Into the Wild

by Erin Hunter

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Allegiances

  Maps

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Excerpt from Warriors #2: Fire and Ice

  Back Ads

  About the Author

  Books by Erin Hunter

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  DEDICATION

  For Billy—who left our Twoleg home to become a Warrior.

  We still miss him very much.

  And for Benjamin—his brother

  who is with him now in StarClan.

  Special thanks to Kate Cary

  ALLEGIANCES

  THUNDERCLAN

  LEADER BLUESTAR—blue-gray she-cat, tinged with silver around her muzzle

  DEPUTY REDTAIL—small tortoiseshell tom with a distinctive ginger tail

  APPRENTICE, DUSTPAW

  MEDICINE CAT SPOTTEDLEAF—beautiful dark tortoiseshell she-cat with a distinctive dappled coat

  WARRIORS (toms, and she-cats without kits)

  LIONHEART—magnificent golden tabby tom with thick fur like a lion’s mane

  APPRENTICE, GRAYPAW

  TIGERCLAW—big dark brown tabby tom with unusually long front claws

  APPRENTICE, RAVENPAW

  WHITESTORM—big white tom

  APPRENTICE, SANDPAW

  DARKSTRIPE—sleek black-and-gray tabby tom

  LONGTAIL—pale tabby tom with dark black stripes

  RUNNINGWIND—swift tabby tom

  WILLOWPELT—very pale gray she-cat with unusual blue eyes

  MOUSEFUR—small dusky brown she-cat

  APPRENTICES (more than six moons old, in training to become warriors)

  DUSTPAW—dark brown tabby tom

  GRAYPAW—long-haired solid gray tom

  RAVENPAW—small, skinny black tom with a tiny white dash on his chest, and white-tipped tail

  SANDPAW—pale ginger she-cat

  FIREPAW—handsome ginger tom

  QUEENS (she-cats expecting or nursing kits)

  FROSTFUR—beautiful white coat and blue eyes

  BRINDLEFACE—pretty tabby

  GOLDENFLOWER—pale ginger coat

  SPECKLETAIL—pale tabby, and the oldest nursery queen

  ELDERS (former warriors and queens, now retired)

  HALFTAIL—big dark brown tabby tom with part of his tail missing

  SMALLEAR—gray tom with very small ears. The oldest tom in ThunderClan

  PATCHPELT—small black-and-white tom

  ONE-EYE—pale gray she-cat, the oldest cat in ThunderClan. Virtually blind and deaf

  DAPPLETAIL—once-pretty tortoiseshell she-cat with a lovely dappled coat

  SHADOWCLAN

  LEADER BROKENSTAR—long-haired dark brown tabby

  DEPUTY BLACKFOOT—large white tom with huge jet-black paws

  MEDICINE CAT RUNNINGNOSE—small gray-and-white tom

  WARRIORS STUMPYTAIL—brown tabby tom

  APPRENTICE, BROWNPAW

  BOULDER—silver tabby tom

  APPRENTICE, WETPAW

  CLAWFACE—battle-scarred brown tom

  APPRENTICE, LITTLEPAW

  NIGHTPELT—black tom

  QUEENS DAWNCLOUD—small tabby

  BRIGHTFLOWER—black-and-white she-cat

  ELDERS ASHFUR—thin gray tom

  WINDCLAN

  LEADER TALLSTAR—a black-and-white tom with a very long tail

  RIVERCLAN

  LEADER CROOKEDSTAR—a huge light-colored tabby with a twisted jaw

  DEPUTY OAKHEART—a reddish brown tom

  CATS OUTSIDE CLANS

  YELLOWFANG—old dark gray she-cat with a broad, flattened face

  SMUDGE—plump, friendly black-and-white kitten who lives in a house at the edge of the forest

  BARLEY—black-and-white tom who lives on a farm close to the forest

  MAPS

  PROLOGUE

  A half-moon glowed on smooth granite boulders, turning them silver. The silence was broken only by the ripple of water from the swift black river and the whisper of trees in the forest beyond.

