by Erin Hunter
Though my paws are stained with blood, and I once tried to kill the cat you know as Firestar, I would do it all again to live in the Clans. There is no life better than being a warrior, and no better way to prove your loyalty or your courage than in battle.
Graystripe Speaks: The Battle Against the Foxes
Really, you’d like to hear about the foxes? Great StarClan, that was moons ago, when we still lived in the forest! Firestar and Sandstorm had left the territory for a while, so as ThunderClan’s deputy, I was leading the Clan. I had good warriors helping me, but there were whispers of trouble. A pack of foxes had made their dens beneath the roots of the Great Oak at Fourtrees, our normal Gathering site. To make matters worse, the foxes were stealing our prey. Usually foxes lived on their own, or with a pawful of skittish cubs, but these foxes seemed to have their own Clan, with patrols to keep us out and make raids for food.
Things came to a head at a Gathering like this, under a cold full moon early in leaf-bare. We were forced to meet that night at Snakerocks on ThunderClan’s territory, not far from Fourtrees, but far enough inside our borders to make all the Clans nervous. All four Clans needed to deal with the foxes, and I had an idea….
“Cats of all the Clans,” I announced, feeling the stone of Snakerocks ice-cold and slippery beneath my paws. “I believe we can drive out the foxes if we work together.”
“Since when did deputies take over the Gathering?” muttered a voice below me. It was Tornear of WindClan.
Blackstar stood up, his white coat glowing in the moonlight. “Graystripe speaks for ThunderClan while Firestar is…away.”
I knew the ShadowClan leader was trying to find out where Firestar and Sandstorm had gone; I couldn’t tell him because I didn’t know, but I trusted Firestar when he told me that they would return, and in the meantime, I wasn’t going to let any of the other Clans suspect that I had no idea where my leader was.
“We all know that foxes are most aggressive in their dens, when they are protecting their cubs,” I began. My voice sounded as feeble as a kit’s squeak on the still night air. “They are more vulnerable when they are hunting and their attention is fixed on something else. We should strike then, and show them that the forest belongs to us and us alone.”
“You’re suggesting a battle against foxes?” sneered a cat from the back of the crowd. I peered into the shadows but couldn’t see who was speaking. “We’ll be eaten alive!”
There were murmurs of agreement, and for a moment I felt a flash of anger. Were these cats willing to lie around and do nothing while foxes stole our prey and drove us out of the place where our ancestors had gathered for countless full moons?
“I’m not saying we should confront them in a regular battle. We will use each Clan’s strengths to teach them a lesson,” I pressed on. “We have the advantage of more training, more skills, more knowledge of the forest than these intruders.”
I could see nods of interest, and a couple of my Clanmates called out encouragingly. There was no turning back now. I was about to lead all the Clans into a battle for survival in our own homes.
“I’ve picked up a scent!” Cloudtail hissed. His thick white fur stood out like a splash of snow against the withered bracken, but his difficulty in hiding had made his nose keener than most of his Clanmates’. The wind rattled the brown stalks around us, filling my ears with whispers, but at least it would hide our noise from our prey as well.
For once, this patrol wasn’t in search of fresh-kill. Instead, we were hunting foxes. Above our heads, the gray sky was darkening with nightfall, and the air was filled with the echoing calls from a pair of owls. This was the time when the foxes went looking for food to steal; tonight they were about to find out that they had become the hunted!
Keeping his head low and his tail straight up, Cloudtail followed the scent trail along the bank of the stream at the top of ThunderClan’s territory. I followed, with Mousefur, her apprentice, Spiderpaw, and Brightheart treading softly behind me. So far the trail had led toward the river, but I knew the foxes were no fonder of getting their paws wet than we were, so I wasn’t surprised when Brightheart picked up the scent on the far side of the border, in the stretch of RiverClan territory that led from the bridge by the gorge to Fourtrees. The ground here was covered with rocks and scrubby bushes rather than trees, a good place for rabbits and low-roosting birds. I let out a sigh of relief. I had hoped the foxes would come here to hunt; that meant the other Clans were in the right place. I was beginning to realize how much of my plan depended on the foxes doing what I wanted them to.
