Rootpaw felt his paws tremble as he ascended to the highest branch in the oak tree. He looked down to stare at Vinestep, who was watching him with intense green eyes. Rootpaw felt sick at how high he was. Nausea climbed in his stomach and up his throat and it took every muscle in his body to not retch right there. How embarrassing would it be if he threw up on his own mentor!
Vinestep's tail curled up. "You're doing a great job, Rootpaw!"
Really? Rootpaw thought as he dug his claws into the tree. Because it sure doesn't feel like it! He was light, so he was sure his weight wouldn't bring the branch down, but that didn't mean he wouldn't slip and fall to his death. StarClan, if you're watching, please don't let me fall out!
Next to Vinestep was Brookfeather. Her green eyes glowed in amusement. "I think he needs to climb higher, don't you think, Vinestep?"
Rootpaw sank his claws in deeper, feeling the bark underneath it. "I can't go any higher!" he told Brookfeather. "It's the highest branch in this tree!"
Brookfeather's gaze turned to Dovepaw, who was on the tree perpendicular to him. She clearly was finding this a lot easier than he was. She leapt from branch to branch, as if she was born with wings. Rootpaw sighed and looked up to see leaves fall from the trees and land on the ground. The ease and grace Dovepaw used while jumping gave him determination. He narrowed his eyes and stared at a branch that didn't seem like a far jump. Just maybe if I jump across?
"Vinestep!" Rootpaw called out. "I'm going to jumping across the branch."
Vinestep's eyes widened with shock. He glanced at Brookfeather. Brookfeather frowned, her ears twitching with uneasiness.
"Are you sure, Rootpaw?" Brookfeather asked. "Only do it if you're sure you can."
"I can." Rootpaw's grip was strong and his back legs were more powerful than they were when he first started training. If he kept his gaze straight, his muscles tensed, he was sure he could make the leap. Just don't get distracted. Even if the leaves are beautiful. He approached the edge of the branch and wiggled his haunches. He slowed his breathing, counting each breath. When he felt his center was even and he was not trembling, he leaped with as much power as he could from the edge of the tree branch to the other. He felt himself soaring through the sky, feeling the wind brush against his pelt as if there was nothing beneath his paws—not ground, not tree. It's like I'm flying! He landed on the opposite branch and tightened his grip to stop himself from falling off.
Vinestep let out a yowl of congratulations. Even Brookfeather couldn't find something to complain about, as she watched Rootpaw with grudging respect in her green eyes. Rootpaw's head floated in the clouds—he had made such an impressive leap! I'm stronger than I think I am. But he didn't want to test his luck, jumping from tree to tree. Some gaps were too broad for even the strongest ThunderClan cat to jump across. I'll only do the ones I'm sure I can do.
"There's another branch over there," Brookfeather meowed, pointing with her tail to the tree that had a long branch waving in the wind. "Try that?"
"How about you come and try it, Brookfeather?" Rootpaw teased the older warrior. Brookfeather rolled her eyes.
"Don't be mouse-brained!" she snapped. "Do the jump or don't."
"I will." Rootpaw climbed down the branch and studied the distance between the twigs and the other branch. He could make it. It was a bit bigger than the other gap he had scaled, but he was capable of managing this one. Square your muscles, tense your back legs, and keep your eyes focused. Pay attention. In the past moons, with Vinestep and Brookfeather seeming to work together by training him, he found his attention getting sharper and he was wandering less than he used to. Of course, he still indulged himself in the beauties of the forest—no cat would take that away from him—but in training, he knew that Brookfeather wouldn't tolerate it. My mind has to be focused on training.
Tensing his shoulders, Rootpaw narrowed his eyes, focusing only on the branch in front of him. The gap was about a fox-length—he had jumped that before. Clenching his jaw, he leaped from the branch and soared through the sky. With ease—and his legs no longer trembling—he found his landing spot on the opposite branch and steadied himself. He looked down at Vinestep and Brookfeather triumphantly.
He didn't want to boast—that was something left for his brother. But the glow in their eyes told Rootpaw all he had to know. He wondered if he could get down from the tree. They had been climbing since sunrise, and his muscles were aching. He glanced across the trees and spotted Dovepaw's light silver fur, stark against the brown bark of the tree. She was watching Rootpaw with admiration glowing in her blue eyes.
"That was great!" Dovepaw declared. "I want to try that."
Rootpaw's amber eyes widened. "Be careful, Dovepaw!" he warned her. Don't just jump randomly. He didn't want to seem as if he was telling her what to do. That was Brookfeather's job, but he watched her with careful concern as she jumped from one branch to the other. She made the jump with considerable ease, and Rootpaw let out the breath he was holding. But when the branch started to creak underneath her, Rootpaw's ears flattened in anger.
