by Erin Hunter
“We’re going along the WindClan border,” Berrynose interrupted. “And we’re not expecting trouble.” He strode downhill toward the lake.
Bramblestar waited until the rest of the patrol had passed, then fell in behind them. He noticed how thin the cats were, their ribs visible beneath sparse pelts. But their alertness showed in every twitch of their ears, and muscles bunched in their scrawny haunches as they moved. ThunderClan was not beaten yet.
Amberpaw skittered between the trees in a broad zigzag, and Spiderleg stretched out a black paw to halt her.
“If you go on like that,” he warned, “you’ll be exhausted before the patrol is half over. And if there are any cats trespassing on our territory, they’ll hear you coming way before we spot them.”
“Sorry, Spiderleg,” Amberpaw mewed, flattening her ears.
“I want to see how quietly you can walk,” Spiderleg told her. “Pretend you’re stalking a mouse.”
Bramblestar watched as the little ginger she-cat stalked forward, setting each paw down so lightly that she hardly disturbed the crumbled leaves.
“Not bad,” Spiderleg commented. “Keep it up.”
From Spiderleg, that was a considerable compliment, and Amberpaw puffed up her chest with pride.
It was a good decision to put those two together, Bramblestar thought. In fact, all three apprentices are doing well. They were the first apprentices he had made as Clan leader, and he had hesitated a long time over the choice of mentors. Now Dewpaw was paired with Whitewing, her sister from an earlier litter by Cloudtail and Brightheart, while Snowpaw was mentored by Ivypool.
They suffered so much hardship, so much grief as they were growing up, Bramblestar reflected. I want their apprenticeship moons to be peaceful, so they can be reassured that life in the Clan is not always lived on the brink of death.
As the patrol reached the edge of the trees above the lake, Bramblestar spotted Leafpool under an elderly beech tree. She was nipping off stems of early-flowering coltsfoot, the yellow buds glowing like tiny suns. Noticing the patrol, she waved her tail in greeting.
“You look busy,” Bramblestar commented as he padded up to her.
“That’s because I am.” Leafpool gathered the coltsfoot stems into a neat bundle. “Jayfeather wants these gathered before the sun burns off the dew.”
“Hi, Leafpool!” Millie bounded over to join them. “I just wanted to tell you that Briarlight’s exercises are clearing her chest really well. I was so afraid she would never get over that bout of greencough.”
Bramblestar felt a pang of relief shiver through his pelt. Millie was understandably anxious about her daughter, Briarlight, who had lost the use of her hind legs when she was trapped under a falling tree. It was hard to believe that the injured she-cat had recovered from a bout of greencough that had killed Toadstep, Icecloud, and Hazeltail.
Leafpool twitched her ears. “It’s Jayfeather you ought to thank, Millie. He never stops figuring out different ways to help Briarlight. I’m collecting this coltsfoot for a new mixture of herbs to help her breathing, together with thyme and catmint.”
“We still have catmint?” Millie asked.
“Oh, yes, there’s new growth in the patch Jayfeather planted beside the old Twoleg den. I’m going to tend it as soon as I’ve taken these herbs back to camp.”
Leafpool picked up her bundle and bounded off through the trees. Bramblestar watched her go, more glad than he could express that she was ThunderClan’s medicine cat once more.
Berrynose led the patrol to the WindClan border. They paused for a moment on the bank of the stream where it spilled into the lake, then headed uphill, keeping close to the water’s edge. Before they had gone more than a couple of fox-lengths, the sun crested the moor, bathing the tough grass in golden light. Bramblestar stopped to stretch his front legs, thankful for the warmth after so many cold moons.
As the cats trekked upward, the breeze blowing from beyond the stream carried WindClan scent markers strongly toward them.
“Those smell fresh,” Berrynose muttered, wrinkling his nose. “Millie, Rosepetal, you’d better renew our markers as we go along. We don’t want WindClan to think we’re getting careless about boundaries.”
“I want to set a scent marker!” Amberpaw piped up. “Can I, please?”
“Can she?” Spiderleg asked Berrynose. “She’ll have to learn how sooner or later.”
“I know how!” Amberpaw scampered up to the edge of the stream. “I watched—” She broke off with a squeal as the grass beneath her paws gave way and she slid out of sight. A heartbeat later, they heard a loud splash.
