Be like that! Dovewing thought crossly. She turned to look at Foxleap, who was gazing around with wide, wondering eyes.

“You can see so much from up here!” he meowed.

Dovewing fell back to walk beside him. “There’s a really good view of the island from here,” she remarked, flicking her tail to where she could see the Gathering place far below; at this distance the tree-bridge looked like the thinnest twig.

“And there’s ShadowClan territory.” Foxleap angled his ears toward the dark pines bordering the lake beyond the island.

Dovewing let her senses reach out until she found the ShadowClan camp. Blackstar and his deputy, Rowanclaw, were deep in conversation, while Littlecloud was in his den, muttering under his breath as he counted juniper berries.

I wonder what Foxleap would say if I told him exactly what I can see from here?

“There’s RiverClan,” she mewed aloud. “You can just see their camp—there, between the two streams.”

“Too bad there are so many trees and bushes,” Foxleap responded, letting out a mischievous mrrow. “We could spy on them!”

I can do that just fine, thanks, trees or no trees. Dovewing located Minnowtail giving her apprentice a fishing lesson. “No, Mossypaw, sit where your shadow is behind you, not stretching over the water.”

“And the WindClan camp is over there” was all she meowed to Foxleap, waving her tail toward the moorland on their other side. “It’s in a hollow, but you can’t see it from here.”

“I forgot, you’ve been there.” Foxleap’s voice held a trace of envy. “Was it scary?”

“Pretty much,” Dovewing confessed. “I shouldn’t have—”

She broke off, her pelt bristling as a grief-stricken screech sounded in her ears. For a heartbeat she looked around wildly, half fearing that one of the patrol had been grabbed by a fox. But Squirrelflight and Jayfeather were still walking quietly a few tail-lengths ahead. Foxleap was staring at her as if she had gone mad.

The screech came again. “Antpelt! No!”

Dovewing froze. The dreadful cries of grief sounded so close, but they were coming from the WindClan camp.

Then she heard Kestrelflight’s voice. “Give me more cobwebs.” She was aware of blood pouring from Antpelt’s wounds, and sensed the fever raging inside the young tom’s body.

“Kestrelflight, do something!” Now Dovewing recognized Swallowtail’s voice; she had been the cat who had cried out before. “You can’t let him die.”

“I’m doing everything I can,” the medicine cat hissed. “I’ve given him horsetail and borage, but I can’t stop the infection from spreading.”

“Then give him more!”

Dovewing picked up the sound of a cat chewing borage leaves into a pulp and pushing them down Antpelt’s throat, but the dying warrior was too weak to swallow.

“Oh, StarClan!” That was Onestar’s voice, quiet but full of sorrow. “This is a young cat. Do you have to take him now?”

“I still don’t understand how he got wounds like that.” Dovewing wasn’t sure which cat was speaking now. Maybe Torn ear; I heard him at the Gathering. “I thought it was a dog bite, but none of the patrols have reported seeing dogs in the territory.”