"Watch out!" both Rootpaw and Brookfeather howled at the same time. Dovepaw looked down and spotted the branch shaking. Her blue eyes widened with fear, and she leaped away from it just as it creaked and snapped, landing on the ground. Rootpaw gasped in horror. If Dovepaw had jumped a second too late, she'd have gone down with the branch. He searched for the silver she-cat, and his heart plunged into his stomach as she realized that, in her panic, she had completely misjudged the distance of the jump, and was hanging from the branch by her two front paws. Her back legs dangled behind her, and her mouth was open in a silent scream.
"Dovepaw!" Brookfeather yowled. She raced over to the bark, Vinestep behind her. The brown-and-white tabby started to scale the roots, but Vinestep pushed her back.
"There's no way you can get up there without putting more weight on the branch and cracking it again," Vinestep warned her.
Brookfeather whirled on Vinestep, her striped brown tail lashing furiously. "Then how do we get her down?" she hissed at him. Vinestep gazed up at the tree, his eyes flashing as he visibly tried to work out a way to get her down without the branch breaking. Rootpaw watched in frozen horror. Was there anything he could do? He could jump across, but if Vinestep was right about Brookfeather's weight breaking the branch, then his would as well.
Dovepaw's back legs dangled further as the tree creaked underneath her weight. Her toes flexed as she tried to dig in her claws deeper, but her grip loosened, and Rootpaw watched in frozen terror as Dovepaw plunged from the branch and onto the hard forest floor beneath her, a frightened yowl escaping her during her fall. She landed with a hard thud, and the snap of a bone echoed through the air.
No! Rootpaw immediately leaped from the branch to the trunk of the tree and started to scale down the bark. His descent was quick and rapid, but he didn't care. He had to get to Dovepaw. He had heard something break—she was injured! The last leg of Rootpaw's climb was rough and he ended falling from the bark onto the roots, but it was not a tall fall, and he was back on his paws in moments. He raced over to where Dovepaw had fallen. Brookfeather and Vinestep were looming over her, their eyes wide. Rootpaw shouldered his way between the two warriors and focused his gaze on Dovepaw's body—splayed out on all fours, blood dripping from her mouth, her blue eyes glazed and scared as they stared at the sky, and her left hind leg forked at an awkward, painful angle.
Brookfeather turned to Vinestep. "Get some help!" she hissed at him.
Vinestep stepped back. "We have to get her back to camp," he told her. "Shoulder the weight with me. Rootpaw, you're the fastest of us all. Get back to camp and warn Ashenhawk about what happened."
Rootpaw stared at Dovepaw. He didn't think he could bear to leave her, when she was in such pain, gathering from the moaning from her lips. Vinestep arched his back and hissed at him, and Rootpaw scrambled on his heels and ran as fast as he could through the forest. His claws tore through grass and his hind legs barely landed on the ground as he bolted through the oaks and found the trees that surrounded the stone hollow. Without stopping to take a breath, he burst through the thorn tunnel.
Cats greeted him with a puzzled glance—they had probably never seen Rootpaw so frazzled. But in his fear for Dovepaw, he didn't care how he looked to his Clanmates. He raced towards the rock that sheltered Ashenhawk and her herbs. He slipped through the crevice and spotted Ashenhawk's striped back. He bounded over to her.
"Ashenhawk!" Rootpaw gasped.
Ashenhawk turned around and gazed at Rootpaw, holding a bundle of herbs in her mouth. At his devastated expression, she dropped the herbs and tilted her head, curiosity glittering in her eyes. "Rootpaw?" she asked. "What happened?"
"Dovepaw fell out of a tree!" Rootpaw exclaimed.
The silver tabby's brilliant amber eyes widened with fear. "Is someone bringing her here?" she asked. "I need to gather the herbs I need."
Rootpaw nodded. "Vinestep and Brookfeather are on their way here with her."
"You can help me," Ashenhawk said. The curiosity and the fear from her eyes were gone just as quickly as they appeared. Rootpaw wondered if he imagined it. Her voice was crisp and efficient now as she bent over and started to collect herbs from her store. "Make a nest for her with moss, near the puddle in the back of my den. She'll need a warm place to rest and access to water."
