There are more sick cats than anticipated, and less safe prey to go around than the medicine cats would like. Space is made in the corner of the camp for the ShadeClan visitors, though it is a small space indeed. WillowClan has already taken up most of the prime nesting spots, and the best BreezeClan can do as hosts is offer sparse moss under a thorny bracken overhang beside the nursery. To fit into the space, they have to curl up tightly as if they were all kits again, comfortable piling onto one another. Of course, none of them are kits, and though Thrushpaw is small and quite at ease in a limited space, the others are less pleased with the arrangement.

Streamheart pushes Clay's tail out of her face again and rolls onto her side to face Stonetail, who is packed close to the nursery wall with her legs tucked beneath her body as tightly as possible. "Kill me," complains the silver tabby. Her back paw is trapped below the rest of Clay, who snores soundly as the moon trundles its way higher into the sky.

Not that Stonetail is in much better of a position. Close to her side is Thrushpaw, fast asleep on her side with her white paws curled close in front of her chest. The guilt that would come with disturbing her prevents the grey warrior from moving in that direction. She cannot go forward, either, as the nursery makes an outward curve, ending just behind Streamheart's back. Backward is not an option whatsoever, because Coal has the end of her tail trapped between his paws. He sleeps restlessly, small chirrups escaping him from time to time as he churns his back paws, but he does not let go of her tail.

"Kill me," Stonetail echoes back to Streamheart, flicking her ears before pinning them back to gesture in the black tom's direction.

Streamheart's whiskers twitch. She whispers, "He's asleep, right?"

"Think so."

"So just take it back."

The advice doesn't seem sound, though. "And have him put his claws through my tail? No thanks. Looks like he's dreaming, anyways," Stonetail mutters. It's true; Coal does look like his dreaming, though perhaps being haunted by a nightmare might be a better way to describe it. She's never heard of a cat having a pleasant dream and kicking in their sleep the way he is. She could wake him, of course, tell him to settle down and grab his brother's ear or something instead, but decides to let the dream run its course. Sooner or later, he'll let go.

Until then, she lies awake, surrounded uncomfortably with only a bracken wall to stare at. And when her tail is finally free, her head sags against her chest, the rising sun beginning to illuminate the BreezeClan camp.

»»««

Coal wakes the whole party before sunhigh, the fur along his spine standing on end. "Clay is gone!"

The tom's theatrics are at once irritating and worrisome. Everything under the sun puts him on edge, but looking around and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Stonetail realizes she too shares Coal's unease.

"Are you sure he's not out making dirt?" Streamheart asks, pausing mid-sentence to yawn.

"His spot is cold," Coal replies, slapping a paw down in the bent grass where his brother had spent the night. "Making dirt doesn't take that long."

Thrushpaw pipes up. "He bumped me after sunrise," she says. "I saw him get something from the freshkill pile. And he talked with Mothmoon. She was standing guard, and I went back to sleep after that."

Three pairs of eyes fix on the apprentice. There is amber fear, blue patience, and green thought. Stonetail looks away first, turning to drink in the detail of the BreezeClan camp. The cats who can still stand are crossing back and forth to aid their sick Clanmates, and those who cannot are spread out in their own private corners, coughing softly or fighting down tremors. Among those running errands for the sick is Mothmoon, her ginger-and-white coat vibrant among the dried green-brown grasses that shelter the camp.

"Go ask Mothmoon where he went," she suggests to Coal. "She's helping those apprentices."

The black tom needs no further urging. He bounds over Streamheart's tail, streaking across the camp like a haggard crow to throw himself in the BreezeClan warrior's way. Thrushpaw, Streamheart, and Stonetail cannot hear what he has to say from where they sit, but they can see his agitation grow worse, and fear-scent trickles toward them on the breeze moments before Coal comes flying back to them.

"She said he left camp," he blurts out. "He wouldn't leave without telling one of us! We have to find him."

