by Erin Hunter
Tallpaw’s pelt pricked with irritation. Why was she acting like it was so creepy? “Sandgorse and Palebird are tunnelers, too,” he huffed. “They’re all WindClan warriors, you know.”
“Sandgorse and Palebird kitted you, right?” Reena’s eyes rounded with curiosity as he nodded. “Why aren’t you a tunneler, then?”
Tallpaw dropped his gaze, feeling hot beneath his pelt. “Heatherstar thought I’d make a better moor runner.”
“Moor runner,” Woollytail muttered under his breath. “We’ve too many runners. Not enough diggers.”
Dawnstripe had been pacing. She stopped in front of Woollytail. “Does Heatherstar know about the flood?”
“Why should she?” Woollytail answered. “She’s no tunneler.”
“We need to tell her.”
Tallpaw’s belly twisted. He sensed trouble.
“Hey, Wormpaw!”
Shrewpaw. Tallpaw turned and saw his denmate charging toward him. That’s all I need. Hareflight bounded after his apprentice.
“We’re going to Outlook Rock.” Shrewpaw stopped beside them. He glanced at Reena. “Do you want to come with us?”
“They look busy,” Hareflight warned. “Don’t let us hold you up, Dawnstripe.”
“I’m returning to camp with Woollytail,” Dawnstripe growled.
Hareflight pricked his ears. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Dawnstripe glanced at Woollytail. “But could you take Tallpaw with you to Outlook Rock?”
Hareflight swished his tail. “Of course.”
“What about me?” Reena stepped forward. “Can I come?”
Shrewpaw looked at Hareflight. “Can she?”
“She doesn’t need to know everything about how WindClan trains its warriors.” Hareflight swapped looks with Dawnstripe. “Perhaps you could take her back to camp?”
Reena’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll be no trouble; I promise.”
“Bess’ll be missing you.” Dawnstripe beckoned Reena with her tail. “Let’s go.” She grabbed Tallpaw’s rabbit in her jaws as she and Woollytail started to walk away. His tail-tip was flicking angrily.
“Come on, then, you two!” Hareflight broke into a run, heading uphill.
Shrewpaw darted after him. Tallpaw followed, giving one last glance at Dawnstripe, Woollytail, and Reena.
Clouds were gathering on the horizon as they reached Outlook Rock. Hareflight stood on the grass where the stone jutted over the slope. “Shrewpaw, you go first. Remember, observation is an important part of your final assessment.”
Shrewpaw padded to the edge. Peering down at the meadows and forest stretching below, he began to list what he could see. “Monster. Dog by the Twolegplace. Buzzard circling Highstones . . .”
Tallpaw stuck close to his denmate, trying to spot each new find as Shrewpaw listed it. “Can I try?” he asked Hareflight, before Shrewpaw could call everything in sight. At this rate there would be nothing left for him to point out.
“Swap places,” Hareflight ordered.
Shrewpaw turned and pushed past Tallpaw. Tallpaw’s heart lurched as his paws slithered on the smooth rock. Carefully he took Shrewpaw’s place, bracing himself against the breeze. “I can smell the Thunderpath,” he called to Hareflight. “It smells as though monsters have been traveling it all day.” He scanned the land, struggling to find something Shrewpaw had missed. On a treetop beyond the cluster of Twolegplace, he could make out some movement, and recognized the dark feathers of a bird of prey. Half guessing, he began to describe it. “A buzzard is teaching its fledglings to fly.”
“How can you see that?” Shrewpaw nosed in beside him.
Tallpaw gripped with his claws, trying to keep his place. “There!” He flicked his muzzle toward the distant tree.
“That’s not a buzzard,” Shrewpaw scoffed.
Tallpaw glanced back at Hareflight. The brown warrior was squinting. “It’s the right color.”
“How can you see fledglings?” Shrewpaw challenged.
“Why else would a buzzard be balancing on the edge of its nest in the middle of greenleaf?” Tallpaw retorted.
“Nice guesswork, Tallpaw,” Hareflight praised him.
“Is that what we’re practicing?” Shrewpaw sneered. “Guessing?” He turned his tail on Tallpaw and stomped back to Hareflight’s side. “I thought we were practicing our observation skills.”
Tallpaw growled under his breath. Training with Reena—even if she couldn’t get his name right—had been much more fun.
