Alderheart spat the chervil-root chunks onto a dock leaf and suppressed a sigh. Since so many cats had come down with the sickness, Jayfeather had become crankier than ever. But Alderheart knew him well enough not to be offended.

“We don’t have watermint,” he pointed out calmly. He had given the few scraps he had managed to find to Plumkit. “Do you expect me to pull it out of my ears?”

“No,” Jayfeather grumbled. “I expect you to stay out there until you find some.”

Alderheart cast a glance at the bramble screen that covered the entrance to the medicine-cat den. Outside, the rain was hissing down; still, Alderheart would willingly get soaked to the skin if it meant he could find the herb they so desperately needed.

“Don’t act like such a kit,” Alderheart mewed teasingly to Jayfeather, “just because we have a lot to do!” Alderheart thought for a moment. “You know there’s hardly any watermint left in the border stream. We might have to find another supply,” he added.

“And you need to chew that chervil root more thoroughly,” Jayfeather added irritably, prodding at the pulp with one paw. “The chunks are far too big. How do you think you can force that down Whitewing’s muzzle? Any apprentice knows that!”

Alderheart stopped himself from pointing out that it was Jayfeather who had interrupted his chewing. “We ought to talk about the prophecy,” he meowed instead, hoping that with so many cats to treat, Jayfeather wouldn’t be likely to wander off, and at last they could have a useful discussion. “Without ShadowClan and with RiverClan closing its borders . . .” StarClan had made it clear that they needed all five Clans.

But Jayfeather waved his tail dismissively. “I don’t care about that right now,” he responded. “It’s more important to get all these cats better, so that they can get back to their duties.”

Leafpool was lying beside Plumkit, licking her gently when she whimpered from the bellyache.

Now the medicine cat raised her head. “Alderheart, this sickness spreads so quickly, I think we should move Briarlight into the nursery. It could be especially dangerous for her, if she catches it.”

Briarlight, who was drowsing in her own nest, roused at Leafpool’s words. “Don’t worry about me,” she mewed. “I’ll be fine.”

“No, Leafpool’s right,” Alderheart declared. “It’s a good idea.”

Even while he spoke, he couldn’t help thinking of Whitewing, the most seriously ill of the cats. She seemed to be missing her daughter Dovewing, who had disappeared more than a moon ago, so much that she hadn’t the will or the strength to fight the sickness. Day after day, Alderheart had to encourage her to eat her herbs.

“It’s going to be pretty crowded in the nursery,” Jayfeather pointed out.