“Not much mallow,” Leafpool commented. “And I still want to get more catmint.” Leaves rustled beneath her paw. “I brought back as much as I could carry today, but there’s plenty more, and we should gather it while it’s still in full leaf and dry it to be ready for leaf-bare.”

Drying the leaves in the sun was the best way of making sure they didn’t rot away in storage.

Jaypaw felt a bundle of thyme, tickly beneath his paw. It smelled stale. “How old is this?”

Leafpool bent toward him to sniff it. “Must have been gathered last greenleaf,” she observed. “It’ll have lost a lot of strength. We should get fresh.”

“Do we have any deathberries?” Jaypaw had heard Littlecloud mention the fatal berry last time they were at the Moonpool. It was used only to save the sickest cats from a lingering death. A bushful of them grew on ShadowClan land, and Littlecloud had offered to share them. Leafpool had refused, and Jaypaw sensed a prickle of unease from her now.

“I don’t use deathberries,” she murmured. She began to pick through a pile of coltsfoot. “ShadowClan medicine cats keep them,” she added. “They teach their apprentices how to use them.” Her voice was thick, as though a dark memory filled her mind. “But I won’t teach you.”

Why not? Jaypaw was intrigued by the idea of having the power of life and death in his paws.

Leafpool clearly wanted nothing to do with it. “We must do all we can to help our Clanmates, but it’s up to StarClan to choose the moment of death.” She pushed a pile of leaves toward Jaypaw. Comfrey, by the smell of it. “Sort through these and throw out any that are musty or starting to lose their scent.”

Jaypaw began to turn over each leaf, sniffing them closely and throwing to one side any that were no longer fresh or fragrant enough. Leafpool worked beside him, tearing coltsfoot and rolling it into bundles.

“I haven’t had a chance to ask you since you got back,” Leafpool began. “How was the journey?”

“It was okay.” Jaypaw remembered the terrifying jump over the gap in the steep mountain path, not knowing where he would land, or how far was the drop below him. He shivered.

“What did you think of the Tribe?” Leafpool had met them on the Great Journey.

“They were odd.” Jaypaw tried to fix on what he had found strangest about the mountain cats. “The mountains are tough. I thought the cats would be too, but they had no idea how to fight off the invaders.” They’re like a Clan in hiding from something. Jaypaw had pitied the Tribe, huddled in their cave behind their waterfall, always glancing nervously over their shoulders for danger. Even their ancestors had seemed fearful. “I met the Tribe of Endless Hunting,” he ventured.