The sun was sliding toward Highstones as they reached camp. Tallpaw’s belly was rumbling. As he followed Hareflight, Shrewpaw, and Dawnstripe toward the entrance, he smelled Sandgorse and Plumclaw’s fresh scents on the grass. The tunneling patrol must have returned recently. He pushed through the heather tunnel, his heart quickening as he saw Sandgorse, Plumclaw, Woollytail, Hickorynose, and Mistmouse gathered in the Meeting Hollow. Heatherstar and Reedfeather faced them stiffly.
Hareflight trotted into camp behind Tallpaw and stopped. “Looks like the tunnelers have got more news about the gorge tunnel.”
“Great.” Shrewpaw sounded unenthusiastic. He padded past his mentor. “Can I get something to eat?”
Hareflight nodded. “You too, Tallpaw,” he meowed. “You must be hungry.”
“Thanks.” Tallpaw crossed the tussocks, his gaze lingering on the Meeting Hollow.
“Tallpaw!” Reena’s mew made him spin around.
The rogue she-cat was settled in a patch of sunshine beside the elders’ den. A lapwing lay beside her, half-eaten. Its rich scent washed Tallpaw’s tongue.
“Do you want some?” Reena called. “I can’t eat all this.”
Gratefully Tallpaw hurried toward her. “What happened to the rabbit we caught?”
“Dawnstripe gave it to the elders.”
Whiteberry stuck his head out of the den. “It was very tasty.” His gaze moved toward the Meeting Hollow. “Reena said that the tunnelers had helped catch it.”
Tallpaw took a bite of lapwing, his belly growling. “Woollytail flushed it out of a hole for me,” he told Whiteberry with his mouth full.
“Perhaps Heatherstar’s giving the other tunnelers hunting tips.” Whiteberry sniffed. “They’ve been talking since Sandgorse’s patrol got back.”
From the bristling of the tunnelers’ fur and the dark look in Heatherstar’s eyes, Tallpaw guessed they weren’t talking about hunting. Besides, tunnelers were already as good at hunting as moor runners, in their own way.
“Great lapwing,” he told Reena, suddenly aware that she was watching him. “Did you catch it?”
Reena nudged him with a paw. “Don’t be silly,” she purred. “That’s proper moor hunting. Give me a barn full of mice and I’m as fast as the next cat, but chasing birds through heather takes more skill than I’ve got.”
“You wait till the end of greenleaf.” Tallpaw ripped away another mouthful of bird flesh. “You’ll be plucking buzzards from the sky.”
Reena purred. “You think?” She didn’t sound convinced.
Tallpaw stiffened as Heatherstar and Reedfeather left the Meeting Hollow. He searched the tunnelers’ faces as they headed for the prey heap. What had they been discussing? Tallpaw quickly swallowed his mouthful of lapwing as his father veered toward him. He leaped to his paws. Had Sandgorse heard how he’d caught the rabbit? Was he coming to congratulate him? Then Tallpaw caught sight of Sandgorse’s expression, and his heart sank.
Behind him, the gorse rattled as Whiteberry ducked back inside her den. Reena shifted her paws. She looked uneasy. She must have seen the thunderous look on Sandgorse’s face, too.
“Hey, Sandgorse.” An ominous feeling sat like a stone in Tallpaw’s belly.
Sandgorse stopped in front of him, eyes blazing. “Why did you have to tell Heatherstar that you nearly drowned?”
“I—I didn’t!” Tallpaw backed away. “It was Woollytail. He told Dawnstripe.”
“You’re such a coward, you can’t e
ven own up to your own mistake!”
“What mistake?” Why was Sandgorse so angry?
“It’s bad enough that my son is too rabbit-hearted to go underground,” Sandgorse snarled. “Now I discover that he’s so scared of getting his paws wet he wants to stop everyone from going underground!”
“I don’t!” Tallpaw’s heart pounded in his throat. What had Heatherstar told the tunnelers?
“Thanks to you and your tattling, Heatherstar’s ordered us to close off the gorge tunnel and stop all work there.” Sandgorse leaned closer, his breath hot on Tallpaw’s muzzle. “You get a fright, and a project that we’ve spent moons on has to be abandoned.”
Tallpaw shrank as his father showed his teeth. “Just because you don’t want to be a tunneler,” Sandgorse hissed, “doesn’t mean you have to spoil it for everyone else! From now on, stay away from me and the tunnels!”
