The Forgotten Warrior

by Erin Hunter

  “I’ll get over it, I really will,” she reassured her mother. “And it’s not all bad. I’m lucky to have traveled such a long way beyond the Clan. There’s so much out there to see!”

  Whitewing sniffed. “There’s plenty to see here beside the lake, too.”

  “Yes, yes, I know there is . . . oh, there’s a huge thorn!” Dovewing exclaimed, snagging it in one claw and tossing it aside. “It’s a good thing that didn’t end up in Mousefur’s pelt.”

  For a few heartbeats Dovewing and Whitewing worked side by side, clawing more moss off the oak roots. Laying a particularly thick clump on the pile, Whitewing paused. “I was talking to Bumblestripe earlier,” she remarked. “He’s a nice young warrior—so polite! He likes you a lot, you know.”

  Dovewing began to feel hot and uncomfortable in her pelt. “I know,” she muttered, squirming with embarrassment.

  “You’ll need to find a mate one day, to keep the Clan going,” Whitewing pointed out.

  “There’s plenty of time,” Dovewing meowed. Will the prophecy allow me to have a mate? How can I have kits if I might be called on to save the Clan at any moment? An image of Tigerheart flashed into her mind, his eyes sparkling as if he were going to spring at her and roll her over in a play fight. Tigerheart would understand. . . .

  Dovewing thrust the thought away. “This is plenty of moss,” she announced. “Let’s get it back to camp.”

  Whitewing rolled the moss into two balls and the she-cats picked them up to carry back to the stone hollow. Now that Whitewing wasn’t fussing anymore, Dovewing enjoyed being with her; it wasn’t often that she and her mother could work together without any other cats. In spite of her disturbed night, she began to feel better. But her ears were full of weird buzzing noises, and she still couldn’t reach out with her senses.

  What if my powers have gone forever? she wondered, a cold trickle of fear passing through her from ears to tail-tip. No, she told herself. I’m not going to think about that.

  As she passed a thick bank of ferns not far from the entrance to the camp, there was a sudden flash of gray-and-white fur, and Mousewhisker leaped out of the undergrowth in front of her. Dovewing let out a startled squeak and jumped back, dropping the ball of moss.

  “Got you!” Mousewhisker exclaimed with a mrrow of laughter. “I’ve never seen you jump like that. Have you got moss in your ears, Dovewing? Usually no cat manages to sneak up on you.”

  Dovewing batted at him with one paw, trying not to feel annoyed. If I’d had my proper senses, I’d have heard you stomping along like a fox in a fit!

  “Do you want to come hunting?” Mousewhisker went on. “The border patrol heard squirrels fighting in the grass clearing near the ShadowClan border. And tired, injured squirrels make easy prey!”

  Icecloud and Toadstep emerged from the ferns behind Mousewhisker.

  “Yes, come,” Icecloud mewed. “It’ll be fun!”

  Dovewing glanced at her mother. “I’m supposed to take this moss back. . . .”

  “I can do that,” Whitewing meowed cheerfully. “You go and hunt.”

  “Thanks!”

  While Whitewing gathered the moss balls together, Dovewing joined Mousewhisker and the others, heading into the forest. Mousewhisker picked up the pace until they were running full-pelt through the trees. Dovewing felt her night fears and exhaustion melt away as she bunched and stretched her muscles, her paws skimming the ground.

  “Bet I can jump higher than any cat!” Toadstep announced.

  “Bet you can’t!” Icecloud retorted, leaping over a fallen tree trunk to show off her skills.

  Toadstep sprang over the trunk after the white she-cat and landed hard on top of her.

  “Oof! Get off!” Icecloud spluttered, shoving Toadstep away and jumping to her paws. “You’re as heavy as a badger.”

  “Let’s race,” Mousewhisker suggested. “Last cat to reach the dead tree is a mouse!”

  He streaked off before he had finished speaking, leaving the other three to scramble after him. Dovewing sprinted with her belly fur brushing the ground and her tail streaming out behind her. Toadstep overtook her and Mousewhisker, but Dovewing gradually drew ahead of Icecloud.

  It’s easier to run fast and dodge trees when I can’t hear everything from far away, she realized in surprise. There’s nothing to distract me. This is what it must be like for other cats!