"I'm sure he's just exploring. Coal, your brother is fascinated by things he's never seen before. You should have seen him when I first gave him a tour of the WillowClan border," Streamheart says evenly. "He's not a kit. He can scent his way back, and we won't leave without him."

Thank StarClan someone is calm. If everyone dissolved into hysteria, Stonetail would lose her mind. As it is, she can't help but feel uncertain. Streamheart may be right about Clay's wanderlust, but Coal has spent his life watching over his brother. Yet his nerves seem to be shot as of late. Choosing a cat to side with is an impossible task.

Thrushpaw decides for her.

"Over the ridge!" the apprentice suddenly cries. A flock of ravens tears through the cloudy sky, squawking violently. The stragglers are more vocal than the rest, and one in particular seems to have more energy to call out than to fly. Its wing is torn and jagged, dripping blood down to the earth below. The ShadeClan cats watch with jaws hanging as it spirals downward and crashes into the center of the BreezeClan camp. With a feeble croak, it falls still.

Thrushpaw refuses to look at it at first. Instead, her gaze follows the fleeing flock, so intent on leaving one of its own lying dead in the grass. "Something startled them," the brown tabby whispers. She then turns to the fallen raven, which is under close, curious scrutiny from Brackenheart. The senior medicine cat seems puzzled as to the nature of the bird, but the horror on Thrushpaw's face can only mean that she has reached an understanding.

"What is it?" Streamheart asks, prodding the tabby's side gently.

"I have to go home," Thrushpaw replies, voice wavering. "I have to warn Greystar!" She makes to leap past her Clanmates, but Stonetail bars her way.

"Warn her about what? The raven? Is it an omen?"

"Yes!" Thrushpaw makes a bid for freedom again, but now Streamheart intervenes, taking her by the scruff and setting her back a few paces.

"So tell us," says the silver tabby. "And we'll go warn Greystar together."

But Thrushpaw shakes her head. "You three have to find Clay. You have to go." She inhales sharply, her eyes round as the moon and flooded with terror. Her tail lashes back and forth, swatting leaves free of their weaving into the nursery walls with its horrified force. "There's going to be a death!"

Stonetail bristles. "Go home, Thrushpaw," she commands, stepping out of the way. "Streamheart, tell Harestar we have to go. And you–" But there's no need to finish the sentence. The black tom nods at the BreezeClan camp entrance, and takes off without another word. In a few harried strides, Stonetail bursts into the open meadow by his side.

»»««

"I don't believe in omens," says Coal when they stop to check Clay's feeble trail for the third time.

"For a nonbeliever, you run like you do," Stonetail replies. She parts her jaws, and snaps them shut again when Clay's earthy scent hits the roof of her mouth in fragments. The tabby tom has not passed this way since much earlier in the morning.

Coal catches something, though. His body stiffens, the only cue that he is about to launch himself into the tall grasses once more, and Stonetail tenses to follow. Surprisingly, though, he pauses to look back at her. "Ravens don't fly away screaming for no reason," he says, "and the wind doesn't rip off their wings. Something is out here, and so is my brother."

"So you don't believe in omens."

"No. But I believe in what I can see."

They charge down the trail only Coal seems certain of in silence. The tall grass is dizzying, thousands of browned stalks waving in the breeze, the same scene time and time again. How BreezeClan cats function in this labyrinth, Stonetail cannot tell. How Coal seems so certain in the sameness of the grass, she cannot tell. Her skin crawls, and instinct screams that they're rushing in useless circles, that they'll never find Clay racing about like this.

And then the wicked scent of vomit reaches her. She skids to a halt. "Wait!" she shouts, swiping a paw at Coal's passing tail, but the black tom seems fixed on his brother's scent and barrels past her. Left alone in the tall grass, she is caught between following the loner and investigating the rank stench.

