by Erin Hunter
The ginger-and-white she-cat slid out between the branches that sheltered the warriors’ den. “Yes?”
“I want you to lead a hunting patrol,” Squirrelflight told her. “But stick to one area, and come back before it gets too hot.”
Brightheart dipped her head. “Any particular place?” she asked.
“You could try up by the ShadowClan border,” Squirrelflight suggested. “Millie spotted a nest of squirrels there yesterday.”
“Good idea,” Brightheart mewed. “Which cats should I take with me?”
“Millie, obviously, since she knows where the nest is. Apart from her, any cat you like.”
“I’m on my way.” Brightheart bounded off to call Millie from the warriors’ den. Then she rounded up Dovewing and Mousewhisker and headed out through the thorns.
The barrier was still trembling from their departure when Amberpaw reappeared with a huge bundle of moss in her jaws. As she staggered toward the elders’ den, Bramblestar noticed that the moss was dripping with water, leaving a line of dark spots on the dusty floor of the clearing.
Squirrelflight stepped out to intercept the apprentice as she drew closer to the den. “You can’t take that in there,” she told Amberpaw sharply. “That moss is too wet. It’ll soak all the other bedding and Purdy will claw your ears off for making his legs ache from the damp.”
At the mention of his name Purdy ducked out of the shelter of the hazel bush. “There’s nothin’ wrong with my legs, or my ears,” he snorted.
“How about your pelt?” Amberpaw asked, dropping the moss.
Bramblestar stifled a mrrow of amusement: Purdy’s tabby pelt looked as if he had crawled backward through the thorns, the fur clumped and sticking up as if he hadn’t groomed himself for a moon.
“Eh? Speak up!” Purdy complained. “Why are you mumblin’? Young cats these days always mumble,” he added crossly.
“I was explaining to Amberpaw that she can’t bring wet moss into your den,” Squirrelflight meowed.
“What?” Purdy prodded the bundle of moss. “You’re sure you weren’t tryin’ to bring me a drink instead?” he asked Amberpaw.
The apprentice looked crestfallen. “I was only trying to help.”
“Sure you were, young ’un.” Purdy stroked Amberpaw’s side with his tail. “Come on. You an’ I will spread the moss out here, just outside the den, an’ it’ll soon dry in the sun. An’ while it does that, I’ll tell you how I once killed a whole nest o’ rats.”
“Yes!” Amberpaw bounced in delight and began spreading out the wet moss.
On the other side of the clearing, Sandstorm headed out of the camp, pushing a huge bundle of used bedding in front of her. Bramblestar slid into the nursery and began helping Daisy scratch together the next bundle.
“Have you heard anything about new kits?” he asked hopefully.
Daisy shook her head. “No, but I’m sure we’ll need the nursery soon, now that newleaf is here.” She paused, then added, “Come and look.”
She led Bramblestar out of the nursery and pointed with her tail to where Lionblaze and Cinderheart were sharing tongues in a patch of sunlight. “That one will be expecting soon,” Daisy mewed, twitching her ears at Cinderheart.
Bramblestar felt a flash of excitement. He remembered play fighting with Lionblaze as a kit outside the nursery, and how he had taught Lionblaze his first pounce. In spite of all that’s happened, I couldn’t have loved those three kits more if I’d been their real father.
Lionblaze looked up and noticed Bramblestar watching him. With a quick word to Cinderheart he got up and limped across the camp to join his leader.
“Did you want me?” he asked.
“No, but since you’re here, you can tell me how things are going. It looks as if we might have some new kits soon,” Bramblestar meowed with an affectionate nudge.
“Great StarClan!” Lionblaze gave his chest fur a couple of embarrassed licks. “No pressure, then?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bramblestar went on more anxiously, spotting a scratch on Lionblaze’s shoulder. He’s limping on that forepaw, too.
Lionblaze sighed. “Yes, I’m fine. Leafpool and Jayfeather checked me out, and gave me a dock leaf for the sore pad. It’s just hard to get used to the way I can be hurt now. All I did was trip over a stupid bramble!”
“Too bad,” Bramblestar mewed. “You’ll have to start watching where you tread!”
