When he had dropped his prey on the pile, Hawkwing spotted Sharpclaw grooming himself beside the river. Longing flooded over him to ask his father’s advice, and whether there was anything he could do to help in this crisis.
But as he padded toward Sharpclaw, Hawkwing felt tension cramping his muscles, and his belly fluttered with nervousness. Sharpclaw has been angry with me for so long, he’s not going to want to advise me now.
Hawkwing paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on Sharpclaw, who was vigorously washing his belly, quite unaware that his son was hovering nearby. Then, letting his tail droop, Hawkwing turned and began trudging back to his own den.
But as he reached the bottom of the trail, his mother, Cherrytail, bounded up to him and intercepted him before he could begin to climb.
“What’s the matter, Hawkwing?” she asked. “Don’t you want to talk to your father?”
“He won’t want to talk to me,” Hawkwing muttered.
Cherrytail gave an irritated twitch of her whiskers. “Oh, get over yourself!” she exclaimed. Then, more gently, she added, “Sharpclaw will forgive you if you apologize to him. You might even get an apology in return.”
Anger spurted up inside Hawkwing. “Why do I need to apologize? Why is it still all my fault?” he demanded, his shoulder fur beginning to bristle. “Anyway, that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.”
“Then what was it?” his mother asked.
Her quiet voice, and her eyes full of sympathy, quenched Hawkwing’s anger.
“I’m worried about what happens now,” he confessed reluctantly, feeling as weak and fearful as a lost kit. “Is this what life is going to be like from now on? Always struggling, always looking out for attacks? Raccoons, rogues, or badgers—they’re all as vicious as each other. How bad are things going to get for SkyClan?”
“I don’t know,” Cherrytail admitted, heaving a sigh from the depths of her chest. “And there’s one thing I won’t say to the rest of the Clan. I’m afraid of what will happen if SkyClan is driven out of this territory as we were driven out of our old home.”
“Do you think that will happen?” Hawkwing asked, alarmed. That’s worse than I ever imagined!
Cherrytail’s eyes were thoughtful. “Surviving our exile from our first territory is what made SkyClan who we are,” she murmured. “Of course, I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that the other four Clans, wherever they are, don’t have anything close to our spirit, because they’ve never been through the same troubles.”
“But that should make us stronger, right?” Hawkwing suggested.
Cherrytail nodded. “True, but it took a long time—and a visit from Firestar and Sandstorm—before we could find a way to put ourselves right. I’m afraid that if we are driven into exile again, SkyClan may be lost forever.”
Too troubled to sleep, Hawkwing crouched at the entrance to the warriors’ den and gazed out across the gorge. The moon was barely a claw-scratch, making the stars blaze out more brightly than ever.
“Oh, StarClan,” Hawkwing breathed out. “What are you doing to us?”
Behind him, he could hear his Clanmates shifting in their nests; he didn’t think any of them were sleeping, either. We’re all so afraid that the rogues will come and attack us in the camp. He angled his ears forward, trying to pick up any strange sounds beyond the gorge, but all he could hear was the wind rustling in the trees.
Ever since he had spoken to his mother, her ominous words had repeated themselves in Hawkwing’s mind. SkyClan may be lost forever.
He didn’t want to believe that could be true.
Hawkwing knew he was young; he hadn’t lived through SkyClan’s most trying days. Still, the Clan meant more to him than he could possibly say. Even though he’d gone searching for the other Clans, it was difficult for him to imagine a life outside the gorge he loved so fiercely, or away from these cats who were all like kin to him. Spending time with Darktail, a former rogue, had only emphasized the value of his Clan to Hawkwing. We look out for each other, he thought now. We put the Clan first, and ourselves second. That’s important. He paused, looking up at the narrow moon and his ancestors twinkling in the sky. And what would it say to StarClan if we let SkyClan fall? he wondered. So many cats have fought so valiantly to preserve SkyClan, through the seasons. Those cats dated all the way back to Skystar—the great founder of SkyClan.
We have to save our Clan.
Every hair on Hawkwing’s pelt began to tingle, but this time it was not with fear. He felt a fierceness run through his body, powerful as flame, a determination to make sure that the worst would never happen.
