Chapter Eleven

"StarClan, you've got to be kidding me!" This was the third snake she'd let slither out of her paws in the same day. Dawnpaw was hot, thirsty, irritated, and angry. She slapped the sand with a creamy paw. The glittering arc of gold tumbled away like those stupid snakes.

"Is this a game to you, Dawnpaw? You do realize the Clan needs food to survive, right?"

Dawnpaw twisted around to glare at Amberslash. The golden warrior advanced with narrowed amber eyes. Their faces were whiskers apart. "It's not like I know what I'm doing wrong, Amberslash," Dawnpaw hissed.

Amberslash barked out a laugh. "You're so impatient, Dawnpaw! It's like you think the snake will just slither into your paws! How exactly is charging up a dune supposed to help you sneak up on the creatures?"

"I managed it before!"

"And you'd think it was a fluke, from how you've been hunting ever since!"

Dawnpaw huffed and stalked away. "Did you think this was going to be easy, Dawnpaw? It takes a lot of hard work to become a warrior. Did you think you were going to breeze through it, no problem?"

"No, but it shouldn't be this hard," she muttered.

"Just go back to camp, Dawnpaw. Someone around here needs to go catch some food for the Clan."

Dawnpaw grimaced and kept walking away. The order was, quite honestly, a relief. Amberslash had been running Dawnpaw to the bone lately, trying to make up for lost time. From the moment the sun rose every day to the moment it set, Dawnpaw was on her feet sparring, patrolling, or hunting. The times Amberslash had her cleaning dens for the queens or elders were a blessing—at least then, her heart was beating at a normal pace and her limbs weren't shaking from the prolonged exercise in the hot sun.

But hunting… that they had been doing more than anything else. It had quickly become clear that, as good as Dawnpaw's fighting instincts were, her hunting ones were almost nonexistent. Her first kill was, up to this point, her only one. Every single day, Dawnpaw had to deal with Amberslash's disappointment and growing irritation as kill after kill slipped through her paws.

"Blah, blah, you're too impatient, blah," she muttered under her breath. Maybe this was still punishment for all of her shenanigans with the beach and the coyotes. But a little voice kept popping up in her head reminding her that all warriors need to hunt, fuzzbrain. It was just frustrating! She'd been able to pick up fighting so quickly—it was easy to tell what a cat was going to do! With a snake or a lizard, she had no idea what they would or wouldn't feel through the sand. Running was fast, right? So if she were running, she should be able to take them down. Or at least, one might think so, but apparently that wasn't the case.

It was hard to return to camp every day with empty jaws. The embarrassment was the least of it. How could she ever be a warrior if she couldn't feed her Clanmates? She would be as useless as an elder—but at least they could say that they'd contributed moons of prey to the freshkill pile. Her best skill, her fighting, the Clan had no use for. The desert and blinding heat had always protected DesertClan enough to make fighting a secondary skill at best.

"Whatever," she muttered. The stone hollow reared up from the sand and she couldn't wait to get back and maybe plop down into a cool den.

She pulled up suddenly, her eyes scrunched closed in a grimace. "Oh, StarClan, I'm a horrible daughter!" She wanted to hit herself. There was no excuse for ignoring her mother as she had been, absolutely none. Oh, she's probably so mad about the coyote thing, she thought guiltily. All Dawnpaw wanted to do was collapse, but she forced her paws into a trot over to the warriors den.

"Hello?" she called softly. The only pelts she could see were the stark blacks of Shadewhisper, Emberpelt, Pebblefoot, and Blackfoot. Dawnpaw shook her head, wondering why she'd bothered—her mother would never be in the den at this time. The dark cats usually slept the day away, waiting for nighttime when their pelts would blend into the shadows.

Dawnpaw hummed to herself, back in the sunlight. Where next? Perhaps the nursery, checking up on the queens and their kits. The milky scent was tangible even from where she stood, and the apprentice walked over to the dark mouth of the cave with a smile on her face. She had so many good memories from there.

Dustcloud and Smokewhisper were both in their nests, watching the three kits tumble around on the sandy floor of the cave. Harekit was easily the biggest and the toughest, tossing his sister Lightkit around with ease. Nightkit joined the fight only when the other two rolled too close, giving them a couple smacks on the head before retreating with a frown on her little face.

"Hi, Dawnpaw," Smokewhisper called. The young queen had her paws full with her two kits, but she somehow managed to be cheerful to anyone who came calling. Dawnpaw dodged the two siblings as they made a particularly spirited somersault towards her paws.

"Do you know where Larksong is?"

Smokewhisper shook her head. "Sorry, darling."

Dawnpaw frowned and shrugged. "Alright, well, thanks anyway." She jumped in surprise at the pair of yellow eyes suddenly blinking up at her.

"Um, can I help you?"

Nightkit showed little white fangs in a smile. "Wanna play?"

Dawnpaw couldn't think of a nice way to say 'StarClan no!'. Kits freaked her out—there was way too much responsibility if one got hurt on her watch, and plus they were boring.

