There was a rustle in the leaves above her head, and Maplekit looked up just in time for her brother to crash through the roof of the nursery. "Sunkit!" She yelped with surprise. He looked sheepishly up at Mudfoot, who was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and disapproval gleaming in her blue eyes.

"Now the warriors are going to have to fix this mess!" She scolded, though the words were somewhat undermined by the amount of licking she gave her son. Burnkit, who was sitting behind Maplekit, sighed. "Where is Dewfall?" She asked, annoyance ringing her usually calm and happy voice. She's right, Maplekit thought regretfully, Dewfall is never this late. It's almost sunhigh. She peeked her little head out of the nursery Just in time to see her father and the rest of the patrol pad in. "He's back!" She cried out joyfully, eyes lit up.

Then she noticed.

She stopped halfway through the clearing, green eyes widening with horror as she saw the disaster before her. "Dewfall?" She asked, tilting her head. The grey tom was being carried into camp by his clanmates, who were dripping with blood. His eyes were closed, but the ginger she kit could just detect the slight rise and fall of her father's chest. She let out a choked sob of fear and horror, backing up and bumping into something warm.

It was Mudfoot, who was standing and staring, transfixed, at her mate. "No!" She cried, racing to the patrol and almost pushing Berryleg over as she confronted the tires she cat. "What happened!?" She asked, eyes wide and panicky as she examined her mates side. "Weedclan patrol." Berryleg wheezed out, blue grey fur almost purple with the blood. Mudfoot pressed her nose to Dewfall's side, closing her eyes. "I love you." She whispered.

Blackpath chose that moment to arrive.

When he saw who his patients were to be, he sighed, and then the tall black tom spotted the grey one. "Great Nightclan!" He said, his eyes wide. "Take him to my den." He instructed Windracer and Dawnleap, who were carrying him. The two toms trudged over to the medicine den, groaning under the grey tom's weight. "Will he be ok?" Maplekt heard her mother ask the medicine cat. "Well, he has a bad belly wound, his throat is torn, he has several bloody scratches."

"So I think he might not make it."