A rustle up ahead warned us that we were nearly on their tails. Soon, a flash of glossy red fur behind a hawthorn thicket revealed our targets.
“Mousefur, have you got the rabbit?”
The dusky brown warrior padded forward, carrying a young rabbit, still warm and blood-scented.
“Away you go,” I ordered.
Mousefur skirted the hawthorn thicket and let the rabbit’s hind legs drop to the ground. As she walked away, the limp bundle of brown-and-white fluff left a pathetic trail in the dust, and the air quivered with the scent of the kill. I led the rest of the patrol in step with Mousefur, under cover of some bushes. Foxes, foxes, I called silently. Can you smell this tasty meal?
The branches of the hawthorn thicket crackled as if something large were turning around underneath. I held my breath. Would the foxes take the bait? I was using a trick I had learned from Tigerstar, when he lured the pack of dogs right into the ravine by laying a trail of dead rabbits. Brindleface had died in their attack; Mousefur was risking her life now, not just for ThunderClan but for every Clan in the forest. I had volunteered to carry the rabbit first, but Mousefur had insisted. She was faster than me, she said, adding that she had no qualms about dropping the rabbit and running for her life if the foxes got too close.
The softest crunch of sand told me that the foxes had picked up the scent trail and were beginning to stalk Mousefur. I hoped they were too dumb to wonder why a dead rabbit would be moving. I signaled with my tail to Mousefur, who was watching me with one eye, and she started to walk faster, keeping the rabbit dragging on the ground. The paw steps behind her sped up. Mousefur curved away from the ThunderClan border, heading for a copse of trees on the WindClan border. The foxes followed, and I had to break into a run to keep pace with them.
The trees loomed nearer above the scratchy bushes. Come on!
Where are you? I thought desperately. Closer and closer…Mousefur wouldn’t be able to carry the rabbit for much longer! Or the foxes might catch up to her…
“ShadowClan! Attack!” The still air was split with the sound of cats crashing out of the trees, led by Blackstar. I halted behind a lichen-covered rock with the rest of the patrol; a moment later, Mousefur joined us, panting and with her eyes shining.
“Perfect so far!” she declared.
Now it was time to let ShadowClan do what they did best: an ambush. We listened to them hurtling and shrieking through the bushes; there was a volley of startled yelps, then the sound of heavier animals plunging away, scrabbling over rocks. Just as I’d hoped, the ShadowClan ambush had frightened the foxes toward the river, where another surprise awaited them.
Once Mousefur had caught her breath, I raced out of the cover of the rock and followed the noise of the foxes and the ShadowClan cats. I burst out of the long grass that grew on the bank just as a line of RiverClan warriors splashed out of the water to meet the foxes. The RiverClan deputy, Mistyfoot, was at the head of the patrol, looking fierce with her fur slicked darkly against her back and her ears flattened.
The foxes—there were four of them, all full-grown—skidded to a halt and scrambled to turn tail, almost losing their footing on the slippery pebbles. Beyond them, I could hear ShadowClan plunging into the reeds, leaving a route clear back to Fourtrees.
“Come on,” I yowled over my shoulder, and my Clanmates leaped beside me as I jumped down to the shore and raced to join the RiverClan warriors a
s they set off after the foxes. With a deafening clatter of reeds, the ShadowClan patrol emerged and we charged in a screeching line through the trail of broken undergrowth and overturned boulders left by our prey.
A false scent-trail and two ambushes, just to chase the foxes back to their own territory? I can see you’re looking puzzled, little kittypets, but it was all part of my plan. We had to keep the foxes away from Fourtrees, and tire them out as much as possible, while the fourth battle patrol, from WindClan, took charge of the dens. Tallstar had agreed to send his best tunnelers, the cats who moved across the moor underground and were as comfortable in darkness as I was in sunlight, to flush out the cubs and trap them in the center of the clearing, where we had once held our Gatherings.