  There was a stirring in the shadows, and from all around lithe dark shapes crept stealthily over the rocks. Unsheathed claws glinted in the moonlight. Wary eyes flashed like amber. And then, as if on a silent signal, the creatures leaped at each other, and suddenly the rocks were alive with wrestling, screeching cats.

  At the center of the frenzy of fur and claws, a massive dark tabby pinned a bracken-colored tom to the ground and drew up his head triumphantly. “Oakheart!” the tabby growled. “How dare you hunt in our territory? The Sunningrocks belong to ThunderClan!”

  “After tonight, Tigerclaw, this will be just another RiverClan hunting ground!” the bracken-colored tom spat back.

  A warning yowl came from the shore, shrill and anxious. “Look out! More RiverClan warriors are coming!”

  Tigerclaw turned to see sleek wet bodies sliding out of the water below the rocks. The drenched RiverClan warriors bounded silently up the shore and hurled themselves into battle without even stopping to shake the water from their fur.

  The dark tabby glared down at Oakheart. “You may swim like otters, but you and your warriors do not belong in this forest!” He drew back his lips and showed his teeth as the cat struggled beneath him.

  The desperate scream of a ThunderClan she-cat rose above the clamor. A wiry RiverClan tom had pinned the brown warrior flat on her belly. Now he lunged toward her neck with jaws still dripping from his swim across the river.

  Tigerclaw heard the cry and let go of Oakheart. With a mighty leap, he knocked the enemy warrior away from the she-cat. “Quick, Mousefur, run!” he ordered, before turning on the RiverClan tom who had threatened her. Mousefur scrambled to her paws, wincing from a deep gash on her shoulder, and raced away.

  Behind her, Tigerclaw spat with rage as the RiverClan tom sliced open his nose. Blood blinded him for an instant, but he lunged forward regardless and sank his teeth into the hind leg of his enemy. The RiverClan cat squealed and struggled free.

  “Tigerclaw!” The yowl came from a warrior with a tail as red as fox fur. “This is useless! There are too many RiverClan warriors!”

  “No, Redtail. ThunderClan will never be beaten!” Tigerclaw yowled back, leaping to Redtail’s side. “This is our territory!” Blood was welling around his broad black muzzle, and he shook his head impatiently, scattering scarlet drops onto the rocks.

  “ThunderClan will honor your courage, Tigerclaw, but we cannot afford to lose any more of our warriors,” Redtail urged. “Bluestar would never expect her warriors to fight against these impossible odds. We will have another chance to avenge this defeat.” He met Tigerclaw’s amber-eyed gaze steadily, then reared away and sprang onto a boulder at the edge of the trees.

  “Retreat, ThunderClan! Retreat!” he yowled. At once his warriors squirmed and struggled away from their opponents. Spitting and snarling, they backed toward Redtail. For a heartbeat, the RiverClan cats looked confused. Was this battle so easily won? Then Oakheart yowled a jubilant cry. As soon as they heard him, the RiverClan warrio
rs raised their voices and joined their deputy in caterwauling their victory.

  Redtail looked down at his warriors. With a flick of his tail, he gave the signal and the ThunderClan cats dived down the far side of the Sunningrocks, then disappeared into the trees.

  Tigerclaw followed last. He hesitated at the edge of the forest and glanced back at the bloodstained battlefield. His face was grim, his eyes furious slits. Then he leaped after his Clan into the silent forest.

  In a deserted clearing, an old gray she-cat sat alone, staring up at the clear night sky. All around her in the shadows she could hear the breathing and stirrings of sleeping cats.

  A small tortoiseshell she-cat emerged from a dark corner, her pawsteps quick and soundless.

  The gray cat dipped her head in greeting. “How is Mousefur?” she meowed.

  “Her wounds are deep, Bluestar,” answered the tortoiseshell, settling herself on the night-cool grass. “But she is young and strong; she will heal quickly.”

  “And the others?”

  “They will all recover, too.”

  Bluestar sighed. “We are lucky not to have lost any of our warriors this time. You are a gifted medicine cat, Spottedleaf.” She tilted her head again and studied the stars. “I am deeply troubled by tonight’s defeat. ThunderClan has not been beaten in its own territory since I became leader,” she murmured. “These are difficult times for our Clan. The season of newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits. ThunderClan needs more warriors if it is to survive.”

