“Brambleclaw’s right,” Tawnypelt meowed. “Who knows what’s happening at home? There’s no time to waste.”
A murmur of agreement rose from the other cats. Even Crowpaw, who usually challenged Brambleclaw’s decisions even more than Squirrelpaw, had nothing to say. With a slight shock, Stormfur realised that their long journey, and the threat to all their Clans, had changed them from a group of squabbling rivals into a unified force with a single purpose, to save their Clanmates and the warrior code that had protected them for so long. A warm feeling of belonging swept over Stormfur. His loyalty towards RiverClan was complicated—knowing how their half-Clan heritage made other warriors suspicious of him and Feathertail—but here he knew he had found friends who judged him without thinking about Clan differences all the time.
Brambleclaw paced forwards until he stood in front of Midnight. “The thanks of all the Clans go with you,” he mewed.
Midnight grunted. “Time is not yet for farewell. I come with you as far as woods, make sure you know right path.”
Without waiting for the cats to agree or thank her, she lumbered off across the moor. Ahead of her, the sky had become too bright to look at as the sun began to edge its way above the horizon. Stormfur blinked gratefully at the yellow light. The setting sun had guided them on their journey to find the sun-drown place; now the rising sun would guide them home.
The four chosen cats—along with Stormfur and Squirrelpaw, who had come with Brambleclaw after an argument with her father, Firestar—had set out from the forest blindly following a half-understood prophecy from StarClan. Now that they had discovered what the prophecy meant, it was easier to decide what to do next, but at the same time it was terrifying to know just how much danger their Clans were in.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Squirrelpaw asked, dashing off to overtake Midnight.
Her Clanmate Brambleclaw followed more slowly, looking deep in thought, as if he were imagining all the difficulties they would have to face on their way back to the forest. At his side, Tawnypelt seemed refreshed from her night’s rest, and even though she was still limping, her eyes showed nothing but determination to make the long journey home. Feathertail trotted with her tail up, clearly enjoying the bright morning, while Crowpaw loped along beside her, keeping his ears pricked and his muscles tense, as if he were already anticipating trouble.
Stormfur, bringing up the rear, breathed a swift prayer to StarClan. Guide our paws, and bring us all safely home.
As the sun climbed higher, the sky became a deep, clear blue, dotted with fluffy scraps of cloud. The weather was warm and kind for so late in leaf-fall. A breeze swept over the grass, and Stormfur’s mouth watered as he caught the scent of rabbit. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a white tail bobbing as the rabbit vanished over the crest of a gentle slope.
Instantly Crowpaw darted after it.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Brambleclaw called after him, but the WindClan apprentice was gone. The tabby warrior’s tail lashed irritably. “Does he ever listen?”
“He won’t be long,” Feathertail soothed him. “You could hardly expect him to ignore a rabbit when it pops up right under our noses.”
Brambleclaw’s only reply was another swish of his tail.
“I’ll fetch him back,” Stormfur meowed, bunching his muscles to spring in pursuit.
Before he could move, the dark grey apprentice reappeared at the top of the rise. He was dragging the rabbit with him; it was almost as big as he was.
“Here,” he meowed ungraciously as he dumped it on the ground. “That didn’t take long, did it? I suppose we’re allowed to stop and eat it?”
“Of course,” Brambleclaw replied. “Sorry, Crowpaw. I’d forgotten how fast WindClan cats can be. This . . . this moorland must feel like home to you.”
Crowpaw acknowledged the apology with a curt nod as all six cats crowded around the fresh-kill. Stormfur stopped short when he noticed a glow of admiration in Feathertail’s eyes. Surely his sister couldn’t be interested in Crowpaw? All he ever did was argue and push himself forwards as if he were already a warrior. A cat from another Clan—and an apprentice at that!—had no right to start padding after Feathertail. And whatever did Feathertail see in him? Didn’t she know the problems this sort of thing could cause—hadn’t she learned that from their own parents?
Then Stormfur’s gaze slid across to Squirrelpaw. Had he any right to criticise Feathertail, when he liked Squirrelpaw so much? But then, he told himself, any cat would like the brave, intelligent ThunderClan apprentice. And he knew better than to start something with a cat from another Clan, when they couldn’t possibly have a future together.
Stormfur sighed and began gulping his share of the rabbit. He hoped he was imagining things; after all, any cat might admire Crowpaw’s speed in catching them prey when they were all hungry. Surely that was all Feathertail was feeling.
While the cats ate, Midnight waited a few paces away. Stormfur saw her tearing at the moorland grass with her strong, blunt claws, snuffling up the grubs and beetles she disturbed. Her eyes were screwed up, as if she found it hard to search for food in the strong sunlight, but she said nothing, and as soon as the cats had eaten all they could of Crowpaw’s prey, she set off once more towards the rising sun.
