecting your Clan, feeding your Clanmates, defending the borders. She had trained so hard alongside her littermates. They would stand side by side all their lives, fighting for ThunderClan.

And there was still Thistleclaw…

She took a deep breath. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Thrushpelt, I really do. But I want to be a warrior.”