The Darkest Hour by Erin Hunter

leaves.
    â€œGood,” Cinderpelt mewed soothingly. “That’s very good. You’re going to be fine, Sorrelkit.”
    The little kit lay gasping and trembling; then Firestar watched in dismay as she went limp and her eyes closed.
    â€œIs she dead?” he whispered.
    Before Cinderpelt could reply, a yowl came from the entrance to the camp. “My kit! Where’s my kit?” It was Willowpelt, racing up the ravine with Bramblepaw. She crouched beside Sorrelkit, her blue eyes wide and distraught. “What happened?”
    â€œShe ate deathberries,” Cinderpelt explained. “But I think I’ve gotten rid of them all. We’ll carry her back to my den and I’ll keep an eye on her.”
    Willowpelt began licking Sorrelkit’s tortoiseshell fur. By now Firestar had seen the faint rise and fall of the kit’s flank as she breathed. She was not dead, but he could see from Cinderpelt’s anxious look that she was still in danger from the effects of the poison.
    For the first time Firestar had a chance to draw breath and look for Graystripe. The gray warrior had pinned Darkstripe down a few tail-lengths away with one paw on his neck and another on his belly. Darkstripe was bleeding from one ear, and he spat in fury as he fought vainly to free himself.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Firestar demanded.
    â€œDon’t ask me,” snarled Graystripe. Firestar could hardlyremember seeing his friend look so savage. “Ask this…this piece of fox dung why he tried to murder a kit!”
    â€œMurder?” Firestar echoed. The accusation was so unexpected that for a heartbeat he could do nothing but stare stupidly.
    â€œMurder,” repeated Graystripe. “Go on, ask him why he was feeding deathberries to Sorrelkit.”
    â€œYou mouse-brained fool.” Darkstripe’s voice was cold as he gazed up at his attacker. “I wasn’t feeding her the berries. I was trying to stop her from eating them.”
    â€œI know what I saw,” Graystripe insisted through gritted teeth.
    Firestar tried to recall the image of the warrior and the kit that he had seen when he paused at the top of the ravine. “Let him get up,” he meowed reluctantly to his friend. “Darkstripe, tell me what happened.”
    The warrior rose and shook himself. Firestar could see bare patches on his flank where Graystripe had clawed out lumps of fur.
    â€œI was coming back to camp,” he began. “I found the stupid kit stuffing herself with death berries, and I was trying to stop her when this idiot jumped on me.” He stared resentfully at Graystripe. “Why would I want to murder a kit?”
    â€œThat’s what I want to know!” spat Graystripe.
    â€œOf course, we know who the noble Firestar will believe!” Darkstripe sneered. “There’s no use expecting justice in ThunderClan these days.”
    The accusation stung Firestar, all the more so because herecognized that there was a core of truth in it. He would take Graystripe’s word over Darkstripe’s any day, but he had to be absolutely certain that his friend wasn’t making a mistake.
    â€œI don’t have to decide now,” Firestar meowed. “As soon as Sorrelkit wakes up, she’ll be able to tell us what happened.”
    As he spoke he thought he saw a flicker of unease in Darkstripe’s eyes, but it was gone so quickly he could not be sure. The dark warrior twitched his ears contemptuously. “Fine,” he meowed. “Then you’ll see which of us is telling the truth.” He stalked off toward the camp entrance with tail held high.
    â€œI did see it, Firestar,” Graystripe assured him, his sides heaving from the fight. “I can’t understand why he’d want to hurt Sorrelkit, but I’m quite sure that’s what he was doing.”
    Firestar sighed. “I believe you, but we have to let every cat see that justice is done.