CHAPTER 14
Tallpaw hung his head over the side of his nest and peered out from under the gorse. The clearing was empty. While the Clan slept, the waning moon silvered the tussocks and spilled shadows across the Meeting Hollow. Tallpaw blinked up at the stars. Are you there, StarClan? Can you see me? He wondered if Finchkit was watching him. Would she have been such a disappointment to Sandgorse? Maybe she would have known how to make Palebird happy.
Shrewpaw and Reena were snoring gently in the nests behind him. Loneliness hollowed out Tallpaw’s chest until he couldn’t bear it any longer. He crept from his nest and slid out of camp. Beyond the heather walls, a soft breeze tugged his fur. The moor stretched before him, drenched in moonlight. Tallpaw broke into a run, relishing the wind against his fur, lengthening his strides until he felt like a bird skimming the grass. He headed for the moor-top, skirting the heather, staying in the open, out of breath by the time he reached Outlook Rock.
Up here the wind pushed hard enough to make him pad warily across the stone, taking care not to slip. He stopped at the edge and stared across the sleeping valley. Far beyond the meadows, an owl screeched. Tallpaw narrowed his eyes, seeing wings flutter in the top of a distant oak. An owl lifted and circled up into the peat-black sky. Is that what it feels like to join StarClan? Tallpaw imagined lifting off from Outlook Rock and spiraling into the stars.
The grass rustled behind him. Paws brushed the rock.
Tallpaw spun around. “Who’s there?” He could just make out the outline of a cat against the dark bulk of the moor.
“It’s me—Sparrow.” The tom’s mew was soft. “Is that Tallpaw?”
Tallpaw dipped his head. “Yes.”
“Are you supposed to be out here by yourself?”
Tallpaw turned back to the horizon. “Probably not.”
“Do you mind if I join you?” Sparrow jumped onto the stone and sat down beside Tallpaw. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to fly?” Tallpaw murmured. He gazed at the owl as it swooped low over a meadow.
“I would think it’s hard work.” Sparrow’s tail whisked over the rock. “If you stop flapping, you fall. I’d rather feel the earth beneath my paws, know where I am just by looking around me.”
Tallpaw glanced at him. “Do you like being a rogue?”
Sparrow’s eyes glinted. “Is that what I am?”
“That’s what warriors call cats who don’t live in Clans.”
“Then I guess I’m a rogue.”
“Why are you here?” Tallpaw asked.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Sparrow repeated.
“Not on the rock. I mean, why are you staying with WindClan?”
“It’s where my friends wanted to come,” Sparrow meowed. “So I came too.” He gazed into Tallpaw’s eyes. “Why are you here?”
Tallpaw blinked. What did he mean? Why am I with WindClan? No, that’s a dumb question. “Do you mean why am I on Outlook Rock?”
“If you like.” Sparrow turned and stared across the valley.
“I couldn’t sleep, like you.”
“Something bothering you?”
Sandgorse. Sadness and anger welled up until Tallpaw’s throat tightened. “My father hates me. He wants me to be a tunneler, but I hate tunneling.” Once Tallpaw started talking, he couldn’t stop. “I tried going underground but the river broke through the clay and chased us and now Heatherstar’s found out and banned them from tunneling and Sandgorse thinks it’s all my fault because I’m a coward.” The words rushed from Tallpaw so fast it surprised him. He stopped and took a deep breath.
Sparrow hadn’t moved. He sat as still as the rock, gazing out to the horizon. “Are you a coward?”
Tallpaw bristled. “No!”
“Then Sandgorse is wrong,” Sparrow meowed simply.
“I was scared, though,” Tallpaw confessed. “When the tunnel flooded.”
“I’d have been scared, too.” Sparrow shifted his paws. “No cat wants to be trapped underground in a flood.”
“Sandgorse wasn’t scared,” Tallpaw pointed out.
“Sandgorse has been facing floods for moons.”
“Perhaps I should become a tunneler.” Tallpaw sighed. “If I faced floods for moons, I might get used to it too.”
Sparrow caught his gaze and held it. “Is that what you want?”
“It’s what Sandgorse wants.”
“But is it what you want?”
“No.” Tallpaw’s pelt pricked with frustration. He’d been over this before. “But what I want doesn’t seem important.”
“It doesn’t seem important to Sandgorse.” Sparrow blinked. “But I’m guessing it’s important to you.”
Of course it’s important to me!
“You should spend more time aiming for what you want,” Sparrow meowed. “And less time worrying about what your father wants.”
