"Hi, Robinpelt." I meow, trying to be cheerful as we slip past the honeysuckle that surrounds the entrance to the medicine den.
You really can't call it a 'den.' It's at least two times the size of the warriors den, nearly half the camp. Robinpelt and the other four medicine cats-Lilypaw, Oakfur, Darkstreak, and Larcheye- have divided the space equally into what could be called small dens of their own, showing where one's den starts and the other's ends with a small barrier formed of branches and mud, coming up halfway of my leg, that anyone could easily jump over, without a running start.
I walk into Robinpelt's 'den', waving hello to the other medicine cats with my tail.
"They tell me you have a moss-and-sap contraption to put on my paw?" I ask.
He nods. "Yes. First a poultice, then the so-called contraption." He says this with the faintest hint of sarcasm, and I realize that he's young, for a fully-fledged medicine cat leader. Some of the medicine cat are older than him by far. He's the same age I am. Between his responsibilities and training of Lilypaw, nobody's ever really thought about his age. He became an apprentice a little earlier than I did, but that's common, since he's a medicine cat, and their training takes longer.
I look around, watching the medicine cats take care of wounds for warriors injured in the battle. No serious injuries-the battle didn't last long enough for that. I am relieved. A moon ago, we had a skirmish on the border, routine, but Lightpaw got injured badly-now, half of his tail is missing.
Robinpelt walks to where Lilypaw is eagerly tucking something into a soft strip of moss the color of the lake on a sunny green-leaf day. He heads towards me with this moss, which on one side is covered with a thick layer of oozing, yellowy herb pulp. Lilypaw comes with some of the sap in a leaf, her eyes shining.
"This is the first time, ever, the medicine cats have tried something like this." She tells me excitedly. "He'll just put the moss on your paw so you can walk some, but not have the poultice fall off, and then put more of the poultice where the wound countinues into your leg. There, it'll just stick to your fur."
Lilypaw was born for being a medicine cat. Such enthusiasm for medicine has not been seen in a while.
Robinpelt orders me to put my leg up onto the barrier and I do it, where he attaches the moss around my paw and seals it off on the ends and edges, gently applying the sap with a stick held in his teeth.
"There. That should do it!" he exclaims, relieved. He smothers what's left of the poultice on the rest of the wound and sends me off to my den with a warning of five days' rest; no hunting or patrolling, but walking in the woods is acceptable; and to see him every day. He admonishes me to try not to put too much weight on my paw, and I wave him off. "I'll be fine!" I groan as I trudge to the Rock where Mallowtail is standing, planning to announce something. "Actually," I muttered to myself, "I take that back."