Split: Book Two: Fleeting Storms

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 9

The sound of yowling and screeching in camp was what brought Crowsight rushing to his paws, ears pricked and eyes wide as the mild dream he had been having vanished like mist. He rushed from the den, scattering bits of moss and stray herb leaves.

"Crowsight!" called a panicked voice, and Crowsight skidded to a stop face-to-face with Streamspeckle. Her fur was bristling and her eyes were wide, claws extended for grip on the slick stone floor.

"What's going on?" he gasped, trying to glance over her shoulder into the darkness. The sound of battle was thunderous in his ears, and he felt his muscles stiffen.

"EmberClan," Streamspeckle hissed. "The fox-hearts! Grab as many healing herbs as you can hold! If you see someone injured, bring them back to the medicine den! Featherclaw's already out there! Hurry!" She dashed away in a flash of pale fur, and Crowsight spun back into the medicine den.

As he was gathering as many cobwebs as he could hold, Featherclaw burst in, half-dragging an injured tom that Crowsight couldn't quite make out in the lighting. He glanced over at them, concerned, but Featherclaw was already tending to his wounds, so Crowsight assumed she had it under control. Instead, he spun and ran out of the den again, and straight into the battle.

He immediately had to dodge a flying blow from an EmberClan she-cat, black fur bristling in the moonlight. He ducked clumsily out of the way as a StormClan warrior barreled into her, sending the she-cat flying.

"You piece of dung!" she spat, already back on her claws, but Crowsight didn't stick around any longer.

He nearly tripped over an injured she-cat, lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Standing over her was a pair of EmberClan cats, fangs bared and eyes slit. Quickly, Crowsight dove between them, grabbing the she-cat's scruff between his teeth. The EmberClan cats faced him; a blue-eyed ginger tabby tom and a tortoiseshell tom whose eyes were a slightly greener shade than his presumed brother's.

The tabby unsheathed his claws, and Crowsight snarled threateningly.

"Don't you dare," he snapped. "Warriors don't kill, and certainly don't attack medicine cats! Back down!"

In the moment of hesitation that followed, he dragged the she-cat away from the battle as quickly as he could, heart pounding fervently in his chest. The she-cat was a dark brown-black color, with scattered orange and white spots lining her pelt. Crowsight recognized her as Smoulderspeck, the mother of the now-dead Gingerstripe and the now-exiled Smokespot. As he pressed sticky wads of cobwebs to her pelt, consciousness began to flicker back to life inside her, and her golden eyes fluttered open slightly.

"My kits," she rasped, voice hateful and rough. "They-" Crowsight stepped back as she struggled to her paws. "Thanks for the help, Crowsight, but I need to jump back in."

Crowsight took note of her condition, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. "You're not fit to fight," he said tentatively, and she growled.

"If I die, I'm going to take some of them with me," Smoulderspeck snarled, and before Crowsight could stop her, she lunged past him, right into the thick of the conflict.

Crowsight was at a loss for words. The mouse-brain. She was going to get herself killed! His paws moved before he willed them too, and suddenly he had jumped into battle right after her.

She had attacked the two toms she had been fighting before Crowsight dragged her away, and she seemed to have taken one of them off guard. Scarlet dripped from her fangs, buried in the shoulder of the blue-eyed tabby. The tortoiseshell stood there, shocked for a moment, before diving in on Smoulderspeck with a hiss.