"He can handle himself," she reasons aloud as the pull in her gut says to trust her curiosity. Wrinkling her nose, Stonetail plunges further along, watching every pawstep carefully. She can't say why she's decided to follow such a disgusting trail. At this rate, she'll retch as well, but her instinct demands she investigate regardless. To keep from inhaling the worst of it, she holds her breath as long as she can, taking in sharp little gasps when her chest tightens. It's hardly efficient, and it probably looks absolutely harebrained, but it does what it needs to do up until she reaches the source, where the stench is at its strongest and most putrid.

"Clay?"

The brown tabby lifts his head from the ground. His eyes drift to Stonetail but they're cloudy, unfocused. "Hey," he drawls, "what're you doing here?" He belches and adds thickly, "I haven't been…been gone that long yet."

Stonetail ignores his nearly slurred speech, more interested in the way Clay's hind legs seem to kick and shiver of their own accord. "Did you eat any rabbits?" she demands, tiptoeing around a watery puddle of half-digested fur to sniff Clay's flank. "Even a little bit?"

"Nope," he mumbles. "Took the safe stuff from Mothmoon. No rabbits." His foreleg jerks abruptly, whacking against Stonetail's. Clay grimaces when the grey warrior jumps.

Picking her way around to Clay's other side, she tries to bolster him to his feet, but he's dead weight. Moaning, he tries to roll over and push her away, but his strength fails him. "I've got the rabbit sickness," he tells her. "Don't touch me."

Stonetail falls back onto her haunches. "Are you sure you didn't eat a rabbit?" she asks. If he hasn't, then maybe she should keep her distance. The sickness could be contagious after all. But then how have the cats helping the sick stayed healthy, and how have the sick fallen ill if it hasn't been the rabbits? It's a vicious cycle of questions, one contradicting the other. Stonetail snorts in frustration.

"Never mind," she says before Clay can answer her. "We need to get you somewhere safe, though. Can you stand?"

The heavy tabby pauses to think. "No," he mutters. "Too shaky. Everything spins a lot, too."

"Even with help?"

"Think so."

Perhaps it's better not to move him until the tremors have passed. The grey warrior hates to imagine Clay tumbling downhill mid-seizure. She can't help but think of the flock of ravens, though, and Coal's certainty that something is amiss out in the territory.

"We need to move," she whispers mostly to herself, not that Clay is paying attention to her anymore. His ears are pricked in the direction of the border, and he is fighting to keep his jerking limbs from flying out of control. Rigid and looking more than a little strained, he flicks his tail until he catches Stonetail's side with it, drawing her attention to a particular segment of the meadow.

The grass is rippling softly. Something lurks downwind, making steady progress through the overgrown meadow. Even if the wind had been in her favor, Stonetail is not certain she could smell anything beyond the reek of Clay's sickness. Her claws sink into the dirt and she places herself between Clay and whatever approaches, hackles rising.

She meets the threat in midair, claws outstretched and hooking into short, dark fur. They struggle for a moment, screeching, and suddenly Coal's scent slams into the roof of her mouth. "Wait!" she cries, untangling herself and rolling aside as one of the loner's paws comes crashing down where her chest had been just moments ago. He stops as well, amber eyes wide with shock, and mutters a quick apology before sidestepping a puddle of muck to inspect his brother's condition.

"Rabbit sickness," Stonetail blurts out as the brothers touch noses in relief. "Except he didn't eat rabbits. He might be contagious."

"No," Coal replies flatly, continuing his inspection. "It's a stream that winds past your border. I followed Clay's scent past it, and it's filthy."

"Filthy with what?" But she wonders if she already knows the answer. She looks down at her paws, which she washed in the stream that branched off from the WillowClan river the day she and Streamheart went on their secret escapade. It winds through BreezeClan's territory closest to ShadeClan, joined by another stream with its origins in the river and its path twisting past what was once the Gathering Place.

When Coal says the water is thick with ash, Stonetail wishes she could be surprised.

"If it's the streams, why are the rabbits making cats sick?" she asks. Coal grunts, trying to shift Clay to his feet, and Stonetail lunges to support the tabby's other side. Somehow, they get him upright, leading him to stumble over an apology and fumble with gratitude.