As long as I’m alive, SkyClan will never be exiled. We will always survive!
CHAPTER 15
The dawn patrol had just returned, reporting no sign or scent of the rogues on SkyClan territory. Even so, Hawkwing was still aware of deep uneasiness within the Clan. Echosong had still received no further visits from StarClan, and every cat knew that their future was desperately uncertain.
At the foot of the Rockpile, Sharpclaw was organizing the hunting patrols. “Sparrowpelt, you lead one,” he instructed, “and Waspwhisker, you take another. I’ll lead the third. Leafstar wants senior warriors to go out more, just in case we run into any of the rogues.”
“Right, Sharpclaw,” Sparrowpelt meowed, sliding out his claws. “I’d be delighted to run into them. I could use some extra fur to line my nest.”
“Hawkwing, you’re with me,” Sharpclaw continued, as the cats began to divide into three groups. “You too, Darktail. We know you can fight, but I haven’t seen your hunting technique yet.”
“Gladly, Sharpclaw,” Darktail responded with a brisk nod.
Hawkwing was pleased, too, that his father had chosen him for his patrol. Maybe he’s not so angry with me anymore.
While Sharpclaw was supervising the departure of the other patrols, Darktail sidled up to Hawkwing and stood so close that their pelts were brushing.
“Have you seen your friend this morning?” he asked Hawkwing, angling his ears toward Pebblepaw, who was chatting with Rain over their fresh-kill a few tail-lengths away.
Immediately Hawkwing’s pelt grew hot with embarrassment. “My friend?” he muttered.
“Pebblepaw. I’ve seen you staring at her,” Darktail meowed, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t like her.”
“Uh . . .” Hawkwing scrabbled on the ground with his forepaws.
“You need to talk to her more and figure out what your feelings are,” Darktail continued. “You won’t get any closer to doing that by avoiding her!”
“I’m not avoiding her,” Hawkwing mewed defensively.
“And hedgehogs fly!” Darktail scoffed. “Besides, from the way Pebblepaw looks at you, she needs to sort out her feelings, too.”
Hawkwing blinked with a mixture of hope that Darktail might be right, and awkwardness that the rogue was forcing him to discuss it. “I don’t think so . . . ,” he murmured.
Darktail flicked Hawkwing’s ear with the tip of his tail. “Either Pebblepaw likes you back, or she doesn’t, but you need to know the truth, so you can make a decision before it’s too late.”
With a massive effort, Hawkwing let out a huff of laughter. “I’m still a young cat,” he mewed, “and Pebblepaw is still an apprentice. It’s way too early to start thinking about time running out.”
I’d never admit it to Darktail, he added to himself, but I have started to think about the future. It feels really weird.
Darktail shook his head, still amused. “That’s not what I meant.”
Hawkwing realized there was something odd about Darktail’s tone of voice. “Whether I’m with Pebblepaw or not can’t be that serious, can it?” he asked.
“Of course it can,” the rogue tom replied, his voice still dark and ominous. “It is the most serious choice. You can’t afford to make a mistake when choosing which cats to have by your side.”
To Hawkwing’s relief, before he
could say more, Sharpclaw called to them to head out on patrol. As the other two groups had climbed the trails to hunt in the forest above the gorge, Sharpclaw led his cats downstream toward the stretch of shrubs and spindly trees that grew on either side of the river where the gorge widened out.
Hawkwing hoped that this would be a good opportunity to straighten things out with his father, but his belly churned with anxiety at the thought that Sharpclaw might snap at him again. Besides, he didn’t want to talk about anything important with Sharpclaw where Darktail might overhear.
Instead, Hawkwing concentrated on picking up the traces of prey, hoping that he might impress his father with a good catch. As they slid into the scrubby undergrowth Sharpclaw halted, then plunged into the shadow of an elder bush and emerged with a mouse dangling from his jaws.
“Good job!” Darktail mewed admiringly. “I never even smelled it.”
Sharpclaw twitched his whiskers. “Figures.”
Hawkwing could see that his father was still not impressed with Darktail. He wished that the white rogue could catch something, if only to dispel the frosty atmosphere that had spread through the patrol.