  She passed Mousewhisker as they skirted a bramble thicket so that only Toadstep was in front of her, his black-and-white shape pelting easily along. Dovewing gathered herself and put on a spurt, her paws barely touching the ground with each bound. The dead tree was within sight when she came up alongside her Clanmate, glimpsing his astonished look as she scampered past him and hurled herself at the tree, scoring her claws down the trunk.

  “I win!” she yowled.

  Toadstep ran up after her, followed by Mousewhisker and last of all a panting Icecloud.

  “Okay, I’m a mouse.” The white she-cat let herself flop to the ground. “Dovewing, that was a great race!”

  “Yes, you even beat Toadstep,” Mousewhisker meowed. “And he’s fast!”

  Toadstep gave her an approving nod. “Well done.”

  When all the cats had caught their breath, Mousewhisker rose to his paws. “It’s time to start looking for those squirrels. We’d better be quiet now; we’re pretty close to the clearing.”

  He took the lead; Dovewing and the others followed him, brushing through the undergrowth on stealthy paws. At the edge of the clearing Dovewing peered out of a clump of long grass to see that Twolegs were already starting to build their green pelt-dens there.

  “Mouse dung!” she muttered as three Twoleg kits ran across the open space, yowling and tossing something red from paw to paw. “They’ll scare away all the prey from here to the lake.”

  Mousewhisker led his patrol around the edge of the clearing, slinking through the shadows so that the Twolegs wouldn’t notice them. Dovewing shivered to the tips of her claws as she crossed the old ShadowClan boundary. There were still traces of ShadowClan scent, and she half-expected to hear the challenge of a ShadowClan patrol.

  That’s the bush where I first met Tigerheart, she thought as she passed it. Everything was so different back then. . . .

  At the other side of the clearing the patrol scattered, tasting the air to pick up the scent of squirrel.

  “Over here,” Icecloud called in a low voice. She was standing at the foot of a tree, gazing up into the branches. “There’s a squirrel up there. I think it’s injured.”

  Mousewhisker bounded over. “You’re right. You climb this side, and I’ll take the other.”

  Dovewing and Toadstep watched as their Clanmates clawed their way up the tree. But as they reached the lowest branches there was a rustling among the leaves and the squirrel leaped out, skimming the top of Icecloud’s head, and sprang to the ground, streaking straight past Dovewing and Toadstep. Dovewing whirled and gave chase with Toadstep beside her. The squirrel made a dash for the clearing.

  It’s not so badly injured that it can’t run, Dovewing thought as she pelted after it.

  She and Toadstep gained on the squirrel as it raced across the open space. They swerved past the pelt-dens, their paws splashing briefly in the stream. Dovewing drew ahead; the squirrel was so close that she was bunching her muscles for a leap when the reek of ShadowClan scent brought her skidding to a halt.

  Great StarClan! I nearly crossed the border.

  The squirrel bounded ahead and disappeared up a nearby ash tree with a flick of its tail. Dovewing glanced around as she stood panting at the edge of her territory, but she couldn’t see Toadstep or the rest of the patrol.

  “You stopped this time.”

  Dovewing’s heart thumped in her chest at the sound of the voice. She spun around to see Tigerheart padding out from a thicket of brambles. He paced up to his own side of the border and dipped his head.

  “I haven’t set paw on your territory!” Dovewing meowe
d defensively, her neck fur beginning to fluff up with anger. I wish the others would get here, she thought.

  “Relax. I’m alone,” Tigerheart responded. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Actually, I was hoping to see you.”

  Dovewing narrowed her eyes. “I told you, we can’t talk like this anymore. It’s . . . it’s over.”

  Tigerheart blinked. “No, there’s something else.” He hesitated and added reluctantly, “It’s about Dawnpelt.”

  Dovewing’s fur began to lie flat as curiosity overtook her nervousness.

  “She’s been acting weird ever since Flametail’s death,” the tabby tom went on. “She . . . she thinks it was Jayfeather’s fault that he drowned.”

  “That’s not true!” Dovewing hissed. “Jayfeather was trying to save him.”

  Tigerheart sighed. “He probably was. But I guess it’s hard to know the truth, and Dawnpelt wants revenge.”

  Dovewing stared at him, carried back in her mind to the terrible day when the young ShadowClan medicine cat, Tigerheart’s and Dawnpelt’s littermate, had fallen through the ice on the frozen lake and drowned.

