by Erin Hunter
“How?” Jayfeather asked, his tone suggesting it was a mouse-brained idea.
Ivypool thought for a moment. “We could use fox dung . . . it would be yucky getting it here, but it might work.”
“And how would you get it?” Jayfeather mewed. “Just stroll up to a fox and say, ‘Please make some dirt for me?’ I don’t think so.”
Ivypool rolled her eyes. Jayfeather might be our medicine cat, but he’s such a mouse-brain sometimes. “Old dung,” she responded. “You didn’t think I’d march into a fox’s den to get it fresh, did you?” She said the last part under her breath. It was pointless trying to argue with Jayfeather—somehow he always won.
But Jayfeather was nodding. “You could be right. Sort it out, will you, as soon as we’ve taken these plants back to the hollow?”
Ivypool sighed. Great, she thought as she followed Jayfeather back down the trail. Why can’t I keep my big mouth shut?
Back in the stone hollow, Ivypool went with Jayfeather to the medicine cat’s den to deposit her bundle of marigold.
“You found some!” Briarlight exclaimed, pulling herself across the den to plunge her nose into the aromatic stems. “I’ll sort them out and store them right away.”
“Thanks, Ivypool.” Jayfeather gave her a curt nod. “You can get on with that fox dung now.”
Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Ivypool padded back into the clearing and glanced around. She knew she would have to find another warrior to go with her. Looking for fox dung meant she might encounter a fox, and she knew she would get a talking-to if she took the risk alone. The first cat she spotted was Blossomfall, emerging from the thorn tunnel and bounding across the camp to drop a vole on the fresh-kill pile.
“Hi, Blossomfall,” Ivypool meowed, heading up to her. “Will you come out with me to find some fox dung?”
Blossomfall stared at her as if she had sprouted a second head. And I can’t say I blame her, Ivypool thought wryly. “To scare rabbits away from Jayfeather’s marigold patch,” she explained.
“I . . . I’m sorry, Ivypool, I can’t,” Blossomfall replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I promised I’d help Purdy and Mousefur with their ticks.” She hurried off toward the elders’ den.
Huh! Ivypool thought. So why aren’t you collecting mouse bile from Jayfeather if you’re going to do ticks?
At first she thought that Blossomfall was just trying to get out of a messy and maybe dangerous task. But she’s not usually like that . . . no, she’s still uneasy with me because we met in the Dark Forest. Maybe she’s starting to realize how bad it is there, and that’s why she doesn’t want to talk to me.
She jumped, startled, as she heard the pawsteps of another cat approaching behind her. Glancing around, she saw her father, Birchfall, who padded up and dropped a squirrel onto the fresh-kill pile.
“You scared me out of my fur!” she gasped.
Birchfall twitched his ears. “I didn’t think anything scared you, Ivypool.”
Ivypool thought that was a weird thing to say, but she didn’t have time to think about it. “I need to collect some fox dung to protect Jayfeather’s plants against rabbits,” she mewed. “Will you come with me?”
“Sure.” Birchfall gave his chest fur a quick lick and bounded toward the thorn tunnel beside Ivypool.
Once in the forest, Ivypool took the lead and headed for the border between ThunderClan and the woods outside the Clan territories. “We’re not likely to find foxes living anywhere else,” she explained. “All the Clans are pretty good about driving them out.”
Birchfall nodded. “I saw you three nights ago,” he meowed after a moment. “Training with Hawkfrost in the Dark Forest.”
Ivypool halted, staring in shock at her father. She hoped he couldn’t hear how hard her heart was pounding. It was hard to think that any ThunderClan cats would join Tigerstar and the other dark warriors, and harder still when the cat was her own kin. Can I trust any of my Clanmates? she wondered. Except for Lionblaze, Dovewing, and Jayfeather, they could all be visiting the Dark Forest!
“It was my first visit,” Birchfall continued. “I spotted you through the trees.”
“I didn’t see you,” Ivypool replied, trying not to show him how disconcerted she was.
Birchfall’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “No, you looked a bit busy.”
“I’ve learned some useful stuff there,” Ivypool meowed carefully.