That’s easy to say. Tallpaw twitched his tail.
“Sandgorse chose his own destiny,” Sparrow went on. “Why should he get to choose yours, too?”
In the end, we choose our own destinies. Hawkheart’s words echoed in Tallpaw’s mind. “You’re right!” Tallpaw stared at Sparrow. “Why should Sandgorse get to choose my path as well as his own? My paws are my own; I’ll decide what to do with them.” Energy surged through him.
Sparrow stood up and turned toward the moor.
“Are you going?” Tallpaw called.
“I want to see what the night prey’s like in the heather,” Sparrow told him. “I’m sure the elders will like waking up to a full prey heap.”
Tallpaw watched him pad across the rock. “Thank you,” he meowed.
Sparrow glanced back. “What for?”
Before Tallpaw could answer, the rogue slipped into the shadow of the moor. Tallpaw turned back to the valley and gazed at the stars on the horizon, his heart feeling lighter and freer than it had in moons.
You chose your destiny, Sandgorse. I’ll choose mine.
“You’re still half-asleep!” Dawnstripe nudged Tallpaw’s shoulder as he dragged his paws toward the entrance. His feet felt as numb as stones and his mouth was dry. He’d sat on Outlook Rock until the horizon had started to lighten. Only then did he return to his nest. He’d managed to snatch a short sleep before the sun rose, but it wasn’t enough to stop his eyelids from drooping as he headed out on patrol with Aspenfall, Dawnstripe, and Stagleap.
“Bring back a mouse!” Lilywhisker called from outside the elders’ den. “Flailfoot’s starving.”
Tallpaw frowned. Hadn’t Sparrow restocked the prey heap like he’d promised?
“Reedfeather’s patrol will be back soon,” Dawnstripe called back. The WindClan deputy had taken Doespring and Appledawn hunting.
Mole padded from the gorse and stopped beside Lilywhisker, his nose twitching. “I smell rabbit.” As he spoke, the entrance tunnel shivered and Sparrow padded into camp. A plump rabbit hung from his jaws.
Lilywhisker’s eyes lit up.
Dawnstripe purred. “You’re just in time.” She flicked her tail toward the elders’ den. Sparrow nodded and
carried his catch across camp.
Belly rumbling at the scent of fresh prey, Tallpaw stumbled dozily after the rest of his patrol.
“Excuse me.” Hickorynose shouldered past with Mistmouse, Plumclaw, Woollytail, and Sandgorse behind him.
“Why can’t tunnelers wait their turn like other warriors?” Aspenfall grumbled under his breath as he halted to let the tunneling patrol through the entrance first.
Tallpaw snapped his head up and tried to catch Sandgorse’s eye. Before he pushed his way through the heather, his father shot him a look that stabbed Tallpaw’s heart.
Dawnstripe brushed softly against Tallpaw. “Why don’t you run to the first marker?” she suggested. “It might wake you up a bit.” Tallpaw heard sympathy in her mew. She saw how Sandgorse looked at me.
“Okay.” Running wouldn’t make Sandgorse’s angry stare hurt any less, but Tallpaw was grateful that his mentor cared. As he raced onto the grass, he saw the ginger tip of Sandgorse’s tail snake into the bushes. Why can’t I have normal kin who care about my training and who are proud of me?
Scowling, Tallpaw rounded the edge of the camp and raced for the first marker. As he neared the border with Fourtrees, he began to pick up scents from the forest. Somehow the wind carried scents more easily from this side of the moor—including, when the breeze blew in the right direction, the harsh smell of Twolegplace. Tallpaw paused and tasted the air. Something was different; there was a faint, ominous tang below the scent of the bright-yellow gorse flowers and the tiny, purple blooms on the heather. His hackles rose.
Not dog. Not Twoleg. He sniffed again. Sparrow? Perhaps the rogue had left scent when he was hunting. It didn’t smell like Sparrow, but it was familiar. I smelled it at the Gathering! Concentrating, Tallpaw sifted through his memory of the scents he’d learned at full moon. Pinesap? Stale river water? Neither! It’s ThunderClan!
Tallpaw scanned the heather. The scent was fresh. A ThunderClan cat had passed this way since dawn. He had to tell Dawnstripe. He whirled around and raced back toward camp. Plunging through a swathe of bristly gorse, he exploded out on the other side. Dawnstripe, Aspenfall, and Stagleap were padding across the grassy clearing, following his trail to the border.
