Dark River

She dropped into a crouch, trembling with cold and fear as she spotted the stone-colored pelt of Mistyfoot through the reeds. The RiverClan deputy was stalking something. Hollypaw backed away as Mistyfoot drew nearer. She pressed herself against the earth, hoping that her drenched pelt was too wet to betray her scent.

Suddenly, Mistyfoot sprang forward, paws outstretched. A moment later she straightened, her whiskers twitching with triumph and a water vole dangling from her jaws. Hollypaw sighed with relief as the RiverClan deputy turned and padded away. Mistyfoot looked thin and her usually glossy pelt was dull. Clearly, RiverClan was going hungry.

Hollypaw waited a few moments before she began to pad on gingerly. The island was not far ahead now, the tree-bridge distinct on the shoreline. How would she cross it without being seen? She stiffened herself against the anxiety that nagged at her bones. I’ve come this far… Slipping from the cover of the reeds, she darted over the marshy shore and dived among the tangle of roots at the foot of the tree-bridge.

Pressing herself into them she scanned the shore, blood pulsing in her ears. She sniffed the air.

No sign of any cat.

Cautiously, she clambered up through the roots and hauled herself onto the tree-bridge. Keeping low, she crept along the trunk, gripping the slimy bark with her claws.

Hardly daring to breath, she pricked her ears, listening for an alarm call. She reached the other side, shaking with relief, and slid down through the branches onto the shore.

Which way now?

This wasn’t a Gathering. She couldn’t just push through the undergrowth and head for the clearing. How was she going to find Willowpaw?

Hope tingled in her paws when she realized that, not far along the shore, the beach was overtaken by undergrowth.

The trees reached the water here, their roots snaking into the lake, and ferns and brambles tumbled over the lip of the island.

Hollypaw took a deep breath and raced across the small stretch of open beach. She dived under the cover of a clump of ferns. The fronds spilled into the water, forming a tunnel around the edge of the island.

Where in StarClan is the medicine den? Hollypaw prayed she would detect Willowpaw’s familiar scent soon. But what if it led her inland, toward the heart of RiverClan’s new camp?

She crept through the fern tunnel, clambering over tree roots and hauling herself through clumps of bramble, her paws occasionally slipping off the muddy bank and into the cold lake.

Suddenly, the undergrowth ended. Rocks stretched ahead of her, rough and flat and black against the water. They reached into the lake, forming a small causeway that ended in a rocky outcrop, jutting up from the water. Hollypaw lifted her head, ears pricked, and tasted the air. She could hear the sounds of RiverClan drifting from the center of the island: queens talking, kits mewling, an elder complaining about ticks. No sound of warriors or apprentices, though. Hollypaw frowned. At the Gathering, the island had been teeming with RiverClan cats. Where were the rest of them now?

No time to worry about that!

Where was Willowpaw?

Hollypaw shivered. She was freezing. Her wet pelt clung to her. She was far from home. Panic started to rise in her chest.

What if she couldn’t find her friend?

Then she heard a squeal. A kit was wailing somewhere up ahead. “That hurt!”

The soft mew of a queen soothed it. “It’ll only hurt for a bit.”

Hollypaw could smell herbs. Someone was treating the kit with marigold!

She crept out onto the rough, flat causeway, following the scent. It was coming from the rocky outcrop. Crouching lower than ever, Hollypaw slithered around the edge and peered through a gap in the stones.

“We’ll need more marigold soon.”

Willowpaw!

The RiverClan medicine cat apprentice was crouched in a hollow in the heart of the outcrop, crushing leaves against the rough stone floor with her paws. “The kits keep getting pine needles stuck in their pads.”

Mothwing sat on a ledge nearby, licking herbs into the mewling kit’s paw. A white she-cat held the kit in her paws as it struggled against Mothwing’s lapping tongue.

“Try to keep her out of the pine needles, Icewing,” Mothwing advised.

“It’s not easy,” the queen sighed.

“I know,” Mothwing agreed. “I’ll come back to the nursery with you and sweep some of the needles away from the entrance.”

The queen lifted the kit by its scruff and began to carry it, still mewling, out from the sheltering rocks and along the causeway that led back to the island. Mothwing followed her.

When she was sure there was no other cat close enough to hear, Hollypaw hissed through the gap in the rock.

“Willowpaw!”

The medicine cat apprentice froze. “Who’s that?”

“It’s me, Hollypaw!”