“That will make me very fearsome to our enemies. Not,” Lionblaze muttered. He limped back to his mate and settled down beside her.
Movement at the entrance caught Bramblestar’s eye as the first hunting patrol returned. Dustpelt was leading it; he carried a squirrel in his jaws. Behind him came Brackenfur, Blossomfall, and Poppyfrost, all laden with prey. Bramblestar watched approvingly while they carried their catch over to the fresh-kill pile.
He noticed that Dustpelt looked exhausted as he dropped his squirrel on the pile. The brown tabby tom was still haunted by the death of his mate, Ferncloud, in the Great Battle. Squirrelflight had told him that Dustpelt often woke yowling in the warriors’ den, thrashing in his nest. In his dreams he still tried to save Ferncloud from the claws of Brokenstar, and every time he had to watch her die again.
A little more than a moon ago, Bramblestar had suggested that Dustpelt might like to retire and join the elders.
“Anything but that,” Dustpelt had growled. “Let me keep busy. I need something to distract me, or the memories hurt too much.”
“You’ll meet Ferncloud again one day, in StarClan,” Bramblestar meowed, trying to comfort the older warrior.
Dustpelt shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s true.” His voice shaking, he added, “I kept some of the moss from her nest. But I can’t even smell her scent on it anymore.”
Bramblestar hadn’t known what he could do to help, except to do as Dustpelt asked and make sure he stayed busy.
Bramblestar headed across the camp, intending to praise Dustpelt’s patrol for their good hunting, when he heard his name yowled from the other side of the barrier. Startled, he spun around to see Brightheart bursting out of the thorns with the rest of her patrol just behind.
“ShadowClan!” she gasped as she scrambled to a halt.
“Calm down,” Bramblestar meowed. “Tell me what happened.”
“Are they attacking?” Brackenfur called as the rest of the Clan gathered around, their whiskers quivering with curiosity.
“No, but it’s almost as bad,” Brightheart panted. “We picked up ShadowClan scent inside our borders.”
“And it’s not the first time it’s happened,” Millie added with a lash of her tail.
“Are they after that nest of squirrels?” Lionblaze asked.
More cats jumped in with urgent questions. Only Dovewing looked quiet and subdued. Bramblestar felt a stab of pity. Once she would have been able to look into ShadowClan without leaving the hollow, and listen to their conversations to find out why they were crossing the border, but those days were gone. She feels blind and deaf without her powers, he guessed.
Bumblestripe padded up to Dovewing and pressed his muzzle against her shoulder. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
Dovewing leaned into him. “I’m fine,” she sighed.
Bramblestar raised his tail for silence. “Brightheart, where exactly—” he began.
“We should attack now!” Mousewhisker interrupted, his shoulder fur bristling with fury. “Those crow-food eaters have no right to set paw on our territory.”
For a moment a cold trickle of suspicion passed through Bramblestar. Mousewhisker had been one of the cats who had trained in the Dark Forest, and although he had returned to his Clan, he seemed a bit too ready to attack their neighbors. Did he want to try out the skills he had learned from his Dark Forest mentors? Bramblestar thrust the suspicion away. Mousewhisker is young, and young cats are hotheaded.
“No cat will attack any of the Clans,” he warned.
“Try
telling that to WindClan,” Rosepetal muttered, flicking the ear that Nightcloud had scratched that morning.
“So what are we going to do about ShadowClan?” Millie asked.
“We’re not going to let ShadowClan get away with this, are we?” Berrynose meowed. He sounded almost as belligerent as Mousewhisker.
“Not at all,” Bramblestar replied. “I’m going to visit Blackstar, and find out why his warriors are crossing our border.”
“Seriously?” Mousewhisker’s eyes stretched wide, and his voice was even more indignant than before. “You’re going to give them a chance to come up with a reason, when we all know what they’re doing is wrong?”
“Mouse-brain!” Mousewhisker’s sister Cherryfall gave him a hard nudge, almost unbalancing him. “That isn’t what Bramblestar is doing. He’s just going to tell Blackstar that he knows what’s going on!”
Bramblestar was touched by the ginger she-cat’s faith in him. My Clanmates should be able to trust me to keep them safe. What would they say if they knew how much I doubt myself?