  “You know the medicine cats have been acting strange,” Tigerheart went on. “Not going to the Moonpool at the half-moon, that kind of thing. Dawnpelt thinks that Jayfeather had a quarrel with Flametail, and then murdered him when he fell through the ice.”

  “That’s nonsense!” Dovewing’s claws tore at the grass in front of her. “Dawnpelt needs to grow up. Jayfeather would never do anything like that—he was devastated that he couldn’t save Flametail. I can’t believe you’d listen to that kind of rumor!”

  “I’m not telling you because I think it’s true.” Tigerheart’s voice rose. “I’m trying to warn you. I think Dawnpelt might do something to hurt ThunderClan in revenge.” His voice dropped and he shook his head. “She’s acting really weird.”

  Dovewing couldn’t feel sympathetic. “I think we can handle Dawnpelt losing her temper, thanks,” she snapped. “Please don’t talk to me again. We’ll both be in trouble if we get caught.” She turned, poised to run into the woods on the other side of the clearing.

  “I was just trying to help.” There was anger and sorrow in Tigerheart’s voice. “I want to prove to you that we don’t have to be enemies.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Dovewing mewed.

  Without looking at Tigerheart again she headed for the trees. Before she reached them, the squirrel shot past her, and Dovewing let out a hiss of irritation. I know Tigerheart chased it back onto our territory. Doesn’t he think I can hunt on my own?

  But at the same time her paws carried her swiftly after her prey, and she killed it with a neat blow to the spine. Picking it up, she plunged into the shelter of the trees, spotting Mousewhisker and the rest of the patrol a few tail-lengths away.

  “Great catch!” Toadstep exclaimed as she bounded up to them.

  “Yeah, you’re really fast on your paws,” Mousewhisker added, while Icecloud gave the fresh-kill an admiring sniff.

  As the patrol headed back toward the camp, Dovewing cast a final glance back across the clearing. Tigerheart had vanished. Is what he told me true? she wondered. Is Dawnpelt planning revenge for a murder that never happened?

  Chapter 4

  Lionblaze padded through the thorn tunnel into the camp and stood flexing his aching muscles. “That was a great training session,” he meowed to Blossomfall as she emerged behind him. “You certainly caught me with that backward leap and twist.”

  “Yeah, will you show me how to do it?” Foxleap asked as he followed Blossomfall.

  The young she-cat’s eyes glowed at her Clanmates’ praise and she gave her chest fur a couple of embarrassed licks. “It’s not that hard,” she murmured. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Lionblaze.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Lionblaze gave her a friendly flick over her ear with the tip of his tail. “I should have been a bit quicker.”

  Cinderheart padded up, her eyes glimmering with amusement as her gaze traveled over Lionblaze’s ruffled pelt. “You look like you’ve been pulled through the thorn barrier backward,” she mewed.

  “I feel like it, too,” Lionblaze replied. “Blossomfall and Foxleap didn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. They’re turning into great fighters.”

  He was heading toward the fresh-kill pile when a yowl broke out behind him. “Firestar! Firestar!”

  Whirling around, Lionblaze saw Sorreltail burst into the clearing with Bumblestripe, Berrynose, and Hazeltail hard on her paws. Birchfall and Ivypool followed more slowly.

  “Great StarClan!” Lionblaze exclaimed, his neck fur rising. “Are we under attack?”

  While Sorreltail was struggling to get her breath back, Firestar appeared from his den on the Highledge, then ran lightly down the tumbled rocks to the floor of the hollow. Sandstorm leaped down behind him, while Dustpelt and Brackenfur bounded over from the fresh-kill pile.

  “What’s going on?” Firestar demanded as he halted in front of Sorreltail’s patrol.

  “Trouble on the WindClan border,” Sorreltail explained. “Birchfall and Ivypool got into an argument with some WindClan cats. I think if we hadn’t turned up, there would have been a fight.”

  “Is this true?” Firestar asked, fixing his green gaze on Birchfall and Ivypool.

  For the first time Lionblaze noticed that Birchfall was looking sulky, while the tip of Ivypool’s tail flicked irritably to and fro.

  “They started it,” Birchfall mewed defensively. “They didn’t want to let us wash our paws in the stream.”

  “We weren’t on their territory,” Ivypool added. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “For StarClan’s sake!” Dustpelt snapped, before Firestar could respond. “Aren’t the tensions high enough between the Clans, without going out to look for more trouble?”

