Cragpaw watched Smokebird race back into the clearing. She doesn't seem too happy about the news, he noted. Could it be that she doesn't want kits? He tried to place a paw on any toms who may be the father, but as he dug into his thoughts, he realized that he hardly saw the warrior around camp at all.

"With that handled," Stumpwhisker mewed curtly, "the two of you had better get your borage sorted on the shelves. We'll need as much as possible for when her kits come."

Nodding, Cragpaw returned to the leaves he'd dropped near the entrance. They had scattered from Smokebird's exit, and he moved as swiftly as he could, scooping them back into a pile from where they had flitted off to. Once they were gathered, he brought them over to the shelf and neatly sorted them with the rest of the borage leaves he could find.

He glossed a paw over them, intently studying their features. They were oval-shaped, had a small coating of fuzz over them, and had wavy edges. He inhaled deeply; their smell reminded him of a fresh, cool breeze.

"Borage. This is borage," he whispered to himself in an attempt to engrave it into his mind.

"Are you two done yet?" Stumpwhisker snapped over Cragpaw's shoulder.

The apprentice jumped in alarm. "Y-Yes, sorry," he mumbled.

"Good. Do you know what we use for skin irritation?" The medicine cat abruptly demanded. Cragpaw glanced to his side to see Nightpaw nibbling at his paw pad. His stomach plummeted.

"No," he glanced at the floor, scuffing his paws against the earth.

"Good," Stumpwhisker mewed, much to the apprentice's surprise. "I haven't told you yet. I'd be confused if you somehow already knew."

Relief poured over Cragpaw, and he smiled slightly. "Oh." He watched as Stumpwhisker began probing through the shelves. "I know the stem of borage causes irritation, but why don't the leaves?"

"The hairs are too small to penetrate the skin," Stumpwhisker explained. "The stems have long hairs that cause itchiness after too much exposure. Considering how Nightpaw held the stem for so long," the black tom lowered his head, "there's no doubt in my mind that it's itching up a storm. Am I correct?"

Nightpaw meekly nodded. "Yes."

"Here," Stumpwhisker pulled a leaf from the shelf. He passed it to Cragpaw.

He blinked at it. It had serrated leaves and was slightly crushed. "What is it?"

"It's stinging nettle."

"Won't it... sting?" Cragpaw gave it a tentative sniff, but no bristles poked at him.

"When we harvest stinging nettle, we carve off the needles with either a piece of bark or stone. It can cause severe irritation, but when chewed into a pulp, it's excellent for curing such ailments." He blinked calmly. "Treat his paws."

Cragpaw froze for a moment. Tentatively, he took the herb into his mouth. His thoughts, weighted beneath a blanket of anxiety, moved slowly. He said to chew it into a pulp, didn't he? His eyes flitted to Stumpwhisker, and he dug his teeth lightly into the herb. The older medicine cat watched calmly. Taking this as a confirmation, Cragpaw began to slowly chew.

The flavor was rich and earthy with almost a bitter tang, but the tang wasn't strong enough to bother him. He chewed until the leaf had grown into a sticky mush, and he turned a paw over and spat onto the pads. The sticky green juice glittered up at him. He turned to his brother.

"Give me your paws," he instructed. Nightpaw tilted one paw up. Cragpaw took the sticky mess and scrubbed it gently between his brother's pads, and the black tom noticeably relaxed. "Show me your next one." Nightpaw did just that, and once Cragpaw was finished, they shared a sigh of relief.

Stumpwhisker nodded his head in acknowledgement and produced a small pawful of spiderwebs. "Now we wrap it to keep the poultice in place."

Cragpaw scooped the pawful of webs out of Stumpwhisker's paws, then turned to wrap them generously around Nightpaw's. By the end of it, his brother's paws were completely hidden beneath the gauze.

"Next time, try to apply a bit less," Stumpwhisker said. "Cobwebs can be easy to find, but too much can collect moisture, which is bad for the wound."

"Okay."

"Now, what do you use to soothe bellyaches?" Stumpwhisker inquired.

"Oh, that's easy," Nightpaw purred. "We use chamomile, don't we?"

"Yes, we use chamomile. Go fetch some for me from the shelf, I'd like to check on Glazefall before we head for Snakerocks." The tom's twisted whiskers shivered slightly, a soft flame dancing in his eyes.

Cragpaw watched as his brother grabbed a few shoots of chamomile, and the three pushed back out into the clearing. Stumpwhisker led the way to the bramble bush that hid the warrior's den, ducking his head inside. "Is Glazefall in here?" He called.

Cragpaw picked up the faintest response of, "yes, I'm here."