CHAPTER 3
“Squirrelflight, I’d like you to come with me,” Bramblestar meowed. “And you, Brackenfur, and Cinderheart.” He was careful not to choose any of the cats with Dark Forest associations, unwilling to risk any comments from ShadowClan. The Great Battle had revealed misplaced allegiances inside every Clan, and however much those cats had sworn loyalty to their living Clans since then, they would always be a source of mistrust for their rivals.
The cats Bramblestar had named started to head over to him. Cinderheart paused for a moment to touch noses with Lionblaze.
“Be careful,” the golden tabby tom murmured.
Bramblestar led the patrol into the forest. By now it was almost sunhigh, warm and breezeless, and everything was still under the warm rays. But Bramblestar was too concerned about ShadowClan’s trespass to enjoy the signs of life returning to his territory.
“I think we should double the patrols on the ShadowClan border,” Squirrelflight suggested as they walked side by side through the trees. “And maybe hunt over there more regularly, too. Let ShadowClan know that our eyes and ears are open.”
“Good idea,” Bramblestar agreed.
As they trotted past the abandoned Twoleg den, Bramblestar spotted Leafpool tending to the herbs that she and Jayfeather had planted before leaf-bare. Tiny green shoots were beginning to sprout from the dark soil. Leafpool had her nose buried deep in a clump of catmint, and was unaware of the patrol.
“I’m glad Leafpool has found her place within the Clan again,” Squirrelflight murmured with a warm glance at her sister. “I—I think she lost a bit of herself when she stopped being a medicine cat.”
“We’re lucky to have her,” Bramblestar mewed. He was careful not to comment on Firestar’s decision to send Leafpool to the warriors’ den when the truth about Jayfeather, Lionblaze, and Hollyleaf came out. The fact that Leafpool had broken the medicine cats’ code could not be ignored, and Bramblestar was relieved that he had not been forced to make the judgment.
Thinking of other cats whose lives had been transformed by the Great Battle, he fell back to walk beside Brackenfur, out of earshot of the she-cats.
“How are you doing?” Bramblestar asked. His fur felt hot with awkwardness, but he pictured Firestar gently making sure he knew how each of his Clanmates was coping with great change. “I know it’s tough for you, facing the return of newleaf without Sorreltail.” Somehow, grief had seemed easier to bear when the skies were dark and a cold wind kept cats and prey inside their nests.
Brackenfur nodded, his eyes clouding. “I can’t bear knowing that she needn’t have died,” he muttered. “If only she’d let Jayfeather treat her wounds straight after the battle . . . But she insisted on taking care of our kits first, and then it was too late.”
“She was a great warrior, and a brilliant mother,” Bramblestar meowed. “None of us will forget her.”
“Every leaf and every blade of grass reminds me of her,” Brackenfur told him, his voice steady. “I know she’s watching over me and her kits from StarClan. One day we’ll meet again.” He paused, then added quietly, “I would wait forever to see her face once more.”
Bramblestar nodded, too full of emotion to speak. He ran ahead to give Brackenfur a few moments alone with his memories.
As they approached the border, Bramblestar picked up the reek of ShadowClan scent. “This is well inside our territory,” he remarked with a lash of his tail. “What was Blackstar thinking?”
“Who knows?” Squirrelflight let out a sigh of frustration. “I should have thought every cat in the forest has had a bellyful of trouble by now.” Bramblestar watched her green eyes gleam. Bellyful of trouble or not, she would run into battle today to protect her Clan. No leader could ask for a better deputy.
The last few fox-lengths of their territory seemed full of ShadowClan scent, almost swamping the ThunderClan scent markers.
“Keep together,” Bramblestar warned as the patrol crossed the open space where Twolegs brought their pelt-dens in greenleaf. This had been ShadowClan territory for a long time, until the battle in which Russetfur had died. “If we meet a ShadowClan patrol, remember we’re here to talk, not fight.”
“You mean we let them tear our pelts off?” Brackenfur asked. He sounded grim and focused, as if he had put aside his memories of Sorreltail.
“I mean that we should defend ourselves if we have to, but we won’t strike the first blow,” Bramblestar replied. “You know ShadowClan as well as I do. They’ll do their best to provoke us, but we don’t have to let them.”