“Amberpaw!” Spiderleg yowled.
Every cat rushed to the edge of the stream where the apprentice had disappeared. Bramblestar couldn’t remember whether the water was deep enough here to drown her.
Spiderleg plunged down the side of the bank into the swift-flowing water. Leaning over the edge, Bramblestar saw the black warrior boosting Amberpaw onto a ledge just above the surface of the stream. She was coughing up water while the current dragged at her tail.
“It’s cold!” she gasped.
“Serves you right for being so idiotic,” Spiderleg meowed as he scrambled up behind her, though Bramblestar noticed that he touched his nose comfortingly to the young cat’s ear. “Come on, climb onto my shoulders and Bramblestar will help you out.”
Before Amberpaw could move, Bramblestar spotted movement in the bushes at the other side of the stream, and a WindClan patrol emerged into the open, with Weaselfur in the lead.
“What’s going on?” the WindClan warrior demanded. “Why are you in our stream?”
“It’s not your stream,” Spiderleg hissed, crouching lower on the ledge so that Amberpaw could reach his shoulders. “We haven’t crossed the border.”
“You’d better not,” Weaselfur growled, his ginger fur starting to bristle. “We all know what ThunderClan thinks about boundaries.”
Bramblestar reached down to sink his teeth into Amberpaw’s scruff while she teetered wildly on Spiderleg’s shoulders, and dragged her up to the safety of the bank. Before he had the chance to respond to Weaselfur, Rosepetal flashed past him, leaping the stream to stand nose to nose with the WindClan warrior.
“How dare you!” she exclaimed. “Name one time ThunderClan invaded your territory.”
Weaselfur unsheathed his claws. His Clanmates Leaftail and Nightcloud sprang forward, hissing with fury, and trapped Rosepetal between them. Nightpelt lashed out, clawing at Rosepetal’s ear.
Two soft-furred WindClan apprentices looked on with wide eyes, bouncing on their paws as if they were waiting for the signal to join in.
“Invading our territory? How about now?” Nightcloud mewed pointedly. She flicked her tail. “Get back on your own side of the stream.”
“She’s right,” Bramblestar meowed, moving to the very edge of the bank. This wasn’t a battle they needed to fight. “Rosepetal, get back here now.”
Rosepetal jumped back across the stream, hanging her head as she halted in front of Bramblestar. Blood was trickling from a scratch on her ear. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I lost my temper. But they started it.”
“Never mind who started it,” Bramblestar meowed. “Sorry,” he called to Weaselfur and the rest of the WindClan cats. “Our apprentice fell into the stream. Spiderleg was just helping her out.”
Weaselfur sniffed. “Then she should watch where she’s putting her paws.”
Bramblestar understood why the WindClan cats were so touchy. We may have united to fight against the Dark Forest . . . but we’re four Clans, not one, and borders need to be respected once more.
To his relief, Weaselfur relaxed and waved his tail for the rest of his patrol to take a step back. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he growled. “And don’t think you can jump across here any time you feel like it.”
“She said sorry!” Berrynose spat at him.
“How’s the prey running in WindClan?” Bramblestar aske
d with a glare at Berrynose, while Spiderleg clambered out of the stream and shook himself, spattering his Clanmates with icy drops.
“Fine,” Weaselfur replied coolly. “More rabbits than we can count. What about ThunderClan?”
“Oh, prey is coming back now the cold weather is over,” Bramblestar told him, sounding more optimistic than he felt. “We’re looking forward to the warm seasons. And how is Onestar?” he added. “And Sedgewhisker? I haven’t seen her at a Gathering for a couple of moons.”
“Onestar is fine,” Leaftail responded. “And Sedgewhisker is expecting Emberfoot’s kits. She’ll be in the nursery for a while yet.”
“Congratulations,” Bramblestar mewed, meaning it. “Well, we’d better be getting along.”
He turned to the rest of the patrol. Millie was helping Amberpaw to groom her wet fur, while Berrynose stood close to Rosepetal, licking her scratched ear. At Bramblestar’s signal he stopped and headed upstream again.
“Good-bye!” Bramblestar called to the WindClan patrol.
“You lot should try going for a swim!” Amberpaw added cheekily over her shoulder. “You need cooling down!”