After a few moments, Glazefall pushed out of the den, moss sticking out of her pelt. Cragpaw sucked in a breath. The she-cat certainly looked ill, with a slightly stuffy nose and a hoarse voice when she spoke. "What is it, Stumpwhisker?" She murmured sleepily.

Stumpwhisker stared at her pointedly. "You're sick," he said. It wasn't a question.

The dark tabby crinkled her nose unhappily. "Let me guess, Smokebird told you?" She grunted.

"I'm a medicine cat. I'll find out one way or another," the tom absently said, circling the she-cat and giving her pelt a ginger sniff. "Cragpaw, Nightpaw, come here and tell me what you smell."

The two apprentices slipped forward. Cragpaw parted his mouth slightly as he sniffed her pelt, then he leaned close to her muzzle and tested the scent of her breath. It simply smelt of old prey and stomach bile, but not quite the sour tang of illness.

While he and Nightpaw did that, Stumpwhisker continued to study the warrior while asking questions. "When did this start?"

"A few sunrises ago."

"Did you stay out all night? Did you eat anything rancid?"

"No, I've done nothing different, other than trying a toad."

"Could she be pregnant, too?" Cragpaw suddenly proposed, noticing a slight, yet oddly firm tenderness to her stomach. Above that, he could taste the same sweet scent he'd caught on Smokebird, yet it was much fainter and almost impossible to notice. "Queens get sick sometimes from the growth of kits, right?" He tilted his head as he recalled his time in the nursery. When Sedgeflight had been expecting, the gentle she-cat had suffered quite a bit from "mother's sickness," as Strikefeather called it.

"Don't be a mouse-brain," Stumpwhisker sharply replied, keeping his attention on Glazefall. "While queens can get sick from their pregnancy on occasion, I've never seen one sick like this before. I'd reckon the swelling is from something she ate."

"Don't you smell—"

Stumpwhisker brushed past Cragpaw, cutting him off. He took the chamomile from Nightpaw and dropped them at Glazefall's paws. "Eat these," he mewed. "They should help calm your sickness. Keep resting like you have been, and come see me in the evening with an update on your status." His whiskers twitched. "If you're not feeling any better, let me know, and I'll see if I can find some other remedy."

Glazefall lapped up the green shoots. "Thanks."

Cragpaw stared after the warrior with a frown, twitching his tail.

"Come on." Stumpwhisker began padding towards the camp entrance. Cragpaw's thoughts trickled off and he scampered after him, his excitement replenished as they swiftly ascended the ravine's exit. His eyes sharpened as he studied the cool forest, hoping to spot Snakerocks before Stumpwhisker announced their arrival.

It didn't take long until the tom caught sight of a clearing through the trees, bright sunlight reflecting off a vast array of flat-faced, stone slabs. Some were stacked high into the air, leaning against one another in unsteady piles, while the rest lay evenly on the ground. The rocks stretched on for a long while, until at last they dissipated among more trees on the other side. Their sand-colored faces were bare. The apprentice caught the faintest flicker of movement between the cracks—a snake, perhaps?

"Is this it?" the apprentice chirped, darting to Stumpwhisker's other side where he fell into step with his brother.

"Yes," Stumpwhisker mewed, his rough voice quiet amid the eerie silence. "We must tread carefully. Adders have made this their home."

Cragpaw nodded. Adders didn't seem so scary, especially after he'd seen the one caught by Cricketpaw. They were long and had big fangs, but he doubted they were as dangerous as the older cats made them out to be.

Stumpwhisker's steps softened as he drew his haunches up beneath him, but he didn't pad in quite the hunter's crouch. Cragpaw followed his lead. He struggled to proportion himself just right to walk quietly, focusing so intently on the softness of each step that he continuously crunched on leaves and foliage.

"You're terrible at this," Nightpaw snarked as he slipped stealthily forward, his black pelt rippling as his muscles worked carefully.

Cragpaw snorted. "At least I'm trying."

"So am I," Nightpaw retorted. "But I'm not making a racket."

"Quiet, you two," Stumpwhisker snarled. The apprentices' mouths snapped shut, but not before Cragpaw furiously stuck his tongue out at his brother.

The trio entered the clearing. The sun, amid the slightly chilly breeze, comfortably warmed Cragpaw's pelt. Stumpwhisker stood straight, drinking in deep breaths of the air. "I think we're safe, but watch your step."

Cragpaw gratefully stood straight, his head swiveling back and forth. He and Nightpaw followed the old tom as they leaped onto the rocks. Stumpwhisker grabbed a small stick as he moved.

