by Erin Hunter
As they left the clearing behind, Lionpaw was surprised to find that the woodland on the other side looked just like ThunderClan territory. But gradually the familiar oaks and beeches gave way to tall, dark pines, with spiky shadows trapped in their branches. Birdsong echoed strangely from the narrow, leafless trunks. The undergrowth of fern and bramble thinned out until the cats were padding across ground that was bare except for a thick covering of brown pine needles.
Suppressing a shiver, Lionpaw hurried so he could catch up to Brambleclaw and walk at his side. His father flashed him a sympathetic glance and brushed his tail comfortingly across his shoulder.
At last Lionpaw began to pick up the mingled scents of many cats, coming from just ahead. Russetfur led them up a short slope and through a barrier of bushes that grew along the top.
“Wait here,” she ordered.
She headed down a shallower slope into a wide hollow, while Toadfoot stayed to guard the two ThunderClan cats, glaring through narrowed eyes from a couple of tail-lengths away.
“Is this the ShadowClan camp?” Lionpaw whispered to Brambleclaw. “It looks so open.”
“We’re lucky to have the hollow to shelter us,” Brambleclaw replied.
When he looked closer, Lionpaw began to see that this was a Clan camp very like his own, even though it looked so different. Russetfur had vanished into a gap behind a huge boulder, which he guessed was the Clan leader’s den. Not far away from it was a straggly bramble thicket that was probably the apprentices’ den; there was a dead log just outside it, thickly scored with scratch marks, which would be the place where the apprentices sharpened their claws.
He started at a yowl from a yew bush on the slope just below him. “This moss is dripping wet! I’ll scratch that apprentice when I catch him!”
“The elders’ den,” Lionpaw muttered to his father. “I guess they’re just the same everywhere.”
He was distracted from his study of the camp by the reappearance of Russetfur. Blackstar followed her out of the gap behind the boulder and leaped onto a tree stump in the middle of the hollow. Russetfur gestured to Toadfoot with her tail, and the brown tom escorted Brambleclaw and Lionpaw down the slope until they stood in front of the ShadowClan leader. Lionpaw felt curious stares from the ShadowClan warriors scorch his pelt and heard the cats muttering to one another. They didn’t sound friendly.
He had seen Blackstar before at Gatherings, but he had never been so close to him. Swallowing nervously, he realized that the white tom was a very powerful warrior. One swat from those huge black paws could shred a cat’s ear. He wondered what Brambleclaw would do if Blackstar attacked him. Was he strong and skillful enough to fight him off and escape from the rival Clan’s territory?
But for the moment Blackstar seemed calm, if not exactly welcoming. “Brambleclaw,” he meowed. “What are you doing in our territory?”
“I’ve come to speak to my sister, Tawnypelt.”
“What if she doesn’t want to speak to you?” Russetfur’s tone was sharp.
Blackstar raised his tail, warning his deputy to be quiet. “What do you want with her?”
Lionpaw’s belly churned as Brambleclaw told the ShadowClan cats about the appearance of Talon and Night and the trouble that had come upon the Tribe of Rushing Water. “Firestar has agreed to let me and Squirrelflight go back to the mountains to help the Tribe cats,” he finished. “We thought we should invite Tawnypelt and Crowfeather to come too. They know the Tribe well from the first journey we made together.”
“What!” Russetfur exclaimed, before Blackstar could respond. “You dare to come here and expect to take one of our warriors away? Of course Tawnypelt’s not going. She has kits, for StarClan’s sake!”
Once again Blackstar gestured with his tail. “You’ll make these ThunderClan cats think we don’t want to cooperate,” he told her. “Suppose we ask Tawnypelt what she wants to do? It’s her decision.”
Lionpaw flashed a glance at his father, but Brambleclaw avoided his gaze. It was clear that Blackstar expected Tawnypelt would decide to stay with her Clanmates and her kits.
Blackstar leaped down from the stump and led the way across the camp to a bramble thicket on the far side. “This is our nursery,” he meowed. “Go in and see her.”
Brambleclaw nodded in thanks and lowered his head to creep through the narrow entrance. Lionpaw followed; to his relief Blackstar remained outside.