Without doubting the medicine cat's orders, Rootpaw instantly got to work with a ball of moss stashed in the corner of Ashenhawk's den. He sculpted it into a nest big enough for Dovepaw near the puddle. He caught a glimpse of the flowers that Ashenhawk grew near the pool for her own aesthetic pleasure. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Ashenhawk was absorbed in chewing herbs, most likely for a poultice. Hoping that she wouldn't turn around, he nipped off the stem of a beautiful blooming pink flower. He rested it right on the nest, where Dovepaw would rest her head on. He wasn't sure if it would help—probably not, but it would be a nice thing for her to see, wouldn't it?
Rootpaw sat on his haunches, feeling miserable. Where were Brookfeather and Vinestep? Would they come on time? What if Dovepaw is dead? He shook the thought out of his mind. No, she can't be. She was alive when I last saw her. He unsheathed his claws and dug them into the ground. But her leg… is it broken? Can she be a warrior with a broken leg? Will Ashenhawk be able to heal her?
A chill ran through his spine as he realized he did not know any of the answers. A mewl at the entrance of the den alerted him to the presence of another cat. He turned and watched as Brookfeather entered the den, alone, but with Dovepaw on her back. She gently dropped Dovepaw on the nest that Rootpaw had made. Fear and worry for her apprentice shone in her brilliant green eyes, and her shoulders were hunched. Rootpaw watched, his head pounding and a sickening feeling climbing up in his chest, as if he were the one injured, as Ashenhawk padded over and started to lick the blood off Dovepaw's leg. Then she stiffened.
"Is it…?" Brookfeather stared at Ashenhawk.
"It's dislocated," Ashenhawk said quietly.
Brookfeather gasped, and Rootpaw sank his claws into the ground. No… His heart raced in his chest and blood roared in his ears. It was hard to focus on what Ashenhawk was saying. He didn't hear the next sentence, but he heard what Brookfeather said to her.
"Can you save her?" Brookfeather asked. Guilt clouded her green eyes. She blames herself.
"I will do everything I can," Ashenhawk said to Brookfeather, her blue eyes blazing with resolve. Brookfeather gave the medicine cat a stiff nod. She touched her nose to Dovepaw's shoulder, murmuring something that Rootpaw couldn't quite make out. Then she got to her paws and gazed at Rootpaw. In a rare moment of gentleness, she draped her tail across Rootpaw's slight shoulders. She said nothing, but her gaze was soft and tender. Rootpaw didn't know what she was trying to convey, but he allowed her. Her tail was gone as soon as it landed on him, and she left the den, her brown-and-white figure disappearing into the thick foliage in the camp.
Ashenhawk watched her go and shook out her fur. She glanced over her shoulder at Rootpaw. Even though determination had hardened her gaze when she spoke to Brookfeather, and her voice was firm, Rootpaw could see the fear cloud her eyes. She's not sure if she can save Dovepaw.
"I could really use some help," Ashenhawk told him after a few moments. "I don't have an apprentice, and I've never treated a dislocated leg by myself. If you don't mind…"
"Of course." The words came out of Rootpaw without hesitation. "Anything you need, Ashenhawk."
The ThunderClan medicine cat's gaze drifted towards the flower in the nest. A slight purr rumbled in her chest as she meowed, "Can you bring her some water? I need to keep preparing this poultice to rub on her leg."
Rootpaw gave her a brief nod as he picked up some leftover moss that he had from making her nest. He padded over to the puddle and soaked the moss in it before bringing it back in his jaws and trotting over to Dovepaw. He sat down, gazing at her face, trying to figure out if she was conscious. His unsaid question was answered when her brilliant blue eyes started to open.
"Rootpaw…?" Dovepaw moaned.
The pain in her eyes shook Rootpaw to his core, and he thought he would collapse from the weight of sympathy. He picked up the moss and held it over Dovepaw's lips. Water dripped from the moss and fell into Dovepaw's mouth. Dovepaw swallowed the water, letting out a content sigh. She lifted her head and started to lap at the moss until her head fell back and it landed on her nest. Rootpaw put the moss away before curling up at her side.
"What happened?" Dovepaw whispered.
"You fell and you dislocated your leg," Rootpaw told her, running his long tail down her spine. "But you're here in the medicine den now, and Ashenhawk is going to fix you right up." At least, I hope so. He didn't want to show her his concerns, though. He wouldn't scare her. He continued to rub her back with his tail, hoping that it would comfort her in some way. Dovepaw groaned and lifted her head, trying to get a look at the wound. Rootpaw gently pushed her head back down with his paw.
Dovepaw mewled in protest.
Rootpaw shook his head. "Don't look," he said quietly. "It'll just upset you. You need to rest so Ashenhawk can treat you. How do you think she'll be able to give you the medicine if you're fidgeting the entire time?" he asked her.