  “But the year is only just beginning,” Spottedleaf pointed out calmly. “There will be more kits when greenleaf comes.”

  The gray cat twitched her broad shoulders. “Perhaps. But training our young to become warriors takes time. If ThunderClan is to defend its territory, it must have new warriors as soon as possible.”

  “Are you asking StarClan for answers?” meowed Spottedleaf gently, following Bluestar’s gaze and staring up at the swath of stars glittering in the dark sky.

  “It is at times like this we need the words of ancient warriors to help us. Has StarClan spoken to you?” Bluestar asked.

  “Not for some moons, Bluestar.”

  Suddenly a shooting star blazed over the treetops. Spottedleaf’s tail twitched and the fur along her spine bristled.

  Bluestar’s ears pricked but she remained silent as Spottedleaf continued to gaze upward.

  After a few moments, Spottedleaf lowered her head and turned to Bluestar. “It was a message from StarClan,” she murmured. A distant look came into her eyes. “Fire alone can save our Clan.”

  “Fire?” Bluestar echoed. “But fire is feared by all the Clans! How can it save us?”

  Spottedleaf shook her head. “I do not know,” she admitted. “But this is the message StarClan has chosen to share with me.”

  The ThunderClan leader fixed her clear blue eyes on the medicine cat. “You have never been wrong before, Spottedleaf,” she meowed. “If StarClan has spoken, then it must be so. Fire will save our Clan.”

  CHAPTER 1

  It was very dark. Rusty could sense something was near. The young tomcat’s eyes opened wide as he scanned the dense undergrowth. This place was unfamiliar, but the strange scents drew him onward, deeper into the shadows. His stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger. He opened his jaws slightly to let the warm smells of the forest reach the scent glands on the roof of his mouth. Musty odors of leaf mold mingled with the tempting aroma of a small furry creature.

  Suddenly a flash of gray raced past him. Rusty stopped still, listening. It was hiding in the leaves less than two tail-lengths away. Rusty knew it was a mouse—he could feel the rapid pulsing of a tiny heart deep within his ear fur. He swallowed, stifling his rumbling stomach. Soon his hunger would be satisfied.

  Slowly he lowered his body into position, crouching for the attack. He was downwind of the mouse. He knew it was not aware of him. With one final check on his prey’s position, Rusty pushed back hard on his haunches and sprang, kicking up leaves on the forest floor as he rose.

  The mouse dived for cover, heading toward a hole in the ground. But Rusty was already on top of it. He scooped it into the air, hooking the helpless creature with his thorn-sharp claws, flinging it up in a high arc onto the leaf-covered ground. The mouse landed dazed, but alive. It tried to run, but Rusty snatched it up again. He tossed the mouse once more, this time a little farther away. The mouse managed to scramble a few paces before Rusty caught up with it.

  Suddenly a noise roared nearby. Rusty looked around, and as he did so, the mouse was able to pull away from his claws. When Rusty turned back he saw it dart into the darkness among the tangled roots of a tree.

  Angry, Rusty gave up the hunt. He spun around, his green eyes glaring, intent on searching out the noise that had cost him his kill. The sound rattled on, becoming more familiar. Rusty blinked open his eyes.

  The forest had disappeared. He was inside a hot and airless kitchen, curled in his bed. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting shadows on the smooth, hard floor. The noise had been the rattle of hard, dried pellets of food as they were tipped into his dish. Rusty had been dreaming.

  Lifting his head, he rested his chin on the side of his bed. His collar rubbed uncomfortably around his neck. In his dream he had felt fresh air ruffling the soft fur where the collar usually pinched. Rusty rolled onto his back, savoring the dream for a few more moments. He could still smell mouse. It was the third time since full moon that he’d had the dream, and every time the mouse had escaped his grasp.