ShadowClan’s nursery was bigger than the one in the stone hollow, but it had the same cozy covering of moss on the floor and the same warm, milky smell. As Lionpaw’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he made out the glimmering shape of a white queen with a huge swollen belly, curled in a mossy nest. Her ears pricked anxiously as the two ThunderClan cats entered.
“Brambleclaw!” The exclamation came from farther inside the nursery. Lionpaw spotted Tawnypelt, her head raised and her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to see you,” Brambleclaw replied. “I’ve got something to ask you.”
Before he could say any more, Tawnypelt’s kits scrambled out of their nest and bounced over to Brambleclaw and Lionpaw.
“Who are you?” The biggest kit, a tiger-striped tom, stretched up until his whiskers tickled Lionpaw’s nose.
Lionpaw edged back, stifling a sneeze. “My name’s Lionpaw. I’m an apprentice from—”
His father gave him a warning nudge. “We’re ThunderClan cats,” he replied.
“Oh, that’s why you smell all yucky!” A tiny tom with dark ginger fur wrinkled his nose.
Not half as yucky as you do.
The third kit, a gray she-cat, bounded up to Lionpaw and flung herself at him; he was so surprised that he lost his balance and landed on his side in the moss.
“We’re the best fighters!” the gray kit yowled. “Come on, let’s defend the camp!”
Instantly the other two kits bundled on top of Lionpaw. For a heartbeat he wondered if ShadowClan was so hostile that even the kits tried to drive out intruders; then he realized that it was only a game. The kits’ claws were sheathed, and their eyes gleamed with mischief, not anger. He fought back, pushing the kits off him and managing to get to his paws again, spitting out moss.
“That’s no way to welcome a visitor,” Tawnypelt scolded them. “Brambleclaw, these are my kits—the striped one is Tigerkit, the ginger is Flamekit, and the one who’s asking for a cuff around the ear is Dawnkit.” She glared at the she-cat, who was creeping up on Lionpaw’s tail as if it were a piece of prey.
Tigerkit! Lionpaw stiffened. Did Tawnypelt hope that her son would become as great a warrior as Tigerstar? Would this kit receive the same training from their ancestor as Lionpaw did?
“Kits!” Tawnypelt warned her litter to behave. “Come over here, Brambleclaw, and tell me what all this is about.”
Absorbed in trying to keep his tail out of reach of Dawnkit, who clearly hadn’t listened to her mother’s warning, Lionpaw didn’t hear his father’s explanation. But he stopped, fur tingling with excitement, when he heard Tawnypelt mew, “I will come.”
The tortoiseshell she-cat’s eyes were shining as she clambered out of her nest. All three kits gave up chasing Lionpaw and stared at their mother.
“What do you mean?” Tigerkit asked.
“You’re not going to leave us?” Dawnkit wailed.
“I have to go with Brambleclaw for a while,” Tawnypelt told them. “You remember the stories I’ve told you, about the cats who live in the mountains behind a wall of tumbling water? Well, those cats need my help, so I have to go.”
“Then can we come with you?” Flamekit asked. “Please.”
“We’d be really helpful,” Tigerkit added.
“No, you’re too young.” Tawnypelt padded over to the three kits and touched her nose to each one in turn. “Be good, and eat your fresh-kill, and expect me back when the moon has been the same shape twice.”
“I’ll keep an eye on them,” the white she-cat promised from the shadows.
“Thanks, Snowbird. There, you see,” Tawnypelt added to her kits, “Snowbird will take care of you, and she’ll tell me if you’ve been naughty.”
“We won’t,” Tigerkit promised.
“Even if we never get to have any fun,” Dawnkit muttered.
Tawnypelt gave her daughter a gentle flick over the ear with her tail. “Good-bye then,” she purred.
“Good-bye,” the kits chorused, their eyes wide.
Tawnypelt led the way out of the nursery, with Brambleclaw hard on her paws. Lionpaw paused to look back at the kits. Good-bye, kin, he whispered to himself as he followed his father into the clearing.
Outside the nursery, Blackstar and Tawnypelt were confronting each other.
“What do you mean, you want to go?” the Clan leader demanded.
