Warrior Cats: Fallen Leaves

10 Troubling Disorders

Last Updated: 2 February 2020

Shaky, silver breath billowed into fragile mist before scuttling back into the night. Tentative pawsteps slowed, cracking frost-bitten leaves, inhaled the sharp air. Only CreekClan scents. The heavy, unwavering smell of slumbering cats. The furtive impatience of night creatures. When the camp was sleeping, night time always seemed more oppressive and ripe for chaos. Eelpaw always felt like it was.
He headed to where the nervous trickle of water was strongest. The medicine den. He skittered towards the hole, bleak-yellow reeds framing its compelling blackness. A grieving moan rose from its confines. He shuddered. Mother... I'm sorry I couldn't save them.
Grief, as hollow as a bird bone, crushed his throat. The events that had killed his kin plagued his mind. What if he could have found the right herbs? What if Birdsong had been there? She would know what to do. StarClan would. Pausing, the blue apprentice squinted up to the stars in hope of a sign. A curved claw of a half-moon glared down coldly. Its harsh silver light burned his fur, urged him to call out to Blueripple and comfort her. To apologize.
Black swamped his eyes when he scrambled into the medicine den. "Mother! Blueripple! I-I want to say-"
"Quiet!" Whiskers thrust back, a looming blue-grey shape of Mother shot up, hissing. "My kin can't sleep with that noise!"
"But they're...but they're buried..." Moss squished beneath his paws. "N-no, never mind. I...I told the queens to-"
"To quiet down? Good." Was that a hint of a purr in his mother's voice? "Will you get me a spot of prey? I haven't eaten since sunhigh..."
Eelpaw's ear-tips warmed. Blueripple was becoming herself again! "Y-yes. Of course!" He scrambled outside, heart thumping as chilly air bit through his fur. He bounded across paw-high marsh, thoughts buzzing. Was his mother finally over her grief? Why hadn't StarClan sent him a sign about his family's deaths? What about the Clan? His jaws clamped on a particular juicy-looking water vole. A hiss made him spin in fright.
"Eelpaw, just what are you doing?" Birdsong, paws muddy from burying, hurried over from the entrance. His mentor! The blue apprentice dropped the vole and fumbled for words:
"B-Birdsong, I think Blueripple is-"
"Never mind, Blueripple!" she spat, tail lashing, "You were about to eat prey that has nightcough in it!" Her hiss softened, "Don't you think the Clan would be worried about you?"
Shame flooded through Eelpaw. His drooped tail and head sagged as if a badger had crushed him. "It was my fault," his voice shook, "My mother was so happy a moment ago, a-and she wanted prey. I didn't want her to...I didn't want..." He pressed his tongue against his chest fur, licking with tentative strokes. He waited for the inevitable lecture. He had disappointed her.
A tail brushed his flank. "It's okay. I was only worried about you."
Eelpaw didn't look at his mentor. He was too ashamed. "No, no, it's my fault! I would have killed my mother because I'm so mouse-brained." He stared feebly at Birdsong's muddy paws. Muddy because she had had to bury his family. Anger at his incompetence choked his stomach. Why didn't he bury them? They deserved better. Grief stabbed his limbs until they shook. "That's why Streamsplash and Honeypaw died!"
Shaking, he slumped down onto his rear, tearing out clumps of grass. He sensed the unseen eyes of his Clanmates, still awake from the arguments in the nursery, watching him silently. Whispers billowed into the night. What would they think of him now? A useless medicine cat who killed his Clanmates? Then Birdsong's tongue lapped his ear. Mother used to do this. He and his mentor sat there for a while, long after his Clanmates had returned to sleep, Birdsong's constant strokes soothing his agitated nerves until his frozen muscles eventually relaxed. Wet peat nipped his rear with cold.
"I couldn't heal a cat once," she whispered, "His name was Dawnkit."
Eelpaw perked his ears. "That is, I mean, was-"
"-Russetdawn's kit." The spotted tabby nudged Eelpaw to unsteady paws. Her singsong tone rasped into a low whisper, "Come with me. A change of scenery will do your heart some good."
Nodding with relief, Eelpaw slipped through the crowd of rustling reeds into the muffled silence of crackling leaves, trickling water and cricket chirps. They padded for a while. It was dark. The comforting sort. Like the cosy warmth of his mother's heat. Mother. Blueripple. Grief once more gripped his tattered emotions with an icy claw. Why couldn't he stop his emotions? If they overwhelmed him, that would call Change. Change...