As the tops of the giant oaks appeared above the rim of the hollow, an anguished yowl told me that the foxes had realized they’d been outwitted. I found an extra burst of speed in my paws, and skidded to a halt at the top of the slope. Below me, a ring of furious cats encircled a bundle of terrified baby foxes, keeping their backs to the cubs as they snarled at the approaching adults. There were cats from all four Clans in the battle line; I felt a flash of pride as I saw my Clanmates Dustpelt and Brackenfur take a step forward, daring the foxes to come any closer.
The rest of us made our way to the foot of the slope and watched in satisfaction as the foxes spun around and snarled when they saw they were trapped. There was still a danger they would try to fight us, but I was relying on the foxes being too afraid for the safety of their young to tackle both lines of cats. The biggest fox, a male with patches of darker red on his fur, took a pace toward us, baring his yellow teeth. Beside me, Spiderpaw let out a tiny whimper. I rested my tail on his flank, trying to give him courage.
Blackstar padded forward. “Leave our forest, and your cubs will be left alone,” he ordered.
The fox blinked, and I guessed he couldn’t understand us any more than we knew what they were saying with their ugly yelps and barks. But Blackstar’s message was clear, even without the exact words.
“Yes, leave!” I joined in, arching my back and spitting. All along the foot of the slope, the patrols snarled at the foxes, making even the leader flinch. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the line of cats surrounding his precious cubs, each one with his or her claws unsheathed, ready to fight. He tossed his head as if he were shaking water from his fur, then barked. The foxes beside him lowered their heads and crouched down until their tails brushed the ground.
I stared in disbelief. The foxes were surrendering! We had won! I was about to let out a yowl of joy when Mudclaw, the WindClan deputy, called from the line: “Fourtrees patrol! Stand aside!”
The line of cats split and moved to each side of the hollow. At once the cubs raced over to their parents, whimpering and snapping. The adult foxes swept them close with their tails, then turned to face us. The male fox snarled and flattened his ears, but he knew as well as we did that they had no option. The Clans had proven that the forest belonged to us. With one final growl, the leader of the foxes trotted up the slope with his pack behind him, the cubs stumbling to keep up. For a moment the foxes were silhouetted against the sky at the top of the hollow; then they vanished over the edge.
Blackstar turned to me. “Congratulations, Graystripe. Firestar would be very proud of you.”
Then the other cats crowded around me, cheering and yowling our triumph to the first glowing stars. I stood with my paws rooted to the ground and bathed in the feeling of success. All four Clans had united behind me, and I had led them to victory. The battle against the foxes had been won, and Fourtrees was ours once more!
PART FOUR:
IN THE MIDST OF BATTLE
A LONG TRADITION
The elders are talkative tonight! Oh, sorry, Graystripe, I didn’t see you there. Greetings, kittypets. Welcome to the island. My name is Mistystar, the leader of RiverClan. Onestar told me that you’ve come to hear about our long tradition of battles. Well, you’re in the right place for the best stories. But I hope you’ve seen that there’s more to the Clans than fighting. Warriors train for a long time before they are allowed to risk spilling their own blood for their Clanmates.
Being in the thick of a battle can be a whirl of excitement and triumph. Still, there’s always a dazzling fear, and the screeching and thud of bodies around you stay in your mind for moons. There are moments of ice-cold clarity, too, such as the sight of a fleeing enemy, the satisfaction of a well-aimed blow, the sting of an injury when you don’t dodge fast enough, or the heart-dropping cry of “Retreat!”
Every apprentice longs to fight, and every warrior remembers his first battle. For the ones who have trained hard enough and keep their heads in the maelstrom, it won’t be their last.
Every warrior has a story to tell about memorable clashes. Just don’t let them whet your appetite too much. Whitewing will share her first battle with you—the white she-cat over there with the ThunderClan warriors, see her? And Mousefur can tell you about a warrior named Lionheart who walks with StarClan now, but who would not mind you hearing about the time he lacked courage—and learned from it. Then, if there is time before dawn, you should listen to Cedarheart of ShadowClan. He has the longest memory of all the warriors, and he’ll tell you about a ThunderClan leader who lived many, many moons ago, and his struggle for peace.