Her father nodded, the amusement in his eyes replaced by confidence. “The training they give us is good. It gives us a chance to make the Clan even stronger,” he meowed. “I thought I’d learned all I could, but now I see there are ways to be even more powerful in battle for my Clan.”
Ivypool didn’t want to go on talking about the Dark Forest. “It should help dealing with foxes,” she conceded. “Can you scent anything yet?”
For a moment Birchfall watched her intently; Ivypool’s pelt itched beneath his amber gaze. Then he raised his head and parted his jaws to taste the air. “No,” he mewed. “We need to get closer to the border.”
Ivypool felt even more uneasy as she and Birchfall crossed the ThunderClan scent marks and stepped into the unfamiliar forest. The ground here was uneven, the hollows filled with damp, decaying leaves; rocks poked up out of the tussocky grass. The trees grew close together, the branches arching overhead to cut out the light. Ivypool shivered, convinced that she was being watched, though when she spun around she couldn’t see any gleam of eyes peering out from the undergrowth or the branches above.
“Fox!” Birchfall exclaimed with satisfaction. “And not far off, I’d guess. This way.”
Ivypool followed him around a clump of bracken. She couldn’t shake off the sensation that some creature was watching her, and kept glancing over her shoulder, vainly peering into the shadows.
“Ouch!” She let out a startled yowl. Bramble tendrils surrounded her, thorns clawing into her pelt. For a couple of heartbeats she struggled wildly, imagining foxes waiting for her to give up and turn into easy prey.
“Keep still.” Birchfall’s voice came from beside her. “Honestly, Ivypool, you were staring around like a kit on its first trip outside the camp. Didn’t you see the bramble thicket in front of you?”
“Oh, sure,” Ivypool muttered. “I just walked into it for fun.” Raising her voice, she added, “Get me out, Birchfall. I don’t want to be stuck here if a fox comes by.”
Her father began pulling the prickly branches off her, and soon Ivypool was able to wriggle clear. Thorns were still stuck in her pelt, and several silver-white tufts were clinging to the tendrils.
“It looks as if it’s been snowing,” Birchfall meowed with a snort of amusement. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Then let’s keep going, and for StarClan’s sake, watch where you’re putting your paws this time.”
Ivypool followed him, simmering with resentment. He’s talking to me like I don’t know anything. He needs to remember I’m not just a kit anymore.
On the other side of the thicket Ivypool spotted a dark hole between a couple of rocks, almost hidden behind trailing ferns. The smell of fox was very strong.
“There’s the den,” Birchfall pointed out with a flick of his tail.
“But the smell is stale,” Ivypool added, eager to show off her scenting skills. “I don’t think the fox is there now.”
Birchfall nodded. “Right. So let’s find some dung and get out of here before it comes back.”
Gagging on the stench, Ivypool tracked down a pile of fox dung near the opening of the den. She picked up a stick and rolled one end in the dung until she had coated it thoroughly.
“Great StarClan, that stinks!” Birchfall exclaimed. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“You’ll be glad to have the marigold if you’re wounded,” Ivypool told him through her teeth.
Birchfall rolled his eyes. “And there isn’t an easier way?”
Ignoring his ques
tion, Ivypool hefted the stick in her jaws and headed back toward the ThunderClan border. To her relief, the feeling of being watched faded as soon as she was safely back in her own territory.
I wonder if it was the fox, watching us. But then, why didn’t it attack?
The stick was awkward to carry, but taking it in turns Ivypool and Birchfall managed to transport it back to the clearing above the camp where the marigold plants grew. Ivypool traced a circle around the damaged clumps, daubing the dungy end in the grass.
“That should keep the rabbits away,” Birchfall meowed with satisfaction.
Dropping the stick, Ivypool felt a brief claw-scratch of worry. “I hope we did the right thing. What if other foxes smell fox scent here? Will they think this is their territory?”
Birchfall shrugged. “They’re mouse-brained if they do. But we’d better tell the patrols what we’ve done, or they’ll be bringing back reports of fox invasion.”
Ivypool nodded. “I’ll find Brambleclaw and tell him.” I hope this was a good idea, she thought, misgiving stabbing her like a thorn in her pad. We’ve just brought the scent of our worst enemy into the heart of our territory.