When Sharpclaw had scratched earth over the mouse so it could be collected later, the patrol moved on. Padding alongside the river, Hawkwing came to a spot where the bank had crumbled away into a sandy spit of land stretching out into the current. A vole was scrabbling around among the pebbles.
Hawkwing dropped into the hunter’s crouch and began to creep up on his prey, when something white flashed past him and he saw Darktail hurl himself off the bank and land on top of the vole, crushing it between his forepaws.
“I smelled that one,” he announced as he picked up his fresh-kill and leaped back onto the bank.
Hawkwing tried not to be annoyed that Darktail had stolen what had clearly been his prey. What matters is that the Clan is fed. But it was still irritating, especially when he had hoped to show off his hunting skills to his father.
The patrol padded on, getting farther and farther from the camp. Hawkwing became more alert still, his pelt prickling with apprehension as he wondered if they might meet the rogues again. A flicker of movement in the bushes drew his attention, but it was only a rabbit, hopping into the open with no idea of the danger it was in. But clearly if any cat startled it, it would head straight back into the safety of the undergrowth.
“Hawkwing,” Sharpclaw whispered.
When Hawkwing glanced at his father, Sharpclaw waved his tail in a wide sweep, while he angled his ears toward the rabbit.
He wants me to circle around and come up behind it.
Hawkwing set off, careful to keep his distance from the rabbit, and made sure that the breeze wouldn’t carry his scent toward his prey. He noticed that Sharpclaw had gestured with his tail for Darktail to keep back.
Reaching the bushes, Hawkwing burrowed into them, creeping along cautiously until he could peer out from underneath a branch and spot the rabbit still peacefully nibbling at the grass. He risked raising his tail above the foliage to tell Sharpclaw that he was in position.
At once Sharpclaw let out a ferocious growl and sprang at the rabbit. It let out a squeal of terror and dashed for the bushes with Sharpclaw racing after it. Hawkwing tensed his muscles. I mustn’t lose this one!
The rabbit fled into the bushes, almost flinging itself into Hawkwing’s paws. Hawkwing gripped it with his forepaws and killed it with a rapid bite to its neck. Warm triumph flooded through him as he emerged from cover with his prey in his jaws.
“Well done, both of you,” Darktail meowed, though his voice was cool, and Hawkwing wondered if the rogue wasn’t too thrilled to see him and his father working together as a team.
But why would that bother him?
As Hawkwing padded up, Sharpclaw gave him an approving nod. Though he said nothing, Hawkwing felt that perhaps the tension between him and his father was beginning to ease a little.
But Sharpclaw still seemed distant as the three cats made their way back to camp.
I wish I could talk to him, Hawkwing thought, thinking back to his conversation with Cherrytail. But I don’t know what to say anymore.
When they had deposited their prey on the fresh-kill pile, Sharpclaw bounded away toward Leafstar’s den, while Darktail headed off to talk to Rain.
Hawkwing couldn’t help feeling disappointed that Sharpclaw hadn’t been warmer after they had hunted so well together. He remembered what Darktail had said to him before they set out, about cats needing to choose who they wanted by their side.
Maybe my father has chosen not to be by my side, Hawkwing thought miserably. Could that be true? Then he gave his pelt a shake, determined to be more cheerful. It can’t be true—Sharpclaw and I are kin. Whatever has happened between us, that loyalty must always be there. His mood lightening, Hawkwing told himself that eventually he and his father would be okay together. Neither of us is going anywhere. We have our whole lives to work this out.
Darktail’s words had made Hawkwing aware of something else, too. He decided it was time to go looking for Pebblepaw, and found her crouching beside the river where it had scoured out the bank into a shallow pool. She kept dabbing her paw into the water, sending up a shower of glittering drops.
I never noticed how her fur shines, he thought. And the way she moves her paw is so graceful!
Pebblepaw looked up as Hawkwing padded up to her. “Hi,” she greeted him. “Did you know there are fish in here? But they won’t let me catch them.”
Hawkwing looked into the pool and saw minnows, tiny silver flashes darting here and there near the sandy bottom. He watched them, not looking at Pebblepaw, as he mewed, “I wanted to tell you something.”