When they are making slow progress in moving Clay to safety, Coal finally replies. "I bet there's a warren by the stream. Or there was before it got sick. And if it's the water, anything could get sick. Other prey and cats who drink from it." He wrinkles his nose and glances at Clay. "Did you stop at the stream?"

"For a long time," Clay groans, realizing all too well his mistake. "Got thirsty."

"There you have it," says Coal. "Now let's get back to ShadeClan."

ShadeClan? "BreezeClan is closer," Stonetail argues. "And they'll have the fresh herbs Thrushpaw brought."

Coal gives her a short look across his brother's shoulders. "I don't want to impose," he replies. "They've got enough sick cats without a third Clan taking up their space and waiting to recover. We should just go back the way we came. There's space there."

"Your brother is only standing because we're holding him up. You really want him to walk all that way?"

"Streamheart and our very own medicine cat apprentice went home," Coal retorts. "You really want to stay in BreezeClan overnight?"

It's not the slight mimicry that almost makes Stonetail stop. It's the fact that Coal has just called ShadeClan home. But whose home? Hers, of course, but she isn't sure what the black tom really thinks of it. Probably that it is at least a home for his brother, if she had to guess. If there's one thing she has learned about the skinny loner, it is that he often forgets to think for himself first. Selflessness can be admirable, sometimes even prudent, but Stonetail suspects it runs so strongly through Coal's veins that he'll die of it one day. Mousebrain, she thinks, but she makes no further attempt to argue. Let them attempt to make it over the border, and when Clay calls a halt, she'll savor the feeling of being right, but only then.

The midday sun beats down on their backs through the grass, sweltering and ruthless. The height of greenleaf is approaching. Already the season has been fraught with humid, horrid storms, and though the sky is absolutely clear and dry, not a cloud in sight, Stonetail knows another storm will come soon. Greenleaf is always twirling between sun and shadow, a fickle waltz that the Clans must learn rather than try to stop. Still, the grey warrior wishes she could call a halt to the harsh sun; the heat is causing all sorts of foul orders to rise off Clay's pelt where it is matted from lying in the dirt amidst clumps of his own past meals. She wrinkles her nose against it, and Coal, too, wears an expression of discomfort with the reek. Neither one much wants to breathe in the foul odors.

This is what causes them to stumble over the next raven.

Trying so hard not to inhale the pungent scents wreathing around them, Coal and Stonetail both skid to a halt, nearly treading on the mutilated body of a raven they failed to scent. Its left wing is nearly torn off, the ground dyed a rich red where it lies. One eye faces skyward, glassy and dark, empty of life.

"Another?" Stonetail asks. The brothers squint at the bird, Clay out of confusion, and Coal likely out of suspicion, if not fear.

"Same wing torn as the first," says the dark tom slowly. "Like it's deliberate."

That's a dangerous word. A deliberate death for this crow means there is not something out in BreezeClan's territory.

But there very well could be someone.

Suddenly returning to ShadeClan sounds mighty appealing, and Stonetail urges the toms around the bird, hurrying them through the grass though she has only a vague sense of where to go. When they see the border, she reasons, then she can guide them home. But the border doesn't seem to get any closer, and the grasses seem to get taller, and the sun shifts just a little in the sky.

And then they find another raven, killed in the same way as its fellow, wing ripped away from its body.

This time it is Clay who asks, "Another?"

"It's being wasted. At this rate, it will be crowfood," Stonetail mutters. The waste might make her angry under any other circumstances, but instead she only feels a prickle of ice down her spine. She shivers; so does Coal.

"Like I said, it's deliberate. We have to go," he insists.

"But why leave them like this?" asks Clay. He sags against his brother, but he is looking sharper than he did before, if only a little. "Why drop them randomly? Unless a BreezeClan apprentice got a little careless. Do you think they got dropped on the way to camp?"

Stonetail freezes, tail dropping between her legs. "BreezeClan," she mumbles.