"Nightkit, she's busy, leave the poor apprentice alone," Dustcloud called. Nightkit huffed and stomped away, muttering "alright, momma," as she went. Dawnpaw shot the queen a grateful glance and escaped the den as quick as she could.

The hollow was blazing hot now, the sun at its highest point in the sky. Dawnpaw felt the heat beating into her pelt from every side. She sighed, about ready to give up the search.

"You okay, Dawnpaw?"

The creamy apprentice turned towards the timid voice and sighed again. "Hi, Redwing. I'm fine, why do you ask?"

The russet warrior's fur was fluffed up nervously. "You just seemed kind of mad."

"Oh. Well I've been looking for Larksong, but I can't find her…" Her eyes narrowed. "Redwing, is something wrong?" There was no mistaking the dismay on the shy warrior's face.

"Oh, no, nothing…"

"Redwing, where's my mother?" Fear was coiling in the pit of Dawnpaw's belly. Redwing's head dipped and her yellow eyes peered up nervously.

"In the medicine den. Dawnpaw, I'm so sorry," she said, but Dawnpaw didn't hear anything past 'medicine den'. She was a creamy blur streaking across the hollow, moving as fast as her paws would carry her. The shock of cool air registered against her face as she barreled down into the medicine den.

"Where's my mother?" she panted anxiously. Her eyes latched onto the creamy pelt that matched hers perfectly and she gasped. Calm down, Dawnpaw, it might be nothing serious, she told herself, but Larksong did not look good. She buried her nose in her mother's neck fur.

"Larksong, wake up," she whispered. The smell of sickness was heavy in her nose. She couldn't stand the heat that was radiating from her mother's body. When she pulled away, though, it was worse. Her mother's coat was falling away in little patches. She looked thin and tired and sick, and she saw a dribble of what was unmistakably vomit on the sand near her head.

Dawnpaw carefully curled up against her mother and gave her a single lick. The rasping of Larksong's breathing filled the cave as Dawnpaw kept a silent, fearful vigil.

~O~

Frustration seemed to be going around the camp. First Amberslash came back from hunting with nothing but a tiny lizard that she threw on the pile, and then Lizardclaw came barreling into camp covered in sand with an angry look in his eyes, and then Batclaw had been woken up just a little too early from her nap before the evening patrol. And all that wasn't even touching on the fact that Thistlepaw himself was more than a little angry.

The black apprentice's tail was lashing back and forth by the time the patrol set out in silence. Dawnpaw would be laughing and chattering right now, oblivious to the irritation of all the cats around them. No, not oblivious—she'd know, she just wouldn't care. That's how she lived her life, in a big bubble of excitement, and everyone else could either join in or leave.

Thistlepaw lashed his tail particularly hard. He needed to get his priorities straight. He needed her out of his head.

The border was as calm as ever, though, except for a disgusting rotten carcass the vultures had decided not to pick clean. The problem, as Thistlepaw saw it, was that even though his pelt was black where hers was cream, his eyes amber where hers were green, his disposition serious where hers was bubbly, everyone in the Clan saw them as littermates. Just because they'd been doing everything together since they were kits didn't mean that they had the same mother. Just because his mother had died, and Larksong had taken him under her wing like he was her own…

And that was a problem. A big problem.

A dark scowl creased his face. It wasn't exactly like he could help his un-brotherly feelings for her.

And really, why not? She was funny, and pretty, and everyone thought she was just a goof and a troublemaker, but at least she was exciting.

"Thistlepaw, pay attention," Batclaw snapped, and that was the end of the daydreams.

The patrol got back to camp with nothing to report, as usual. Most of the time that made Thistlepaw feel good, but not lately. He had nothing to take away his constant agitation. As bad of an idea as it was, he wanted to seek out Dawnpaw. Hopefully she wasn't already asleep and they could find some mischief to get up to.

Thistlepaw quickly realized that the mood in the camp was strange. The same sharp agitation that he'd been feeling all day had been multiplied, had electrified all the cats that were milling around in the open. They should all be in their dens, he thought, a drop of worry tickling his throat. He could hear raised voices coming from the medicine den, of all places.

"…didn't think you should tell me?"

"It's not like there's been a chance!"

"You should have made a chance! This is my mother!" Thistlepaw felt like a claw had pierced his heart. That was Dawnpaw and Lizardclaw in there…what was wrong with Larksong?

"This isn't something the whole Clan needed to know," came the low growl.

"My mother is sick," Dawnpaw wailed. It was an eerie sound, echoing up the cave and trailing into a thin ribbon of noise.

Thistlepaw was torn. He loved Larksong like a mother, but he wasn't part of the family. Was it his place? More importantly, did Dawnpaw need him? The thin, dry sobs bounced quietly up the mouth of the cave and Lizardclaw came padding out, sweeping cold green eyes over the cats gathered in the hollow before retreating into the shadows.

Could he go in there? Should he?

Sandpelt emerged from the den, his usually genial demeanor darkened by tiredness and worry. He flicked his tail. "Go to sleep, everyone. Everything is under control."

Thistlepaw stood frozen before he felt his heart clench painfully and he turned away. You coward, he cursed himself as he wandered away into the darkness.

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