  “We weren’t looking for it!” Ivypool flashed back at him.

  As Firestar raised his tail for silence, Brackenfur padded to Sorreltail’s side and touched her ear lightly with his nose. “I hope you haven’t been getting into any skirmishes,” he murmured.

  His mate blinked at him affectionately. “No. But it’s no thanks to these mouse-brains.”

  “Mouse-brain yourself!” Birchfall retorted.

  “Let’s all keep calm,” Firestar meowed, padding into the middle of the hostile group. “No cat is saying you broke the warrior code,” he went on to Birchfall and Ivypool, “but washing your paws on the WindClan border wasn’t the most sensible thing you’ve ever done.”

  “Yes, what’s wrong with the lake?” Sandstorm put in.

  Ivypool opened her jaws to reply, but just then excited squealing came from the direction of the nursery. Lionblaze glanced over his shoulder to see Molekit and Cherrykit scampering up.

  “What’s happening?” Cherrykit demanded, her tail straight up in the air with excitement. “Can we help?”

  “Tell us what to do!” Molekit puffed his chest out importantly. “Who are we going to fight?”

  Lionblaze felt warmed by the kits’ enthusiasm. They were almost six moons old, ready to be apprentices, and their mother, Poppyfrost, was ready to return to warrior duties. He bent his head and touched noses with each kit in turn. “Settle down,” he purred. “WindClan isn’t about to attack. You can put your claws away.”

  Straightening up again, he caught Cinderheart’s blue gaze, and saw a flash of pain in her eyes. He understood exactly how she was feeling. We could have kits of our own, as soon as you like, if you could only get past the prophecy. He suppressed a growl of frustration that the gray she-cat found his destiny such a big obstacle. I didn’t ask to be picked out by StarClan before I was even born!

  “Having fun with the kits?” Brightheart asked, padding up with her mate, Cloudtail. “You’ll be a great father one day, Lionblaze.”

  And that doesn’t help, either, Lionblaze thought, his fur itching with embarrassment.

  More cats emerged from the thorn tunnel. Mousewhisker
was in the lead, ahead of Dovewing, Icecloud, and Toadstep. Dovewing held a squirrel clamped in her jaws, while Icecloud was carrying a blackbird. They padded into the center of the clearing, casting curious glances at the group of cats around Firestar, then headed for the fresh-kill pile to deposit their prey. Most of the other cats drifted after them, the argument about the encounter with WindClan breaking up.

  As soon as Dovewing had dropped her squirrel, Purdy padded up to her from the elders’ den. “Hey, young ‘un,” he began, “it was you collectin’ moss this morning, wasn’t it?”

  Dovewing tipped her head on one side. “Yes, Whitewing and I fetched it. Is there a problem?”

  “It’s really dry an’ prickly,” Purdy meowed, blinking apologetically. “I don’t want to fuss, but Mousefur can’t get comfortable.”

  Lionblaze glanced across at the elders’ den to see Mousefur crouched at the entrance, her head lowered. A pang of pity clawed at him; the outspoken old she-cat hadn’t been the same since her denmate Longtail was killed by the falling tree. Lionblaze would have given anything to hear Mousefur complain about her own prickly moss.

  “I’m sorry,” Dovewing mewed. “I thought I got all the thorns out. I’ll go through the bedding again, if you like.”

  “No, that’s going to take forever,” Graystripe put in; he and Millie were sharing a vole beside the fresh-kill pile. “Bumblestripe and Blossomfall can go out and find some feathers. That should be soft enough.”

  “That is so not fair!” Blossomfall exclaimed, looking up from choosing a piece of fresh-kill.

  “Yes, we always get the boring jobs.” Bumblestripe came to stand beside his sister. “Just because there aren’t any apprentices in the Clan! When will some of the older warriors do the apprentice duties for a change?”

  Graystripe narrowed his amber eyes. “Maybe when you learn not to answer back to a senior warrior,” he rasped.

  Bumblestripe and Blossomfall exchanged mutinous glances, but before either of them could reply, Sandstorm padded up to Graystripe and gave him a poke in the side. “Come on, Graystripe,” she meowed. “You’re always tougher on your own kits than the rest of the Clan. They have a point. They’re warriors, but they do get stuck with the apprentice tasks. I’ll go with you,” she added to the two younger warriors.