Spiderleg instantly bounded to her side and gave her a cuff over the ear, his claws sheathed. “Mouse-brain!” he muttered. “That was a lucky escape back there.”
Once the patrol had left the WindClan cats behind, Berrynose dropped back to pad along beside Bramblestar. “Rosepetal seems okay,” he mewed. “I was worried the WindClan cats might have hurt her.”
Bramblestar gave Berrynose a puzzled look. Have I missed something? he wondered. Berrynose is still Poppyfrost’s mate, right?
“We’ve lost so many she-cats,” Berrynose went on. “Hollyleaf, Sorreltail, and Ferncloud in the Great Battle, and Icecloud and Hazeltail from greencough. Now it’s newleaf, and none of the survivors are expecting kits.”
Bramblestar realized this was true. He felt guilty that he hadn’t thought about this himself, and he was struck by how serious Berrynose sounded. Maybe he’s growing up at last, he thought. He used to be a real pain in the tail. . . .
“We need to think about replacing the fallen warriors,” Berrynose pointed out. “If we don’t, we’ll be weaker than the other Clans. We’ve just heard that kits are due in WindClan. We need to heal from the wounds of the Great Battle and make ourselves strong agin, but how can we do that if we have fewer cats than the other Clans?”
CHAPTER 2
Bramblestar pushed his way through the thorn barrier into the camp with the rest of the patrol behind him. The sun shone down into the hollow, casting long shadows across the ground. Above the cliffs, the trees rustled gently and a warm breeze stirred the dust on the ground.
Bramblestar could still see traces of the terrible conflict when the warriors of the Dark Forest had poured into the camp: fresh bramble tendrils entwined with the old in the walls of the nursery, and broken branches on the hazel bush that screened the elders’ den. It was too easy to close his eyes and be plunged back into the storm of fighting and blood, with cats both dead and alive attacking from all sides. The Dark Forest cats had flung themselves into battle in a furious quest for power and vengeance, and it had taken all the strength of the living cats—and the strength of StarClan—to beat them back. Bramblestar gave his pelt a shake, trying to recall his earlier optimism. At least the dens were repaired, and the surviving cats had recovered from their wounds.
But the scars we can’t see will be harder to heal.
When the battle was over, Jayfeather had propped a bark-stripped branch against the cliff below the Highledge. He had scored claw marks across it, one for each life taken by the Dark Forest.
“It will remind us of the debts that we owe to our former Clanmates,” he had explained.
Now Whitewing was standing in front of the branch with her apprentice, Dewpaw, beside her. Seedpaw and Lilypaw stood watching with their mentors, Bumblestripe and Poppyfrost.
“Can you remember all the names?” Whitewing asked her apprentice.
Dewpaw narrowed his eyes in concentration. “I think so. This one is for Mousefur. . . .” he began, touching the first claw mark. “She was an elder, but she fought so bravely! And this one is for Hollyleaf. She had been away for a while, but she came back in time to help us when the Dark Forest attacked. And this is for Foxleap, who died of his wounds afterward. . . .”
Bramblestar nodded as Dewpaw went on reciting the names. He had decided that all the apprentices had to learn the list as part of their training, so that their lost Clanmates would be remembered for season after season, as long as ThunderClan survived.
“This one is for Ferncloud,” Dewpaw continued. “She was killed by Brokenstar when she was defending the kits in the nursery. And this is Sorreltail. She hid her wounds because she wanted to take care of the kits, but she died just when we thought we had won. She was the bravest of all.”
“And the big mark right at the top?” Whitewing prompted. “Do you know who that stands for?”
“That’s our leader, Firestar,” Dewpaw replied. “He was the best cat in the whole forest, and he gave up his last life to save us!”
Bramblestar felt a familiar stab of grief. I wonder if he’s watching us now? I hope he approves of what I have done.
“I miss Firestar, too.”
Bramblestar turned to see that Jayfeather had appeared at his side, the medicine cat’s blue eyes fixed on him so intensely that it was hard to believe he was blind. “I didn’t think you could tell what’s in my mind anymore,” Bramblestar mewed, surprised.
