The moon was a silver claw hanging from the ashen night sky. Tendrils of light sauntered through the branches of the tall mossy pines - they stood both proudly and as hoary fortresses. Crows hoarsely cawed high up in the canopy of trees. A pure-white tom slid around the edge of the bracken thicket, following at his heels was a dappled gray tom. The dry slope was dotted with medicine cats from their respective Clans. They sat upright and looked about with their ears erect. The big white tom and his companion slipped under cover of the branches and down into the ditch and up into the field, joining the others.
"So," said a ginger tabby with a twisted forepaw, a shade of unease creeping into his voice. "Is it bad?"
A tiny dark brown tabby opened her jaws as if to reply, but it was a black she-cat who spoke.
"It's infected. Cricketcall told us it was from a fall he took while fighting off those rogues. I don't know why he lied... it looked terrible... we told him he needed to get it checked out further, but I think he thought maybe if he ignored it, it might go away."
A tortoiseshell she-cat nodded. "I know what you mean. Some toms won't see a medicine cat unless their tails are about to fall off!"
The black she-cat paused for a moment before continuing. "I won't lie to you -"
"You shouldn't waist your time." Interjected the white tom quickly, as though to check her before she could say more. "He's going to die. Foam-Mouth out here is a death sentence." They were all startled by the bluntness with which the white tom went to the point. "I'm sure you did the best you could, Hollypaw." Cloudnose said, in a tone Hollypaw couldn't decide was encouraging or patronizing.
"That can't be true!" cried a silver-gray she-cat. "Perhaps, he might get lucky."
"It's true, Mistypaw," replied Hollypaw. "I wish it wasn't." She muttered under her breath.
"We don't want to panic cats," the dark brown tabby's tail twitched. "But Hollypaw and I have heard that there has been a Foam-Mouth outbreak that has occurred recently. ShadowClan patrols had reports of infected rogues near our borders. They said that they didn't... look, right. The sent of sickness was so strong, that they smelled of marsh water and wharf rats."
"Infected rogues?" The ginger tabby's heart lurched. "Why don't we inform the Clans straight away?"
"To prevent hysteria, Pebblenose," answered the tortoiseshell she-cat firmly. Leaffall's apparent unnecessary comment only seemed to draw tighter on Pebblenose's anxious impatience.
"What's really going on here?" said Cloudnose. "Just how dangerous is this, Thornberry?"
Thornberry flicked an ear, pondering the question for a few seconds. "The rest of our warriors all appear to still be relatively healthy, not in nearly as bad a shape as Cricketcall. As for the rogues..." Thornberry let out a guilty sigh. "I hate to admit that they got away. But, the patrol saw tracks heading north."
"They probably went hunting for food. How many tracks did they see?"
"They think there were about four or five of them. All I can say is be alert."
Cloudnose raised his right eyebrow as Hawkpaw fixed a dark gaze on Thornberry and Hollypaw. The other medicine cats were watching them expectantly, waiting for one of them to speak: dead eyes, all of them. But both sat in stony silence. Cloudnose cleared his throat. "The last thing all of these cats here need is an unknown disease running rampant." He studied Thornberry and noticed how thin she was looking these days. Even from several fox-lengths away Cloudnose could count her ribs. Pebblenose eyed the ShadowClan medicine cats suspiciously. No cat responded. The big white tom remained silent for a heartbeat, then gave his thick pelt a swift shake. "Hawkpaw and I should get back to camp," he growled. "It's freezing."