Whitewing Speaks: My First Battle
The first time I fought wasn’t in a skirmish over some cats stepping over the ThunderClan border, or a piece of stolen prey. The enemies in the battle weren’t even cats: They were badgers. Huge, fierce creatures with shadows streaking their fur and burning eyes; the snap of thorn-sharp teeth still echoes in my dreams, with the shrieks of my Clanmates as they are battered by a foe with no code of honor, no respect for our courage or skills. They came seeking vengeance because we had driven out a female and her cubs when we arrived at the lake. But they didn’t want territory or fresh-kill. They wanted our blood.
I saw them first. I was returning to the hollow with my mentor, Brackenfur, after a training session. I was bouncing on air, proud that I’d finally mastered the leap-and-hold. Brackenfur must have been aching from the number of times he’d let me scramble onto his back and attempt to hold him down. Tufts of his fur clogged my claws; I was looking forward to cleaning them while I told my mother, Brightheart, about my new battle skill. The sun was sinking into the lake behind us as we approached the camp. Brackenfur’s pelt glowed pink and gold in the slanting rays. My belly growled, and I thought hungrily of fresh-kill.
There was a crackle in the bracken at the end of the abandoned Thunderpath, and I looked over, expecting to see one of my Clanmates emerging. Beside me, Brackenfur stopped.
“Whitepaw, go inside the camp,” he ordered.
I put my head to one side and looked up at him. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Just go!” he snapped. His fur was standing on end and his nostrils flared. Had he scented something?
I opened my mouth and took a deep breath. A sour smell hit the back of my throat. Yuck! I started to ask Brackenfur what it was when the bracken rustled and a long, thin snout poked out. It was black with a broad white stripe, and a bead of moisture hung at the end, as if whatever it belonged to was slavering with anticipation.
There was a rumble of thunder from the trees—no, not thunder—roaring, a low, angry bellow that got steadily louder. The muzzle in the bracken opened and a snarl came out.
“Get inside now!” Brackenfur spat, and I ran. I burst through the thorns with my ears flat back, trying to block out the noise that filled the forest, bounced around the walls of the hollow, swept over me like a wave coming nearer and nearer….
Brackenfur pounded beside me, panting with fear. We stumbled into the center of the camp and Squirrelflight was leaping to her paws, her eyes growing wide in horror as the barrier crashed down behind us.
“Badger!” she yowled.
The clearing exploded with cats. I spotted my mother, Brightheart,
pelting across the clearing to me, her good eye stretched so wide that it seemed almost white.
She shook her head. “Come with me. I’ve got to get Daisy and her kits out of the camp. You can hide with them at the top of the cliff.”
I planted my paws more firmly on the grass. “No! I want to stay and fight!”
“Don’t be a mouse-brain,” snapped Brightheart. “This is no place for an apprentice. I want you where I know you’ll be safe.”
I looked up to the top of the hollow, which was circled with dense bushes. “There might be badgers up there, too,” I pointed out.
“You’ll be in the thickest patch of thorns I can find!” my mother hissed. “Stop arguing and follow me!”
“I want to fight!” I wailed.
There was a flash of white and Cloudtail appeared beside me. “What’s going on?”
“Whitepaw needs to leave the camp with Daisy and her kits,” Brightheart told him.
“But I want to stay!” I scowled.
“There isn’t time for this!” Brightheart spat. “Have you seen what’s happening?” She flicked her tail around the clearing, and I looked past her at a whirling storm of fur and teeth and claws. Spiderleg and Sootfur were attacking a female badger from both sides, springing forward to land a claws-out blow on her ears before leaping out of the way as she swung her massive head toward them.
I turned back to my mother. “Let me fight,” I begged. “My Clanmates need me.”
“She’s right,” Cloudtail put in unexpectedly. “This is what she has trained for. We need all the warriors we can get right now.”
“She’s not a warrior!” Brightheart hissed, and in her eyes I saw her fear that I was too young, too small, too inexperienced.