"As I said," Birdsong mewed suddenly, muscles rippling as she walked, "Dawnkit was the one kit I couldn't save. At a moon old, he was quite the adventurous kit. Like you when you still were a warrior apprentice...before your accident, Eelpaw."
He nodded, interested.
"I heard from Stormkit that one evening he dared them to sneak out of camp. "Only for a bit of fun, " Dawnkit had said. After that, he became boisterous and dared them to swim across a shallow river. But he only thought it was shallow. As you might except, Dawnkit went first but swam too far." His mentor's misty breath quivered in the still air, "He hit the main current. He started drowning... Stormkit and Featherkit were left while Rosekit sprinted to camp like she was being chased by a horde of rats, I was told."
Eelpaw's tail brushed a stray leaf from his pelt. It fluttered down and he paused to follow its path before it wafted onto the soil. Rotten leaves engulfed it. He trotted to catch up to Birdsong, "If Rosekit came to camp, um, you could obviously have saved him."
"Eelpaw, it was also the time of what some cats call the 'Spillage' or 'bloody season'. Cats from every Clan raided each other in secret groups over a silly disagreement whether outsiders, kittypets especially, should be allowed in the Clans. This was after the Clans were loosely scattered, as Viperstar said at the last Gathering, when non-Clan cats attacked us in great numbers. Very recently, in fact; only this leaf-fall have we secured our territories again. They'd grown tired of the Clans stealing hunting space, which is understandable. No matter. Much blood was spilled and cats who protested, outsider or not, were silenced, by their own Clanmates at times. I think it is disgusting, but when it's a question of survival..."
"Er, how did soft kittypets drive off battle-fit warriors?"
"It was mostly rogues, and I think the kittypets agreed to help so they could have more space to lie in the sun all day. As they live in Twolegplace, kittypets have more connections to rogues than Clan cats. That might be why they were accompanied by dogs; there are rumours that a rogue named Sharpbone could speak dog, there's another that say he baited them to camps with cats' blood, but it sounds a bit too similar to that old-Clan nursery tale of Tigerstar. But their true leader...? Some say a kittypet, a she-cat, a tom, a beaver, there's one that even suggests it was a group effort. Really, how could outsiders work well together? Make decisions? There were so many wounds to treat..."
Eelpaw shivered as he waded through a shallow stream. "Um..."
"Oh, yes!" Birdsong jolted as they crossed, "Remember when MarshClan and HillClan cats were attacking our non-Clan members? I was so busy healing wounds that, they..." She stopped, stared at the crescent moon's rippled reflection, "He died. He was dead by the time I came. That means it was an accident, wasn't it?" Eelpaw nudged the she-cats' drooping ear. He recognised, in this exposed side of his mentor's happiness, his own vulnerability in her words, the bitter taste of truth that, even as a medicine cat, not even Birdsong could save every cat. Glazed eyes met his. He shook.
They continued walking. "W-what happened after?"
His mentor's delicate fur trembled as it snagged a bush with purple flowers. "Before he was buried, in death he was twitching, still trying to swim." She raised her head, forest-coloured eyes boring into Eelpaw's. ""He's a CreekClan cat so he shouldn't die from drowning. How could StarClan be so cruel to take a kit?" Those were the words of Russetfire. Her heart grieved enough that she demanded her name be Russetdawn. Remember the ceremony? I wonder what it feels like, that she changed her own warrior name, one that she fought and trained for, all for the kit she loved?"
Trembling, Eelpaw licked his mentor's shoulder and pressed his nose to Birdsong's cheek. Weariness washed over him. Hollow and hurting, it was a pit in his gut with charred embers smouldering in him, burning him. Russetdawn had lost so much. So had he. So had the Clan.
"But that wasn't the entire end of the story," Birdsong's wiry muscles flexed as they scrambled over a slimy log. Twigs scraped glistening droplets off her belly fur, "No, Hawkstar did not want CreekClan's reputation to falter. He didn't even mention Dawnkit's death to the Clan."
Eelpaw shuddered.
"He had another reason for it. He said the Clan was grieving too much at the time, and the death of a kit would only hurt them more. But I think the Clan lost his respect after the incident. As such, the news of Dawnkit spread further than he expected. The Gathering." Birdsong paused to nudge his flank, a slight purr in her voice. "The one when you insisted to stay because I was tiring myself out in camp. All to help sick cats." Her tone became more serious, "At the Gathering, cats argued in circles over kittypets, a dead kit and nightcough. The late green-leaf heat didn't help. As true as it was, Hawkstar unforgettably remained stubborn and denied that CreekClan were weak because of the attack and the fact we neglected a kit. You can call him a lying traitor, but I think...think he cared about this Clan too much to see them being hurt again.