"What about it?" Coal gives her a narrow glance, but she ignores him, mustering all her courage to brave Clay's awful stench. She parts her jaws, drinks in the bitter, dry air, and comes close to choking on the tabby's reek. But now that they are away from the worst of it, she can smell other things. Some of it is Coal and herself, their trail being carried on the wind but laid nowhere close to the bird. Some of it, however, is cat. She has no identity for the smell, as it could be any cat at all besides ShadeClan, but distinctly she smells cat smeared across the bird's bloody feathers. It does not alarm her nearly as much as the scent of fox, though.

"Run to the border as fast as you can, or find somewhere small to hide," she commands Coal and Clay. They look at her, baffled, but she gives them both a quick swat over the head. "Run! The birds are a trail!"

Maybe they believe her. Maybe they don't. Either way, the brothers shoot through the grass as fast as Clay's weary, trembling legs can carry him. Though the bird is beginning to smell positively awful in the hot sun, Stonetail drops her nose to it and memorizes the wispy scent of cat underneath, mingled with blood from the raven. The two are difficult to separate, and she does not bother to try. Whoever this cat is, they've laid out a trail, and a fox has already passed this way.

Stonetail doesn't have a plan. At least, she doesn't have much of one. Streaking through the grass, she searches for another fallen raven, praying it does not lead where she thinks it does. BreezeClan is too weak to deal with a fox prowling straight into its heart. Yet there are more, all with torn wings and the growing stench of fox spread over them. It's too late, the grey warrior can't help but think. I'm too late!

But by some twist of luck, some miracle of getting lost in the grasses, she arrives atop a small hill where the grass is shorter and the sun so much hotter without the wavering shade. From this vantage point, Stonetail spots the scarlet body of the fox creeping through the grass, stopping to examine a dark speck underfoot. Tree-lengths and tree-lengths beyond is the hollow in the hills that BreezeClan calls home.

The breeze stirs. Fox-scent caroms into her nose and sends her reeling. She's half-convinced it's ruined her brains, too, because a plan fit only for fools comes to her. There's no chance of shifting the trail away from the camp, not with the fox so close. And she may not be able to reach BreezeClan in time to summon their strongest remaining warriors for a fight, but perhaps she doesn't have to.

Downwind of the fox is a very good place to be, and with her body low to the ground, Stonetail slithers into the towering grass once more. She is no snake, of course, and neither is she BreezeClan born; the ability to trek through the grass without betraying her position is not her skill. But she can fight, and she can screech, and she does both of these when she explodes from the grass, catching the fox's bushy tail in her teeth and giving it a horrible wrench. The lithe creature yelps, a high sound that carries on the clear air, and spins to snap at her with jaws lined with slimy yellow teeth.

Stonetail reconsiders her plan. It is at once harebrained, reckless, and likely to see her dead. Suddenly, her choice is an even more terrible one than it was when she made it, though that is only clear in hindsight. With a yowl, she dives out of the fox's reach, sneaking in a slash at its right ankle as she hurtles past it.

"StarClan help me," she wheezes, turning to face her foe as it hisses and spits her way, pointed ears pinned flat to its skull as it slobbers at her. She's a fresh kill for this fox, still warm, still pumping hot blood to all corners of her body, not to mention that she's much bigger than a raven. "I'm going to die."

Instinct screams run. Instinct also screams fight. Torn between the two, Stonetail narrowly dodges as the fox swipes a black paw at her forehead. It grazes the tip of her ear, but compared to being a meal, the wound is preferable. She still screeches, though, in one part to startle the fox, and in another to draw the attention of any BreezeClan cat perhaps just a pawstep too far from camp. There is no way she can chase the fox off alone, let alone kill it. She needs help.