“Okay . . .” Pebblepaw sounded puzzled, but still friendly.
Hawkwing dug his claws nervously into the ground. “I . . . I wanted to say how sorry I am, about the way I treated you after Duskpaw died. I want you to know that I never actually blamed you.”
He risked a glance at Pebblepaw and saw that she was blinking at him happily. “I kind of figured that out,” she responded.
“You did?” Hawkwing was relieved to hear this.
Pebblepaw half turned away, obviously embarrassed, which made Hawkwing feel embarrassed in his turn. Yet at the same time excitement was tingling through him.
“Well . . . uh . . . that’s it, really,” he went on. “I guess we can be friends now.”
Pebblepaw gave him a flickering glance. “I guess.”
Hawkwing dipped his head to her and retreated, feeling Pebblepaw’s gaze following him as he headed for his den. He felt better now that he had told her he was sorry, but he was still confused when he thought about her.
I wonder if she feels just as confused when she thinks about me.
That night, Hawkwing was still feeling a prickle of excitement about his talk with Pebblepaw when he settled down into his nest to sleep. He wanted to stay awake and think about her, but he was exhausted, his limbs aching, after the hunt.
His Clanmates were curled up around him too, the fear and tension of the night before beginning to ease. The Clan had fed well, and the patrols had found no traces of rogues or raccoons.
Maybe everything will be okay after all. . . .
Hawkwing jerked awake. He sat up in his nest, not sure at first what had roused him. Then he heard it again: the creak and rustle of bushes, coming from overhead, as if some creature was pushing its way through the undergrowth.
Hawkwing’s first instinct was to rouse his Clan. But then he realized that every cat was asleep, and wouldn’t thank him for disturbing the whole Clan if the sound meant nothing.
Rising to his paws, Hawkwing picked his way across the den, slipping silently between Sandynose and a gently snoring Rabbitleap, and emerged onto the trail outside. There was a little more moonlight than on the night before, but the frosty shimmer revealed nothing moving as far as Hawkwing could see.
A gentle breeze was blowing from the far side of the gorge, bea
ring nothing except the familiar scents of the forest. Hawkwing was about to give up and go back inside when he heard the rustling sound again, coming from the top of the trail.
Could it be raccoons? he asked himself, tensing. Or rogues, or dogs—or even Twolegs?
He tasted the air, but he could still pick up nothing unusual, nothing alarming.
Then the breeze shifted, blowing now from the top of the gorge. Now scent flooded over Hawkwing, so strong that it was unmistakable.
Cats!
As Hawkwing stared in horror, dark shapes appeared at the top of the cliff, flowing like water as they swarmed down the trails. More and more of them appeared, more cats than he had imagined in his worst fears. He caught a glimpse of moonlight shining on the pelt of the silver-gray tom.
Rogues, he realized. The rogues who attacked us on patrol—but there are more of them now. So many more! They may outnumber us. . . .
His heart pounded as he realized what was happening.
Rogue cats were attacking the SkyClan camp!
CHAPTER 16
“Rogues!” Hawkwing yowled. “Rogues in the camp!”
He shot back inside the warriors’ den, stumbling over the sleeping bodies of his Clanmates as he poked and prodded them into wakefulness.
“Get up!” he urged them. “Rogues are attacking! They’re here in the camp! Lots of them!”
The SkyClan cats struggled to their paws, so confused by sleep that they were hardly able to take in Hawkwing’s panicked yowls.
“Take it easy,” Sparrowpelt yawned. “You’ve had a bad dream, that’s all. No need to wake the whole Clan.” He yawned again and added, “Stormheart’s on watch. She would warn us if—”
A screech coming from the bottom of the gorge interrupted what Sparrowpelt was saying. Hawkwing reached out a paw and roughly shook the senior warrior’s shoulder.
“That was Stormheart,” he meowed. “And this is no dream. We have to fight.”
Hawkwing rapidly checked that his mother and sisters were rousing. Then, knowing that Stormheart was alone beside the Rockpile, he darted outside again and bounded down the trail behind the wave of attacking cats. As he hurtled downward he let out more warning yowls.