"It's why Russetdawn's litter are so defensive because they don't want to lose each other again. It stunned Featherkit into her premature silence, though I heard she spoke earlier today. It's why Russetdawn acts like a deputy, because she couldn't defend Dawnkit from drowning. It's why she and Hawkstar don't share the same nest anymore..."
"Isn't saving a kit part of the warrior code?"
"You're the only cat I've told this but, I blamed myself for everything. I was...frustrated Dawnkit didn't survive long enough so I could heal him. It clawed at me for moons. As for the warrior code, well, look what happened with Foxmuzzle and your relatives. No death ceremony anymore. Merely a burial. Not even elders join in; they must feel so depressed with all the deaths lately. Who would have heard of a medicine cat burying Clanmates moons ago? But recently the Clans have been slack. Perhaps we can suggest this at the next half-moon meeting?"
Eelpaw slowed to a halt, colder, browner marsh than before smearing his wet paws and belly. Sparse pine trees poked the black clouds like lonely mountains. The dazzling lights of the green-leaf Twolegplace shone in the distance, carrying the acrid tang of Thunderpath. The moon glared down from a higher position in Silverpelt, its hostility voiced by a faint rumble of thunder. They were near MarshClan hunting grounds. Wiping his grubby paws on springy ground, he nodded.
"Now," Birdsong's eyes glistened with their usual happy gentleness, "Sadness aside, how about a quick medicine cat lesson?"
"Here? But we're not at camp!"
"A medicine cat can adapt anywhere if they try, Eelpaw. And most accidents happen outside of camp, away from your herb store. For example...you're hunting with a sunhigh patrol as a break from your medicine duties. Across the border, you witness a lone HillClan apprentice break his forepaw-"
Eelpaw squeaked with uncertainty.
Birdsong twitched her whiskers, "Something easier then? Let's see... right now, I am the only warrior accompanying you and I complain my belly hurts with no obvious injury. What would you say or do?"
Eelpaw didn't hesitate. "Find juniper berries."
Birdsong's expression was shadowed as the moon was blocked by black clouds. "Juniper berries? With all this wet soil?"
He winced as realisation and embarrassment burned his fur. Of course! Juniper bushes would drown in such a marshy environment. But what other herbs cured bellyache? He shuffled his paws, stepping a few mouse lengths before mewing, "Chervil. Chervil is more water resistant, right?"
"True, but does it grow here?"
Eelpaw stared at his round paws. "...No. I-I give up. I'm sorry. I'm your mouse-brained apprentice that doesn't know how to cure a bellyache."
His mentor prodded his shoulder, "Eelpaw, if you gave up now, my bellyache could turn into something worse. Would you want to treat an infection? It also might be simpler as to suggest going to make dirt."
Eelpaw shrank lower. His mind raced with herbs that grew in the marshes. Which one for bellyache?
Birdsong sighed. "Perhaps you just need a little more time. I'm really sorry, Eelpaw." Her whiskers tickled his nose as she nudged his muzzle. "You're still at the beginning of your training, after all. How long, a season or less?"
"About that time." He scented the air and detected the rich smell he'd been thinking of. "I want to show you something."
Birdsong curled her tail. "Of course."
Eelpaw swiftly padded to the stream they had passed earlier. Jaw parted, he tilted his head around to find the strongest trail. Above the sharp scent of distant rain, the sweet smell filled his head until it overpowered the sharp tang of water. The gurgling stream flashed as moonlight grew stronger, until it flushed the whole bank with silver. He stopped at a beech and flicked his tail towards a hunched bush that clung to the bank with spiky purple flowers. "The plant you snagged your fur on...is it watermint?"
His mentor purred, parting her jaws to confirm the scent. "Yes! Well done, Eelpaw, you-" Birdsong became ice. Confused, Eelpaw scented the air. It was a disgusting scent of crowfood coming from downwind - MarshClan cats a distance away. A night patrol? Then alarm made him bristle his fur when the scent rapidly multiplied. It came from the direction of camp. As Birdsong's spotted tail hooked, Eelpaw's stomach leapt as he recognized the tail signal.
Intruders!