“You said it was her decision,” Brambleclaw reminded him.
Blackstar lashed his tail but said nothing.
“We might have known,” Russetfur spat. “It just goes to show that she’s not a loyal ShadowClan cat.”
Tawnypelt arched her back. “Don’t you dare call me disloyal!”
“Tawnypelt.” The warrior called Rowanclaw padded up beside Tawnypelt and pressed his ginger muzzle against her shoulder. She leaned against him, her fur beginning to lie flat again. Lionpaw remembered that Rowanclaw was her mate, the father of her kits.
“It’s nonsense to say that Tawnypelt isn’t loyal,” he meowed to Russetfur. “I haven’t forgotten all the Tribe cats did for us, even if you have. They deserve our help.” He bent his head to give Tawnypelt a gentle lick between the ears. “I’m proud of you for going,” he mewed. “And don’t worry about the kits. I’ll look after them.”
Tawnypelt let out a soft purr. “Thanks, Rowanclaw.” Turning to Brambleclaw, she meowed more briskly, “Shall we go?”
Lionpaw thought his father looked stunned, as if he hadn’t expected to get her agreement so easily.
“There’s no time to lose,” Tawnypelt pointed out. “Not when we still have to make the long journey to the mountains.”
“True,” Brambleclaw murmured. “Thank you, Blackstar,” he added to the ShadowClan leader. “I’m sure StarClan will approve of what you have done today.”
Blackstar nodded, looking awkward; Lionpaw knew very well he hadn’t intended things to turn out like this. Russetfur just let out an annoyed hiss and turned away, lashing her tail.
Excitement flooded through him once more as he raced back through the forest with Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt.He felt sure that Squirrelflight and Hollypaw must have had the same success in WindClan. Cats from all Clans were uniting to help the Tribe! This was even better than just going to visit the mountains. Maybe he would be part of another incredible story, and one day the Clans would tell it to their kits, just as they told the story of the Great Journey.
CHAPTER 12
Hollypaw stood on the bank of the stream that formed the border with WindClan, not far from the stepping stones. Wind from the moor slicked her fur to her sides, bringing the scent of cats and rabbits and the tough moorland grass.
Beside her, Squirrelflight waited, the tip of her tail twitching. Hollypaw could understand why her mother was uneasy. The WindClan border was still a sensitive area, after all the trouble when the WindClan kits went missing.
Her thoughts fled back to the tunnels and the surging underground river. She and the other apprentices had barely made it out alive with the kits. Hollypaw hoped that the tunnels would stay hidden for a long time, so there would be no more chance of misunderstandings.
“They’re coming.” Squirrelflight was tasting the air.
A couple of heartbeats later a WindClan patrol appeared over the brow of the hill and headed toward them: Tornear, Whitetail, and Breezepaw. Hollypaw’s belly began to churn as the apprentice charged toward her, streaking past his Clanmates. His pelt bristled; he was obviously ready for a border skirmish, but his stride faltered when he recognized Hollypaw.
“Oh, it’s you,” he muttered, coming to a halt on the opposite bank of the stream.
“That’s right.” Hollypaw couldn’t forget what a pain he’d been in the tunnels, complaining and arguing the whole time. “I just can’t keep away.”
She flinched as Squirrelflight flicked her ear with her tail.
“Breezepaw!” Whitetail called, as she and Tornear caught up to the apprentice. “Come away from there.”
Breezepaw bared his teeth in the beginning of a snarl, then lowered his head and padded away, muttering something under his breath.
“Why are you here?” Tornear asked; his voice was cool but not hostile.
“We need to speak to Crowfeather,” Squirrelflight explained.
Both Tornear and Whitetail bristled, their neck fur fluffing up as they exchanged suspicious glances.
“It’s about the journey we made to the sun-drown-place,” Squirrelflight added quickly.
“That was a long time ago,” Tornear growled.
“Crowfeather’s memory isn’t that bad,” Squirrelflight retorted tartly. “He’ll hardly have forgotten about it.”
Hollypaw couldn’t understand why the WindClan cats had switched from reserve to hostility, or why her mother was being so sharp in return. Why should the WindClan cats be so tense when Crowfeather was mentioned?