She headed for the trail back to the camp, with Birchfall just behind her. “Let’s go back the long way, by the stream on the WindClan border,” he suggested. “I want to wash the fox stink off my paws.”
On their way to the border, they pushed through clumps of cool green ferns, the fresh green tang beginning to mask the fox scent on their fur. Ivypool felt herself relaxing in the familiar surroundings. But heading down the slope toward the stream she failed to see a branch lying in the grass. As she tripped over it, pain stabbed her leg where she had been wounded in the training exercise the night before.
“Mouse dung!” she muttered, wincing.
“You’ll need to be quicker next time,” Birchfall commented; clearly he knew exactly how she had gotten her injury. “You should watch where you’re putting your paws. It would be a shame if you couldn’t fight anymore because of a stupid accident. You must know how tough the training is.”
Ivypool gave him a swift glance. “Yeah.”
Her pads prickled with the strangeness of sharing her nocturnal life with a Clanmate, especially when that Clanmate was her father. Birchfall must think I want to be part of Tigerstar’s plans, she thought uneasily. He doesn’t know that I’m spying for ThunderClan. And he can’t find out, she added to herself uncomfortably.
Ivypool knew that the Dark Forest cats meant to destroy the Clans. But she found it hard to believe that Birchfall and Blossomfall were enemies of ThunderClan. They must have been tricked. I know Birchfall only wants to do the best he can for his Clan. And yet she couldn’t entirely stifle her doubts, like a small worm of unease eating into her.
Trying to push her disturbing thoughts away, Ivypool reached the bank of the stream and stood beside Birchfall, gazing down into the water. “Do we really have to get down into there?” she asked.
“We could go back to camp stinking of fox,” Birchfall replied. “Not much of a choice, really.”
Reluctantly he slid down the bank until his paws splashed into the water. Ivypool followed, wading a little farther into the stream and flinching as the cold current flowed around her legs. She rubbed one paw against another to get rid of the clinging scent. Behind her, Ivypool could hear Birchfall splashing around. Suddenly the sounds stopped.
“Uh-oh,” Birchfall muttered. “We’ve been spotted.”
Four cats were looking down at them from the WindClan side of the stream. Narrowing her eyes against the light, Ivypool recognized Breezepelt and his apprentice, Boulderpaw, and beside them Heathertail with her apprentice, Furzepaw. Neither Breezepelt nor Furzepaw showed any signs of exhaustion after their training session in the Dark Forest the night before, when Ivypool had faced them in a drawn-out mock battle.
“What are you doing in our stream?” Breezepelt demanded. “Get out!”
Birchfall stood his ground. “It’s not your stream,” he pointed out. “We have as much right to be here as you do.”
“Your territory ends at the bank,” Heathertail snapped. “That’s where you’ve put your scent markers.”
“And you’ve put yours on your own bank,” Birchfall retorted. “As if any cat can put scent markers in running water!”
Ivypool felt completely stupid standing belly-deep in the stream and tilting her head up to see the cats on the bank. She waded back to Birchfall and touched his shoulder with her tail. “Let’s get out of here,” she murmured.
Birchfall didn’t move. “The stream doesn’t belong to either Clan,” he insisted. “We can wash our paws here if we want.”
Breezepelt rolled his eyes and leaned farther over the bank so that he could talk to them without Heathertail hearing him. “Look, I don’t want to fight you over this,” he muttered. “But I’ll have to if you keep arguing. Just clear out, okay?”
Birchfall looked as if he might have agreed, but just then Heathertail stepped forward. “Why are you wasting time talking?” she hissed. “We should fight them if they don’t leave. Furzepaw, why are you hanging back there?”
“I’ll fight them!” Boulderpaw announced.
“No, Boulderpaw,” Breezepelt told his apprentice. “This isn’t a battle worth fighting. These are just a couple of ThunderClan fleabags.”
Ivypool realized with a pang of anxiety that the WindClan Dark Forest warriors were allying themselves with her and Birchfall, not with their own Clanmates. That can’t be right!
“They’re fleabags who are trespassing on our territory.” Heathertail padded forward and gazed down into the stream. Her eyes glittered with fury. “Leave now, or fight.”
