Warriors: Legends of the Clans

by Erin Hunter

  “She’s really brave,” Jake mewed proudly. “She doesn’t see so well now, and she has to eat special food which tastes disgusting. But she still scratches the dog if it gets too close!”

  Pinestar purred. “I can imagine her doing that.” He stood up and flexed each leg in turn. “I must go back to the camp. Nice meeting you, Jake.”

  “And you!” meowed the kittypet. “I’ll tell my friends that wild cats aren’t nearly as fierce as they think!”

  “Some of us are,” Pinestar warned. “You certainly shouldn’t wander into the forest. You keep to your territory, and we’ll keep to ours, okay?”

  “We’ll see about that!” called Jake as he scrambled back up the fence. “See you again, Pinestar!” He vanished over the top with a whisk of his ginger tail.

  Pinestar shook his head. Kittypets were such strange creatures! All the strengths and skills of a Clan cat, but not remotely aware of what they could do. How could they lead such boring lives? What did they even do all day?

  But he had enjoyed talking to Jake. It made a change from discussing patrols or borders or where to find the best source of prey. Perhaps he would see him again, just to pass the time. Shaking a loose blade of grass from his pelt, Pinestar turned away from the fence and trotted into the trees.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Pinestar wrenched himself free from the WindClan warrior and felt his pelt rip. The black WindClan tom staggered sideways on his twisted paw but quickly recovered his balance and sprang at Pinestar again, teeth bared. Pinestar whirled to face him and reared up on his hind legs to strike at the cat with his front paws. He rained down blows, screwing up his eyes against the blood that spattered his muzzle and belly. The WindClan tom—Pinestar thought it was Deadfoot but in the scrum he could barely distinguish his own Clanmates—let out a yowl and streaked away, ears flattened.

  Pinestar paused and looked around. He was halfway up the side of the hollow that sheltered WindClan’s camp. The shallow dip was alive with writhing cats and the air echoed with screeching. Just below him, Stormtail and Dappletail were fighting side by side against three WindClan cats, bravely holding their ground. On the far side of the camp, Swiftbreeze was dragging Leopardpaw to safety. The apprentice had a deep wound along her flank, and Pinestar could see Featherwhisker waiting for her just behind a boulder on the edge of the hollow.

  This was not supposed to happen! Goosefeather said we could destroy WindClan’s supply of herbs to weaken them, but that no blood would be shed. How did I ever imagine that WindClan would allow us to attack their medicine stores?

  There was a flash of movement outside the WindClan medicine den and Pinestar watched Moonflower and Stonepelt slip inside.

  We’ve done it! Pinestar thought with relief. I will call my Clan to retreat.

  But before he could open his mouth, two WindClan cats followed the ThunderClan warriors into the den. A heartbeat later, the WindClan medicine cat, Hawkheart, streaked across the blood-soaked clearing and crouched at the entrance, his tail lashing as if he was waiting for prey.

  “Oh StarClan, no,” Pinestar whispered.

  There was a terrible howl from inside the medicine cat’s den and Stonepelt scrambled out, blood pouring from a fresh wound on his shoulder. A WindClan warrior snarled at his heels. Then came Moonflower, her blue-gray fur stained green with herb juice. The second WindClan cat was chasing her, but he fell back as Hawkheart lunged at Moonflower, hurling the she-cat off her paws.

  Pinestar bunched his hindquarters beneath him, ready to spring down and help his Clanmate, but Hawkheart was already springing onto Moonflower and sinking his teeth into her neck. Moonflower struggled free and clouted Hawkheart’s muzzle with her paw. Hawkheart shrugged her off as if she were nothing more than a fly. He snatched the ThunderClan she-cat by the throat and threw her across the grass. She landed with a wet thud, and lay still.

  “Noooooooo!” A tiny wail pierced the air, and with a sinking heart, Pinestar stared across the camp to Bluepaw, Moonflower’s daughter, who was watching in horror from the top of the hollow. She had only been made an apprentice two sunrises ago. And now she is in the thick of battle, with her mother dying in front of her. Is this what StarClan had wanted when they spoke to Goosefeather about the WindClan herbs?