“I can’t just go and fetch Crowfeather,” Whitetail meowed. “You’ll have to talk to Onestar first.”
“That’s fine. I understand.” Squirrelflight bounded lightly across the stepping stones and into WindClan territory, giving Tornear a glare as she passed him. Hollypaw crossed more carefully, the swift-flowing stream bubbling past a mouse tail away from her paws.
As she followed her mother and the WindClan warriors up the hill, Breezepaw hung back until he was padding beside her. “What are you doing here?” he muttered into her ear. “Have you come to spy on our camp?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hollypaw replied. “What would we want with your stupid camp? We need to speak to Crowfeather, that’s all.”
“What about?” Breezepaw demanded.
“That’s none of your business, mouse-brain!”
Breezepaw’s eyes narrowed in anger. “But he’s my father,” he began. “He—”
“Breezepaw.” Tornear glanced over his shoulder and flicked his tail to beckon the apprentice. “Come here and walk beside me.”
Breezepaw let out a hiss of annoyance, but he quickened his pace and caught up to the senior warriors.
“How’s your training going, Breezepaw?” Squirrelflight asked.
“Not well.” Whitetail didn’t wait for her apprentice to reply. “He led out a patrol of apprentices to see if the dogs had come back to the far corner of our territory. Without asking permission, of course, and without even a single warrior for backup.”
“We were only trying to—”
“To get yourselves killed,” Tornear interrupted.
Hollypaw had heard the stories of how dogs had killed Swiftpaw back in the forest, and she’d seen the terrible injuries they had given Brightheart. Breezepaw must be even more stupid than she thought if he imagined that a few apprentices could take on a pack of dogs and survive.
“And then there was the fight you provoked with the RiverClan patrol,” Tornear continued, his voice sharp with annoyance. “They were not trespassing, they were not stealing prey, and Onestar didn’t appreciate having to apologize to Mistyfoot for the trouble you caused.” He let out a long sigh and added to Squirrelflight, “Breezepaw has many lessons to learn before he becomes a warrior.”
Breezepaw glared at the senior warriors as they turned away and muttered something Hollypaw didn’t catch.
Whitetail and Tornear led the way up a long slope to a barrier of gorse bushes. Hollypaw followed as they pushed their way through, feeling the thorns snag on her pelt. On the other side she found herself looking out over the WindClan camp.
A steep slope led down into a natural dip, dotted with gorse and bramble. Bli
nking, Hollypaw tried to guess the layout. The camp was more exposed than she was used to, though toward the bottom of the dip there were hollows where cats could shelter. She tasted the air, trying to work out from the scents where each group of cats lived. A pungent smell of mouse bile was coming from a deep hole that looked like an abandoned badger set. That must be the elders’ den. They’re always needing mouse bile to get rid of their ticks. From a crack in a huge boulder she picked up the aromatic scent of herbs and realized that must be Barkface’s den. And warm, milky scents came from a gorse thicket; that would be the nursery.
“Go and take some fresh-kill to the elders,” Whitetail ordered Breezepaw, interrupting Hollypaw’s thoughts. Waving her tail to Squirrelflight she added, “Follow me. We’ll see if Onestar is in his den.”
Hollypaw bounded down the slope behind her mother, while Whitetail raced ahead. But before the ThunderClan cats reached the bottom of the hollow, Crowfeather appeared from the bushes at the other side, a rabbit dangling from his jaws. He spotted the visitors, froze for a heartbeat, then ran lightly down to deposit his prey on the fresh-kill pile.
As Squirrelflight padded up to him he turned to face her, his gray-black fur bristling. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Squirrelflight replied, while Hollypaw wondered what was bothering Crowfeather. Did he have ants in his pelt? “At least, yes, but not with the Clans.”
Squirrelflight seemed to have gotten herself into a tangle, so Hollypaw stepped forward. “The Tribe of Rushing Water need our help,” she explained. “The cats who went to the sun-drown-place must go to the mountains.”
Crowfeather looked surprised, and Hollypaw thought maybe she had been too outspoken. “And they want apprentices to come too, do they?” he growled.