“Come on,” Ivypool urged Birchfall. “We don’t want any more trouble.”
“No, we don’t,” Birchfall agreed. “But we’re not the cats who are causing it.” His neck fur fluffed up with anger as he met Heathertail’s gaze. “I’m not going to back down when we’re not doing anything wrong.”
To Ivypool’s dismay, he waded across the stream and leaped up onto the bank on the WindClan side. Breezepelt let out a snarl and came to stand beside his Clanmate. “Mouse-brain!” he hissed at Birchfall. “Now I’ll have to fight you! Just wait until I see you in the Dark Forest. You need to be taught where your loyalties lie.”
“Yeah, we’ll get you then as well!” Furzepaw added, his paws tearing up the grass as he crouched for a pounce.
To Ivypool’s relief, Heathertail seemed so focused on Birchfall that she wasn’t paying attention to her Clanmates, and their voices were so soft that she would have had to strain to overhear what they were saying.
Reluctantly Ivypool waded across the stream. I have to support my Clanmate! Am I going to spend the rest of my life fighting, awake or asleep?
But before Ivypool could leap up onto the opposite bank, she heard the sound of cats crunching over dry leaves in ThunderClan territory. Sorreltail appeared from behind a hazel thicket, with her patrol hard on her paws: Bumblestripe, Hazeltail, and Berrynose. All four cats were carrying prey.
“What’s going on?” Sorreltail asked, dropping her vole.
Thank StarClan! Ivypool turned to face the tortoiseshell warrior. “Birchfall and I were washing our paws in the stream,” she explained. “Then this WindClan patrol came along and told us to get out, so—”
“So you’re going to fight,” Sorreltail sighed. “Over cats washing their paws. I never heard anything so ridiculous! Ivypool, Birchfall, get over here right now.”
Ivypool obeyed with relief, climbing out of the stream and shaking water from each leg in turn. Birchfall was more reluctant, giving Heathertail and Breezepelt a baleful look before he slid down into the stream again and waded back to his own territory.
Horror clawed at Ivypool’s belly. My father never used to be so battle-hungry, she thought. The Dark Forest is changing him!
“We’ll settle this later!” Birchfall meowed over his shoulder.
&n
bsp; “You bet we will,” Breezepelt retorted, twitching his tail-tip from side to side.
Anxiety surged up inside Ivypool like a flooding stream as she followed Sorreltail and the others back to camp. More trouble tonight, she thought wretchedly. Training in the Dark Forest is bad enough, but now we have a score to settle with Breezepelt as well. Will there ever be an end to it?
Chapter 3
Dovewing clawed at the moss, pulling great pawfuls away from the roots of the oak tree.
“It’s nice and dry,” Whitewing commented. “That should please Mousefur and Purdy.” She paused, then added hesitantly, “Dovewing, I’m worried about these bad dreams you’re having. I—”
“I’ll be fine, honestly,” Dovewing interrupted, wishing she hadn’t said anything about the dreams in which she saw Swoop, over and over again, carried away by the eagle, the Tribe cat’s heartrending cries shattering the air. Avoiding her mother’s gaze, Dovewing bent her head over the growing pile of moss, checking it for thorns. “The dreams will go away eventually.”
Whitewing shook her head. “It’s been a whole moon since you got back, and you’re still having them.” She pulled off another clump of moss, raking her claws down the oak root. “I blame myself for letting you go to the mountains. You’re too young, and you haven’t got enough warrior experience to travel so far.”
“You can’t say that!” Dovewing protested, looking up from the moss. “You didn’t let me go. Firestar chose me.”
“Yes, and I would expect a Clan leader to have more sense,” Whitewing meowed.
I wish I could tell you why he made that decision, but I can’t, Dove-wing thought. “Don’t forget I led the expedition to find the beavers,” she reminded her mother. “I got lots of experience there.”
“I know.” Whitewing still looked anxious. “StarClan shouldn’t have sent the dream about the beavers to an apprentice. It was far too much responsibility.”
Except they didn’t send a dream. . . . Dovewing bent even more busily over the moss to hide her expression. Whitewing would never sleep again if she knew how much responsibility I was born with, thanks to the prophecy.