  “ThunderClan, retreat!” Pinestar tipped back his head and yowled the order to the vast empty sky.

  The clearing below fell silent, with only the howling rain and wind to remind Pinestar that he was still alive, still in this terrible place filled with blood and pain . . . and now death. Heatherstar padded up the slope to meet him. Her blue eyes were filled with rage.

  “This attack was unjust,” she growled. “StarClan would never have let you win. Take your wounded and leave.”

  I am so, so sorry. Pinestar knew there was nothing he could say. He dipped his head and turned away to join his Clanmates, who were gathering at the entrance to the camp. Each warrior stood with glazed eyes and drooping tail, blood staining their battered pelts. Behind them, the WindClan cats melted away, vanishing into their dens. One shape remained in the clearing, her fur flattened by the pelting rain. Pinestar watched numbly as Bluepaw stumbled over to her mother’s body and crouched beside it.

  “Moonflower! Moonflower! It’s me, Bluepaw!”

  But Moonflower didn’t respond. Pinestar couldn’t bear it any longer. He padded across the muddy, scarlet-streaked grass and looked down at the apprentice. “Bluepaw,” he prompted gently.

  The little she-cat stared at him. “Why won’t she get up?”

  “She’s dead, Bluepaw.”

  “She can’t be.” Bluepaw put her tiny paws on Moonflower’s sodden flank and shook her. “She can’t be dead. We were fighting warriors, not rogues or loners. Warriors don’t kill without reason!”

  How can I tell her that she is right? That the warrior code has been broken, and her mother is gone? We started this battle. This is all my fault.

  “She tried to destroy our medicine supply,” came a low growl. Hawkheart had left his den and was crouched a fox-length away. “That was reason enough.”

  “But StarClan told us to do it!” Bluepaw mewed. Her huge blue eyes burned into Pinestar’s. “We had no choice. They told us to, didn’t they? Goosefeather said so.”

  Hawkheart let out a harsh huffing sound. “You risked so much on the word of Goosefeather?” He lashed his tail and stalked away, hunched against the rain.

  “What does he mean?” Bluepaw whispered. She turned back to Moonflower and shoved her with her muzzle. The dead cat rocked limply in the shallow puddle that had formed around her. “Wake up!” Bluepaw pleaded. “It was all a mistake. You don’t have to be dead.”

  Swiftbreeze stepped forward and pulled Bluepaw gently away. Pinestar bent down and picked up Moonflower by her scruff. He winced as her weight dragged on muscles already sore from fighting, but he forced himself to lift her clear of the puddle and carry her across the clearing to the rest of the ThunderClan warriors. He would take her all the way home for a warrior’s burial, then face the fury of his Clanmates as they realized he had led them into a terrible defeat.

  “Was it really bad?” Jake asked. His green eyes were full of sympathy.

  Pinestar nodded. “I thought Swiftbreeze was going to kill Goosefeather, she was so angry that Moonflower had died.”

  “At least she blamed the right cat,” Jake commented. “It was Goosefeather who told you to attack WindClan, after all.”

  “But I am the Clan leader!” Pinestar protested. He shifted his haunches so that he was sitting more comfortably on the short, soft grass. They had met behind Jake’s Twoleg den, in the shade of a bush with long, trailing branches and pale green leaves. “It was my decision to lead them into battle.”

  Jake reached up and licked the cut on Pinestar’s ear. The blood had dried and was tugging at his fur. “You told me that a leader has to trust his medicine cat,” he murmured. “You may be leader, but you are still bound by the warrior code.”

 
Pinestar pictured Goosefeather, his gray hair ragged, his blue eyes glazed and wild. “I . . . I don’t know if I can trust him anymore,” he admitted, each word wrenched from his belly. “His prophecies are so strange now, and I’ve seen him watching me as if he knows something that I don’t. I’m scared that he has seen an omen about me which he isn’t sharing.”

  “Perhaps an omen telling him that you won’t always listen to his nonsense?” purred Jake. He finished with Pinestar’s ear and started to knead the ThunderClan leader’s flanks with his paws, purring softly.

  Pinestar stretched out flat and rested his cheek on the ground. It had been so easy for Pinestar to slip into the habit of visiting Jake every moon, then every half-moon, to talk about nothing much at all, to lie in the sun on the Twoleg-groomed grass, to watch birds fluttering without feeling the need to stalk them.