As he spoke, Ashenhawk walked over with the poultice she had prepared on a leaf in her mouth. She sat down and unraveled the ivy leaf, revealing a green-yellow paste. She dipped her paw in it and gently rubbed it across Dovepaw's leg. Dovepaw flinched, but Rootpaw comforted her with long licks to her pelt. Dovepaw's muscles relaxed, and Ashenhawk flashed a grateful glance at Rootpaw as she continued to apply the paste.
Then the silver tabby got up and headed back to the herb store. Rootpaw peered his head to look at her leg. It was still twisted at an odd angle, but it was slathered in the paste Ashenhawk had made. Rootpaw glanced back at Dovepaw. Her eyes were closed and her breath was coming in slow rises of her chest. Maybe it's best right now, he thought. Ashenhawk arrived with sticks in her mouth. What's that for? Rootpaw wondered.
She placed two sticks on separate sides of Dovepaw's injured leg, securing them with bindweed and rush strands. Her eyes were focused on her work and her paws moved effortlessly. She's making a splint, Rootpaw realized. Once the sticks and strands were in place, Ashenhawk picked up a couple of seeds from the ivy leaf that had the paste in it and padded over to Dovepaw.
"Are those poppy seeds?" Rootpaw asked.
"Yes," Ashenhawk replied.
"But she's asleep already."
"It's to numb the pain," Ashenhawk explained. "When she wakes up, I'll give her some comfrey. That should help fight the wound from the inside."
Rootpaw didn't doubt the medicine cat. He rested his chin on top of Dovepaw's shoulder, wincing at how cold she felt next to him. Hoping that his body heat could warm her up, he curled even closer to her. You're going to be okay, he thought. Ashenhawk will do what she can to save you, and then you'll be a warrior. You'll have a beautiful name, and you'll heal. You'll be able to run and jump, but maybe not jumping from branch to branch.
Ashenhawk licked Rootpaw's head comfortingly. "I'll do what I can," she murmured. "I won't let her die."
"But will she be able to walk again?" Rootpaw asked quietly.
No words came out of the silver tabby's mouth.
Rootpaw's blood chilled. He said nothing to her as she went back to her herb store. What could he say? There was a possibility Dovepaw wouldn't get better. He recalled back to the stories the elders had told. An old medicine cat of ThunderClan's named Cinderpelt had her leg injured on a Thunderpath and had to relinquish warrior duties to become a medicine cat, since her lame leg prohibited her from hunting or fighting. But we've come a long way with medicine since then. Medicine cats of the past, like Leafpool and Jayfeather, have made so much progress and passed it down to the medicine cats of today.
A familiar scent wafted in the medicine den, and Rootpaw glanced up to see Pearpaw nosing his way in. He noted that his striped gray brother did not even ask Ashenhawk for permission, but Rootpaw was so dejected that it didn't matter to him. The comfort of kin was always welcoming. Pearpaw's gaze darted towards Dovepaw and sympathy flooded his amber gaze.
"Oh, Rootpaw," Pearpaw murmured, walking over to Rootpaw and touching his nose to his shoulder. "I know how much she means to you."
"She's not dead yet," Rootpaw stated firmly. "Ashenhawk will do everything she can."
Pearpaw was quiet, but his gaze was focused on Dovepaw's twisted leg. Rootpaw knew Pearpaw well enough to guess what was going through his mind—he thought that Dovepaw couldn't be a warrior now that her leg was injured. But Rootpaw had faith in Dovepaw—and Ashenhawk. She would get better. That was something Rootpaw wanted to—had to—believe.
"Does Bearpaw know?" Pearpaw asked after a few moments of silence.
Rootpaw shrugged.
"He's always been concerned about her," Pearpaw mewed. "He fears that she's not fit for a life as a warrior." He paused, as if thinking about what to say. Then the words came out of his mouth, slow but steady. "Maybe this is a sign from StarClan, confirming what he thinks."
"No," Rootpaw said, drawing himself up to his full height. He wasn't as tall or as big as Pearpaw, and he sure didn't want to threaten his brother, but there was no way StarClan would injure a cat to teach them a lesson. "StarClan is not that cruel. It was an unfortunate accident that she will recover from." He gazed steadily at his brother. "I must believe it."
His brother's gaze wavered with uncertainty. But it didn't matter to Rootpaw. No cat would shake his unwavering belief in Dovepaw. She was strong, earnest, and altruistic. There was nothing she couldn't do. She would fight the wound in her leg—it would heal, and she would become a warrior. I wonder what name Flintstar will choose for her? Doveflight is a nice name. Or Dovesong. Maybe Doveheart.
Dovepaw would get better.
Rootpaw had to believe that.