Brackenfur snorted as Bramblestar led the way across the border and into ShadowClan territory.
The bare trees of ThunderClan territory, with their swelling green buds, gave way to the gloomy ShadowClan pines, pierced by rare shafts of sunlight. The patrol’s paw steps fell softly on the thick layer of needles that covered the ground. Here and there Bramblestar spotted places where the needles had been churned up to expose the soil below. Clots of earth lay scattered on the disturbed ground like forgotten pieces of fresh-kill.
“Cats fought there in the Great Battle,” Cinderheart murmured, angling her ears toward a wide stretch of scarred earth. “Will the forest ever recover?”
“One day,” Squirrelflight responded, sturdily optimistic. “We have to believe that.”
Undergrowth was sparser here than in ThunderClan territory, and Bramblestar felt more uneasy with each paw step. He kept glancing around, aware that they could be seen from some distance, and anxious not to let a ShadowClan patrol surprise them.
But he was still unprepared when a ShadowClan patrol raced around a nearby bramble thicket, moving almost silently over the ground. The warriors skidded to a halt with startled yowls as they came face-to-face with the ThunderClan cats.
Bramblestar’s sister Tawnypelt, who was leading the patrol, bristled with a mixture of shock and anger. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. She glared at her brother, her claws working among the pine needles.
“We’re on our way to see Blackstar,” Bramblestar replied peaceably. “We’re not looking for trouble.”
“Chase them off!” A young brown tabby she-cat bounced excitedly up and down. “They can’t trespass here!”
“Clan leaders are allowed to visit one another, Grasspaw,” Tawnypelt meowed. “You don’t have to react to everything by unsheathing your claws.”
The apprentice looked disappointed; she took a step back but glared at Bramblestar from behind Tawnypelt, letting the tips of her claws peek out against the dark soil.
Tawnypelt looked wary as she faced Bramblestar. “We’ll escort you to our camp,” she meowed. “To make sure you don’t run into any of the trouble you say you’re not looking for.”
“That’s fine by us,” Bramblestar told her.
The ThunderClan patrol drew closer together as they followed Tawnypelt through the trees. Owlclaw and Scorchfur, the other members of the ShadowC
lan patrol, flanked them on each side. Grasspaw brought up the rear, growling softly.
Bramblestar noticed more patches of torn earth, and in one place a clump of brambles that had been completely trampled down, as if fighting cats had rolled over it, oblivious to the sharp thorns. ShadowClan’s territory had suffered more than ThunderClan’s in the battle, it seemed.
The ShadowClan camp lay in a hollow, concealed by a tangle of brambles and the low-growing branches of the pine trees that clustered around it. Tawnypelt trotted ahead of them down a narrow tunnel through the brambles; Bramblestar felt the tendrils scraping his sides as he followed.
Blackstar was standing in the middle of the clearing when the ThunderClan patrol emerged from the tunnel. Rowanclaw, his deputy, stood at his shoulder, and more of the ShadowClan warriors had gathered around them. Littlecloud, the medicine cat, sat at one side of the open space, looking worried. Bramblestar was shocked to see how frail Blackstar looked. But then, the ShadowClan leader was much older than Graystripe and Dustpelt, and had led his Clan through the most terrible battle in their history, so perhaps it was no surprise that the seasons were showing in his patchy fur and gaunt frame.
“I found this ThunderClan patrol heading through our territory,” Tawnypelt explained. “Bramblestar says he needs to speak to you.”
“Well, I’m here.” Blackstar’s tone was mild. “What do you want?”
“Greetings, Blackstar.” Bramblestar dipped his head to the old cat. “I’ve come to ask why my cats have found ShadowClan scent inside our borders.”
“What?” Blackstar’s eyes stretched wide, though Bramblestar had a suspicion that his astonishment was feigned. “Your cats must be dreaming, Bramblestar. No ShadowClan warrior has crossed your borders.”
“Are you saying we don’t know ShadowClan scent when we smell it?” Squirrelflight queried with a warning lash of her tail.
“I’ve smelled it myself,” Bramblestar meowed. “And it’s way inside our borders, beyond the clearing where Twolegs bring their pelt-dens.”