  Jake was curious about life in the Clans, but not to the point of wanting to go over the fence into the forest. He was no threat to ThunderClan, even though he knew the deputy and medicine cat by name, knew where the weakest parts of the border were, and how Pinestar was concerned about the safety of new apprentices. Pinestar had mentioned a WindClan warrior, Talltail, from time to time, and the first question Jake had asked Pinestar today was whether he had seen the long-tailed black-and-white tom in the battle. Pinestar had assured him that Talltail had not been injured, as far as he knew.

  Jake was not a Clanmate, but a friend. And Pinestar valued him as much as any of his warriors.

  “I cannot ignore my medicine cat,” Pinestar meowed now, twisting so that Jake could give some attention to his other shoulder. “I cannot do anything but watch my Clanmates die,” he added quietly.

  Jake paused and rested his muzzle on Pinestar’s back. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

  “Ah, you help me plenty,” mewed Pinestar, sitting up. “There is no other cat I can talk to like this.”

  “What about Leopardpaw?” Jake teased. “You’ve mentioned her often enough.”

  “She’s a good apprentice,” Pinestar meowed a little defensively. “I’m going to make her a warrior soon. She was wounded in the battle, but she’s going to be okay, thank StarClan.”

  Jake studied him with his head tilted on one side. “You care too much, Pinestar. You can’t save every one of your Clanmates from the dangers of the life you lead.”

  “I wish I could,” whispered Pinestar, lying down and resting his head on his paws.

  “Hey, Jake, I didn’t know you had a visitor!”

  Pinestar lifted his head as a small brown tabby jumped down from the wall and trotted across the grass.

  “I’m Shanty,” she mewed.

  “This is Pinestar,” meowed Jake, standing up to touch muzzles with the she-cat.

  Shanty tipped her head on one side and wrinkled her nose. “You’re not a kittypet.”

  “No, I’m a Clan cat,” mewed Pinestar. “I live in the forest.”

  “With the wild cats? Cool!” Shanty settled down beside them and curled her tail over her paws. She narrowed her eyes at Pinestar. “You look kind of battered. Are you okay?”

  Pinestar twitched his ear. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

  Shanty turned to Jake. “Did you hear about Tyr? His Twolegs left his door locked all night and he had to sleep in the shed!”

  “Whoa! Tyr would not have liked that!” Jake snorted. “He’s a pedigree Burmese,” he explained to Pinestar.

  “And never stops reminding us!” Shanty added with a sniff.

  Pinestar knew he couldn’t tell a Burmese from a badger. He tried not to lean closer to sniff Shanty’s fur. The tabby was definitely a she-cat, but she smelled different from any Clan queen. Pinestar liked that she wasn’t afraid of him, or even particularly curious about life in the forest. On this side of the fence, Pinestar wanted to be treated like any other cat. A friend, not a strange and fearsome enemy. He trusted Jake as much as he did his Clanmates—and more than some of them.

  Perhaps Shanty would become a friend, too. He settled back onto his belly and closed his eyes. The battle with WindClan, his injured Clanmates, the humiliation of defeat, all seemed a long way away as he listened to Shanty and Jake chatter about cats he didn’t know, and had no responsibility for.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “You’ve made the right choice there,” Smallear commented, flicking a midge off his pelt with his tail.

  “Hmm? What?” Pinestar lifted his head. The sandy ground was warm beneath his shoulder, and he had been dozing off after a long hunting patrol.

  Smallear gestured toward a mottled black she-cat who was nibbling on a starling outside the warriors’ den. “Leopardfoot, I mean,” he meowed. There was a glint in his eye. “Cats are starting to talk, you know.”

  “I didn’t think you were one for listening to gossip,” Pinestar retorted. His fur felt hot. He did like Leopardfoot, and he had been spending time with her recently, but he didn’t want to make a statement to the entire Clan about it.

  Smallear pricked his ears. “Then the rumors aren’t true? We won’t be hearing the patter of tiny paws in the nursery anytime soon?”