But no one comes from BreezeClan. There is no battle cry, nor wavering grass to signal a stealthy approach. Stonetail throws herself past another heavy blow, this time crying out as the beast catches the tip of her tail underfoot. It bares its yellow fangs hungrily and lunges, thinking her trapped, but instead of straining to pull away, she turns toward its ready maw and sinks her claws into its nose on both sides. Blood spurts from the dual wounds, streaking into the fox's eyes, and when it whips its head in pain, Stonetail flies to the side, landing in a tangled heap. There's no time to lick her wounds, though, and she scrambles to her feet, prepared before she must leap aside again.

She and the fox dance in circles through the grass, which grows wet from the blood that drips off the hungry animal's muzzle. They do not so much as trade blows as dodge them, though the fox is growing both more frustrated and more accurate. Meanwhile, Stonetail's heart triples its pace, a rabbit cornered by a very ravenous snake, and it skips a beat each time the fox gives her another shallow, hindering scrape.

And then the shadow explodes from the grass.

Coal latches on the fox's back in silence, hind claws sinking in beside the spine while he plunges the other set forward, into the back of the fox's neck. Before he can be bucked off, he takes an ear in his jaws, too. It's a brief distraction, one that the fox will dispatch as soon as it rolls over, squashing Coal underneath and continuing to roll so it can make a meal of Stonetail as well.

Which makes it a brief window of opportunity as well. Stonetail knows she must catch the fox before the roll, or Coal will suffer for it. When the fox thrashes its head again, trying to throw the skinny tom off, the grey warrior takes her chance and flings herself toward its chest, claws outstretched. She, too, latches onto the creature, but instead of hanging on for dear life, grasping anything within reach so as not to lose her grip, she stretches upward and closes her jaws on the beast's windpipe, eliciting a choked howl that fades to a burbling whine. A metallic flavor fills her mouth, sweet and sour all at once, but she does not let go, waiting only for the fox to stop flailing around enough that she can be confident it is dying. Only then does she breathlessly let go, falling back on trembling paws.

The fox crumples in the dirt. Coal hops away nimbly, sidestepping the red creature's final death throes, and makes his way over to Stonetail. "Smelled the fox," he explains, "and thought you could use another set of claws." His gaze wavers, and there's a carefully controlled edge to his voice. Fear, slowly subsiding.

"Just a bit," she replies by way of thanks, bobbing her head weakly. "I wanted to break the trail, but then the fox was too close to the camp. Couldn't beat it there."

"So you tried to fight it by yourself?"

It sounds stupid. It was stupid. Stonetail hangs her head and sighs. "I may have…made some snap decisions."

"I'll say."

They opt not to trek to the camp to tell BreezeClan of the dead fox in their territory. A patrol will discover it soon enough and do with the body as they please. Instead, Coal and Stonetail make their way to the copse where Clay is impatiently crouched, whining about not being able to participate in the fight. Together they eventually convince him that he was better off out of the scrap, and the party of three trundles home, rather bone weary. Crossing the stream onto their own territory is more draining than it ought to be, and they all stop for a rest on the other side before resuming the trudge deeper into ShadeClan lands. All along, they simmer with a nervousness all too fitting for cats having narrowly escaped death by fox, and they make as few stops as possible despite their fatigue. Clay troops onward valiantly despite his own flagging strength, and though his attempts to lighten the mood with innocent chatter do not do much, he does make an excellent point when he observes, "Well, no one is dead. Except the fox. That's one less fox around here."

"One less fox," Stonetail tiredly agrees. And not long after that, though it feels like an eternity, they plod into the ShadeClan camp and are immediately assaulted by Thrushpaw and Robinfoot alike, who usher them deep into the medicine den for care while their Clanmates look on and whisper, kicking the rumor mill back to life.

Stonetail does not bother with a full story. "Fought a fox," she grunts when the medicine cats ask her what happened. And when they can't get more than monosyllabic grunts from her, they stop asking, tending to her wounds while juggling Coal's scrapes and Clay's unsteady fever (when did that begin, wonders Stonetail). Soon she falls asleep with Thrushpaw in the middle of tending to her wounds, but before she does, she makes sure to tell the tabby that the only death that day is that of the fox, and only the fox.