  He licked his lips. From his bed he could smell the bland odor of his food. His owners always refilled his dish before they went to bed. The dusty smell chased away the warm scents of his dream. But the hunger rumbled on in his stomach, so Rusty stretched the sleep out of his limbs and padded across the kitchen floor to his dinner. The food felt dry and tasteless on his tongue. Rusty reluctantly swallowed one more mouthful. Then he turned away from the food dish and pushed his way out through the cat flap, hoping that the smell of the garden would bring back the feelings from his dream.

  Outside, the moon was bright. It was raining lightly. Rusty stalked down the tidy garden, following the starlit gravel path, feeling the stones cold and sharp beneath his paws. He made his dirt beneath a large bush with glossy green leaves and heavy purple flowers. Their sickly sweet scent cloyed the damp air around him, and he curled his lip to drive the smell out of his nostrils.

  Afterward, Rusty settled down on top of one of the posts in the fence that marked the limits of his garden. It was a favorite spot of his, as he could see right into the neighboring gardens as well as into the dense green forest on the other side of the garden fence.

  The rain had stopped. Behind him, the close-cropped lawn was bathed in moonlight, but beyond his fence the woods were full of shadows. Rusty stretched his head forward to take a sniff of the damp air. His skin was warm and dry under his thick coat, but he could feel the weight of the raindrops that sparkled on his ginger fur.

  He heard his owners giving him one last call from the back door. If he went to them now, they would greet him with gentle words and caresses and welcome him onto their bed, where he would curl, purring, warm in the crook of a bent knee.

  But this time Rusty ignored his owners’ voices and turned his gaze back to the forest. The crisp smell of the woods had grown fresher after the rain.

  Suddenly the fur on his spine prickled. Was something moving out there? Was something watching him? Rusty stared ahead, but it was impossible to see or smell anything in the dark, tree-scented air. He lifted his chin boldly, stood up, and stretched, one paw gripping each corner of the fencepost as he straightened his legs and arched his back. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the woods once more. It seemed to promise him something, tempting him onward into the whispering shadows. Tensing his muscles, he crouched for a moment. Then he leaped lightly down into the rough grass on the other side of the garden fence. As he landed, the bell on his collar
rang out through the still night air.

  “Where are you off to, Rusty?” meowed a familiar voice behind him.

  Rusty looked up. A young black-and-white cat was balancing ungracefully on the fence.

  “Hello, Smudge,” Rusty replied.

  “You’re not going to go into the woods, are you?” Smudge’s amber eyes were huge.

  “Just for a look,” Rusty promised, shifting uncomfortably.

  “You wouldn’t get me in there. It’s dangerous!” Smudge wrinkled his black nose with distaste. “Henry said he went into the woods once.” The cat lifted his head and gestured with his nose over the rows of fences toward the garden where Henry lived.

  “That fat old tabby never went into the woods!” Rusty scoffed. “He’s hardly been beyond his own garden since his trip to the vet. All he wants to do is eat and sleep.”

  “No, really. He caught a robin there!” Smudge insisted.

  “Well, if he did, then it was before the vet. Now he complains about birds because they disturb his dozing.”

  “Well, anyway,” Smudge went on, ignoring the scorn in Rusty’s mew, “Henry told me there are all sorts of dangerous animals out there. Huge wildcats who eat live rabbits for breakfast and sharpen their claws on old bones!”

  “I’m only going for a look around,” Rusty meowed. “I won’t stay long.”

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you!” purred Smudge. The black-and-white cat turned and plunged off the fence back down into his own garden.

  Rusty sat down in the coarse grass beyond the garden fence. He gave his shoulder a nervous lick and wondered how much of Smudge’s gossip was true.

  Suddenly the movement of a tiny creature caught his eye. He watched it scuttle under some brambles.

  Instinct made him drop into a low crouch. With one slow paw after another he drew his body forward through the undergrowth. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, eyes unblinking, he moved toward the animal. He could see it clearly now, sitting up among the barbed branches, nibbling on a large seed held between its paws. It was a mouse.

  Rusty rocked his haunches from side to side, preparing to leap. He held his breath in case his bell rang again. Excitement coursed through him, making his heart pound. This was even better than his dreams! Then a sudden noise of cracking twigs and crunching leaves made him jump. His bell jangled treacherously, and the mouse darted away into the thickest tangle of the bramble bush.