  Pinestar stretched out and rolled over. “New kits are always a blessing,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to have this conversation with one of his warriors. Just because he was Clan leader, he wasn’t allowed any kind of private life? He told himself that he was feeling prickly because of Smallear’s curiosity—and not because he was waiting until the clearing was quiet enough for him to slip out and visit the Twolegplace again.

  He opened his eyes a slit and watched Bluepaw and Snowpaw carefully dividing a squirrel between them. They deserved to be made warriors soon. They had been so brave since watching their mother die in the battle with WindClan. Pinestar shut his eyes and tried to ignore the wave of pain that swept through him. So many more battles since that day, so many vigils for fallen Clanmates . . .

  He had fought alongside his warriors every time, plunging himself into the thickest action, losing more lives than he could keep count of. In fact, Goosefeather had reminded him recently that he had only two left, and had told him to take more care. Inside his mind, Pinestar shrugged. He had more lives to lay down than his Clanmates; why should he treat himself with any more care? Sunfall would make an excellent leader in his place; there would always be more Clan leaders, more battles to be fought and lives to be lost.

  “Hey, Smallear!” Sweetpaw was calling to him from the tunnel of gorse. “You promised to take me battle training after sunhigh!” The white patches on the little cat’s pelt gleamed in the sun, and her tiny ears were pricked.

  Smallear heaved himself to his paws. “StarClan save me from overenthusiastic apprentices,” he muttered, and Pinestar purred with amusement. For a moment he wondered if Leopardfoot would have his kits, and if she did, would he take one of them as his own apprentice.

  And teach my own son or daughter how to attack and wound and frighten our enemies, for the sake of these invisible walls we have built around our home? Could I really do that, knowing I might have to watch them die in battle one day?

  The clearing fell silent as cats headed out for patrols or training, or to take advantage of the cool forest while the sun was at its height. Pinestar stood up and walked over to the entrance. No cat called after him to ask where he was going, or whether he had any orders. He ducked through the gorse tunnel, raced up the side of the ravine, and plunged into the trees. He took a less direct route so that he avoided a hunting patrol led by Sunfall, entering treecutplace close to the Thunderpath instead. He trotted through the long grass at the foot of the wooden fence, enjoying the feeling of cool stalks brushing his belly fur.

  When he drew level with a stunted pine tree that had a broken branch trailing on the ground, he scrambled up the fence and dropped down on the other side. There were no kittypets living here, but Pinestar had seen a pink-faced Twoleg watching him through one of the openings in the side of the den. He crossed the grass
in two bounds, then leaped over the wall and ran along a narrow stone path. Nothing about this place resembled his home in the forest—not the scents in the air, the hard red dens, the rumble of monsters and shriek of young Twolegs—and yet it felt safe and familiar to Pinestar now. He avoided kittypets he hadn’t met yet, and he knew which dens had noisy dogs, but there was nothing here that frightened him. Monsters weren’t interested in him as long as he stayed out of their way; even Twolegs ignored him, except for the time he had stopped to make dirt beneath a bush and been chased off with a low yowl and waving pink paws.

  He crossed over an empty Thunderpath and headed for a low, glossy-leaved hedge. As he passed, a small brown head popped out. “Pinestar!”

  He stopped and looked back. “Hello, Shanty. Is this where you live?”

  Shanty stepped out of the hedge. “Yes. Would you like to come and look around?”

  Pinestar glanced along the Thunderpath. “I was on my way to see Jake.”

  “He’s mooning over Quince today.” Shanty tipped her head on one side. “She lives by the main road. Have you met her?”

  Pinestar shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m sure you’d like her,” Shanty mewed dryly. “All the toms seem to.” She turned back to the hedge.

  “Wait!” Pinestar called. “I . . . I’d love to see where you live, if that’s okay.”

  He squeezed into the hedge behind her and wriggled through the branches. The grass surrounding this den was soft and short and dazzlingly green like the rest of the grass in Twolegplace. There was a small round pool in the middle of the space with a spray of water splashing into it. Shanty beckoned to Pinestar with her tail and trotted over to the edge of the pool.

  Following more cautiously so that he dodged the flying droplets, Pinestar crouched down and peered in. Two bright orange shapes glided just below the surface.