Prologue
The tiny scrap of dark fur shook from the effort of breathing as a cough rattled its frail frame. Damp, chewed-up leaves sat on the ground near its open mouth. Their only use was covering up the stench of sickness and death that enveloped the medicine den.
A pale silver she-cat tried desperately to get the little kitten to eat the leaves, but all it did was cough the herbs back out as it struggled to draw in breath. The rise and fall of its chest became less and less pronounced as her efforts continued. The silver she-cat licked the kitten's fur the wrong way in an attempt to revive it, but its miniscule movements stopped despite her efforts. All she could do was let out a despairing cry as the kitten's short life came to an end.
In moments a black she-cat burst through the walls of the holly bush that protected the sick cats within the den. "What's happening?" she asked, though she didn't bother to wait for an answer before she saw the still form of her kit. She crouched down to rouse the kit with her nose. "Please, Crowkit! You must survive!"
The cream tom who had been seeing to a wheezing elder turned to examine Crowkit, but all he could offer the black queen was a slow shake of his head. "I'm sorry, Thornfang. Crowkit will play with his denmates in StarClan now."
"He never got to play at all!" Thornfang hissed, unsheathing her claws and digging them into the dry moss around her dead kit. She fixed a glare on the elder who was trying to rest further back in the den. "Why aren't you doing more to save our kits?"
"There is only so much we can do without catmint," the cream tom explained, but he wasn't telling Thornfang anything that she didn't already know. She turned away and left the medicine den with a lash of her tail, carrying Crowkit's limp body away to be buried. His heart ached for his Clanmate; Crowkit was the second of this litter that she had lost, sick nearly from birth, and at her age it was likely that this was her last litter.
"What are we going to do, Rosefall?" the silver she-cat asked.
"The best we can," he answered, though his tone was anything but optimistic. The outbreak of greencough that had started in mid leafbare had not released NightClan from its ruthless claws, even though newleaf was on the horizon. The returning warmth would revive the forest and NightClan's supply of catmint, but it would not be ready to help treat the sick cats until at least another moon had passed.
Rosefall closed his eyes and tried to remember how many Clanmates the sickness had taken from them. Crowkit and his sister, Nightkit. Mallownose's entire litter, and Mallownose as well; Littlebranch and the unborn kits inside her. The elders had been dwindled down to only Snowytail, who was struggling to stay alive, and they had lost nearly a third of their warriors—Marshtail, Leafclaw, Dapplefur, Yewheart, and Redmane. Dewpaw was the only apprentice left in camp after the death of his sister, Asterpaw.
He and his apprentice, Echopaw, had done everything they could for their Clanmates. When their supply of catmint ran out after the first moon of infection, they had tried every combination of herbs they could think of, and a few of the cats had gotten better for a while. Unfortunately, the sickness had become a close denmate to all the cats of NightClan, and even some of those who had defeated it once succumbed again when they were forced to go without food.
There was only one, last hope for NightClan to pull through the harsh season.
Rosefall's ears pricked up at the sound of pawsteps thundering into camp and raced out of his den, not waiting for the excited announcement from the guard of, "Halfstar has returned!" He padded up to the black and white cat at the head of the patrol, eyes bright, but his enthusiasm was destroyed when he saw the broken look on his leader's face.
He did not need to say anything. LightClan had once again refused to give up any of their catmint to NightClan. Rosefall had understood their reluctance in early leafbare, as they hadn't known whether or not they would experience an outbreak just as bad as NightClan's, but with newleaf fast approaching and not a single sniffle or cough in LightClan, Rosefall had hoped that they would change their minds about assisting their neighbors. He knew that they had herbs to spare, their own Clan largely untouched by disease in the past moons.
Halfstar took one look at Thornfang and Darkpelt, huddled close together in the clearing, and shook his head. Rosefall didn't have to say anything to him, either.
"Make sure you get something to eat. It's going to be a long moon," he whispered. Rather than climb the fallen pine tree to address the Clan, he slipped into the den underneath with is head down.
Echopaw approached Rosefall and pressed against his shoulder, letting him lean on her as disappointment flooded him from nose to paws. The night was beginning to fade away into the morning, but the medicine cats would have no time to rest through the early hours of the day. The cream tom brushed Echopaw's back with his tail as he approached the meager fresh kill pile to find some attempt at a suitable substitute, glancing up at the sky to catch a glance at the last few StarClan warriors visible through the branches that were blackened by shadows.
A flash of bright light illuminated his vision, bringing an abrupt end to the bleak night.
The sky is always darkest just before the dawn.
He whipped his head around to face Echopaw, whose pale blue eyes were just as wide as he imagined his were. A sign from StarClan! Perhaps their situation was not as hopeless as they thought. With new energy, he bounded to the leader's den to share the news.
NightClan would not be defeated yet!