“No, those days are past,” Jayfeather admitted, sounding a little wistful. “But it wasn’t hard to figure out that you were thinking of Firestar. I heard Dewpaw run his paw over Firestar’s mark and say his name, and then you sighed.” He pressed himself briefly against Bramblestar’s side. “I’m sure Firestar watches over us.”
“Has he walked in your dreams yet?” Bramblestar asked.
Jayfeather shook his head. “No, but that’s a good omen in itself. I’ve had enough warnings from StarClan to last me nine lifetimes.” With a brisk nod to Bramblestar, he padded away to join Leafpool, who was sorting coltsfoot flowers and fresh-picked catmint outside their den.
“Come on, Snowpaw,” Ivypool called to her apprentice. “Time for battle training!”
“Can we go too?” Dewpaw begged, as his sister scampered over to join her mentor.
“Sure we can,” Whitewing meowed.
“And me!” Amberpaw raced across the camp and skidded to a halt beside her littermates.
“No, not you!” Spiderleg called from where he stood beside the fresh-kill pile with Cloudtail and Cherryfall. “You did the dawn patrol this morning. You need to rest.”
Amberpaw’s tail drooped. “But they’ll be learning stuff when I’m not there!” she wailed. “I’ll get behind, and then I’ll never be a warrior!”
Spiderleg padded over to her and gave her ear a friendly flick with his tail. “Of course you’ll be a warrior, mouse-brain! Once you’ve rested, I’ll show you the move they’re going to learn, I promise.”
“Okay.” Amberpaw still cast a regretful look after her littermates and their mentors as they left the hollow.
“What about us?” Lilypaw asked, exchanging a disappointed glance with Seedpaw. “Why can’t we do battle training?”
“Because we’re going hunting,” Poppyfrost replied briskly. “Come on! Bumblestripe knows the best place to find mice.”
“Great!” Seedpaw exclaimed with an excited little bounce. “Lilypaw, I bet I catch more mice than you.”
“I’m going to catch enough for the whole Clan!” her sister retorted.
“It’s not fair,” Amberpaw muttered as she watched them go. “Why don’t I get to do anything?”
“I told you,” Spiderleg responded. “You did the dawn patrol. Now you rest. But before you do,” he went on, “you can fetch some clean moss for Purdy’s den.”
Amberpaw brightened up. “Sure! And maybe
he’ll tell me a story!” She darted off and thrust her way into the barrier.
“I wonder if I ever had that much energy?” Bramblestar mewed aloud as he watched the young cat disappear.
Sandstorm popped her head out of the nearby nursery. “You still do!” she told him. She emerged into the open, pushing a ball of moss in front of her. “It’s good to see the little ones being so lively. It gives me new hope for our Clan.” She paused, her gaze clouding, and Bramblestar wondered if she was thinking about her former mate, Firestar, who wasn’t here to watch this group of apprentices grow up. Then she lifted her head again. “Daisy and I are clearing out the nursery,” she announced, giving the ball of moss a prod with one paw. “There might not be any kits now, but surely some of our young she-cats will be expecting soon.”
“I hope so,” Bramblestar replied, remembering his earlier conversation with Berrynose. I really hope so. “Surely there are other cats who could help Daisy?” he went on, thinking that Sandstorm didn’t need to be struggling with bedding, covered in dust and scraps of moss.
Amusement sparked in Sandstorm’s green eyes. “Are you trying to pack me off to the elders’ den?” she teased.
“You’ve served your Clanmates long enough,” Bramblestar responded. “Why not let them take care of you now?”
Sandstorm flicked her whiskers dismissively. “I’ve plenty of life in my paws yet,” she insisted, retreating into the nursery to help Daisy wrestle with a huge clump of brittle, musty moss.
Bramblestar watched the she-cats for a moment longer before turning away. His deputy, Squirrelflight, stood near the elders’ den, sorting out the hunting patrols with Graystripe; like Sandstorm, the former deputy was one of the oldest cats in the Clan now.
“We need the hunting patrols to go out early,” Graystripe was explaining to Squirrelflight. “With the days getting hotter, it’s best to avoid sunhigh for chasing around.”
Squirrelflight nodded. “And the prey will be holed up by then, too. I’ve already sent out one patrol,” she went on, “but I’ll send out another. Brightheart would be a good cat to lead it.” She glanced around. “Hey, Brightheart!”