Tufts of grass and minor foliage poked out from between rocks, and Cragpaw spotted some moss growing on the underside of some stones. Cobwebs draped deep into the shadows, and he caught sight of the beady eyes of spiders.

"Do you see any herbs around here?" Stumpwhisker mewed, glancing at the two toms.

Nightpaw ducked low, nearly pressing his chin to his paws as he peered along the rim of the stones, while Cragpaw remained standing, his eyes narrowed sharply.

"I don't see anything," the dark gray tom pouted, his tail twitching slightly behind him.

Stumpwhisker turned his eyes to his darker brother. "And you, Nightpaw?"

Nightpaw's whiskers flicked and he stood up again. "No."

"Well clearly, neither of you were looking hard enough." Stumpwhisker jerked his muzzle, pointing to a crack just before their feet, where a wide-spreading, fern-like plant grew between the slabs of stone.

Cragpaw wrinkled his nose. There was only one herb like that, but he couldn't quite place its name. "Is it... juniper?" He suggested leerily. His thoughts whirled under Stumpwhisker's disbelieving gaze. "Wait, no! Juniper has berries!" He ducked, his face burning in embarrassment.

Nightpaw's ear flicked, a smirk dancing on the corner of his lips. "It's chervil, isn't it?" He proposed.

"Yes, it's chervil." Stumpwhisker visibly relaxed. "What do you use it for?"

Cragpaw remained silent as his brother tilted his black head. "It's used for infected wounds, isn't it? And can't the roots be used to soothe bellyaches?"

Stumpwhisker nodded. "Exactly. Excellent work, Nightpaw," he praised. His tail flicked gently along the black tom's shoulder. "Now, let's collect some. We already have a healthy helping of watermint, so the roots are unneeded. And remember, don't strip all of the leaves. Only take as much as is needed."

Cragpaw nodded, envy twisting in his gut at the eager glow in Nightpaw's eyes. So what if he remembers things better? I can be good at other things. Like prophecies and visions.

He huffed, carefully dropping into the shallow crevice without another word. He gently began nipping off bits of the stem that branched off into hundreds of soft leaves until he felt he'd collected enough. He looked at his pile, then back to the bush. His pile was generous, but the bush remained hale and healthy, still strongly decorated in its plumage. On the other side of the bush, Nightpaw had collected less than him, and so had Stumpwhisker.

Cragpaw leaped back to the top of the stone, and the other two joined him shortly after. Stumpwhisker assessed at him quietly. "You still collected too much this time," he grunted. "Most of that will be dried up before we can use it, and the juices are what we need."

"Oh," Cragpaw mewed softly, his ears drooping. "Sorry."

Stumpwhisker simply shook his head, scooped up his mouthful of greens, and began the trek back to camp. Nightpaw hurried to walk side-by-side with the medicine cat, his tail high over his spine, while Cragpaw trailed a few tail-lengths behind. He dejectedly scuffed at the ground with his paws.

By the time they returned to camp, darkness had already fallen. The sun had just dipped beneath the horizon, the remaining light casting long shadows in the camp. Glazefall was eating a thrush in the corner of the clearing with Sparkclaw, and she brightened at the sight of the three medicine cats. She quickly abandoned her food and hurried over, the ginger tom trailing happily at her side.

"Cragpaw was right," she gasped, excitement shining in her eyes. "I went to see Rattail with Smokebird, and she said I'm expecting kits!"

"I'm going to be a father," Sparkclaw purred.

Cragpaw dropped his herbs in surprise. "Oh, congratulations!" He choked out.

Stumpwhisker blinked slowly. "That's wonderful news. Did the chamomile help at all?"

Glazefall nodded. "Yes, I'm feeling mostly better because of it, thank you. I'm worried I may fall sick again tomorrow, though. Do you think I could have some more?"

"Not so soon," the tom mewed. "You seem to have a bad case of mother's sickness, and while it helps to soothe it, too much can cause early contractions. Try to sleep and drink more, and eat right when you wake up. If none of that works, find something mild to chew on, like grass. Once you start, it shouldn't be so bad anymore."

"Okay, thank you." Glazefall dipped her head politely, her eyes shining with excitement as she and Sparkclaw returned to their meal.

Cragpaw spun around to look at Stumpwhisker, his eyes gleaming. "I told you so!" He exclaimed, his eyes glowing with elation.

Stumpwhisker blinked in acknowledgement. "So you did. Now, fetch yourselves something to eat, I'll take the thyme to the stores. You both worked hard today."

Nodding eagerly, Cragpaw raced off to the fresh-kill pile, his brother trotting along a few tail-lengths behind.