Even with Midnight to lead them by the most direct route, it was sunhigh by the time they reached the crest of a gentle hill and saw the edge of the woods in front of them. The shade underneath the trees looked as inviting as running water to Stormfur after travelling through the heat of the unprotected moorland. For one brief moment, he let himself imagine an afternoon of hunting, then settling down full-fed for a sleep under the arching fronds of bracken, but he knew there was no chance of that.
As they drew closer to the woods, he spotted what looked like a heap of mottled brown fur in the long grass underneath a bush. His tail twitched in rueful recognition at the sight of the elderly tabby who had guided them—and nearly lost them forever—in the Twolegplace.
“Hey, Purdy!” Brambleclaw called. “We’re back!”
A large round head emerged from the bundle of fur, whiskers twitching and eyes blinking in confusion that gradually turned to welcome. The old cat scrambled to his paws and took a couple of paces towards them, shaking bits of dead leaf from his untidy pelt.
“Great StarClan!” he exclaimed. “I never reckoned I’d see you again.” Suddenly he broke off, his eyes fixed on something over Stormfur’s shoulder. “Don’t move a whisker!” he hissed. “There’s a badger behind you. Just let me deal with it. I know a few fightin’ moves that—”
“It’s OK, Purdy,” Stormfur interrupted, while Squirrel -paw’s tail curled up with amusement. “This is Midnight. She’s a friend.”
The old tabby stared at Stormfur, his jaws gaping in astonishment. “A friend? You don’t make friends with a badger, young fellow. You can’t trust ‘em a single mouselength.”
Stormfur gave Midnight an anxious look, wondering if the badger was offended by Purdy’s words. To his relief, she looked as amused as Squirrelpaw, her tiny black eyes gleaming.
“Come and meet Purdy,” Stormfur mewed to her. “He guided us through Twolegplace.”
Midnight plodded forwards until she stood in front of the old tabby tom. Unconvinced, Purdy crouched down with his neck fur bristling and his lips drawn back in a snarl to reveal snaggly teeth. Stormfur felt a twinge of admiration for his courage, even though the badger could have flattened him with one swat of her powerful front paws.
“Here is not fight,” Midnight assured him. “Friend of my friends is my friend also. Much of you they have told me.”
Purdy’s ears twitched. “Can’t say I’m pleased to meet you,” he muttered. “But I suppose you must be all right if they say so.” Backing away, he turned to Brambleclaw. “Why are we hangin’ around here?” he demanded. “There are Upwalkers and dogs all over the place. Say goodbye and let’s be on our way.”
“Hang on!” Squirrelpaw
protested loudly to Brambleclaw. “You said we could hunt.”
“We can,” he mewed.
He paused to taste the air; Stormfur did the same, and was relieved to find that although he could distinguish several different dog scents, they were all stale. He guessed that Purdy was using the danger of dogs as an excuse to get away from Midnight.
“OK,” Brambleclaw went on, “let’s split up and hunt quickly. We’ll meet in that place where we camped last time. Tawnypelt, do you want to go straight there?”
The ShadowClan warrior’s eyes flashed as she replied, “No, I can hunt as well as any of you.”
Before any of the cats could respond, Midnight padded up to her and gave her a gentle nudge. “Foolish warrior,” she rumbled. “Rest while able. Show me camping place. I will stay while sun is high, go home in dark.”
Tawnypelt shrugged. “OK, Midnight.” She headed further into the woods, following the stream to the hollow where the cats had rested on the outward journey.
The air was cooler in the dappled shade of the trees. Stormfur began to relax, feeling safer here than on the open moorland, though the chattering stream, too shallow for fish, was no substitute for the river he loved. A pang of loss stabbed through him at the thought that, even if he saw the river again, it would not be for long; Midnight had told them that the Clans would have to leave the forest as soon as the six cats returned.
A rustle in the undergrowth reminded him of how hungry he was. It would be good to go off for a while and hunt with Feathertail, just as they did at home. But when he swung round to speak to his sister, he saw that Crowpaw was saying something in her ear.
“Do you want to hunt with me?” the apprentice muttered, sounding half grudging, half embarrassed. “We’d do better together.”
“That would be great!” Feathertail’s eyes shone; then she spotted Stormfur, and looked even more embarrassed than the WindClan cat. “Er—why don’t we all hunt together?”
Crowpaw looked away, and Stormfur felt the hairs on his neck begin to prickle. What right did this apprentice have to invite Feathertail to be his hunting partner? “No, I’m fine on my own,” Stormfur retorted, spinning round and plunging into the undergrowth, trying to pretend he hadn’t seen the hurt in his sister’s blue eyes.
But once he slipped beneath the lowest branches of the bushes his irritation faded. His ears pricked up and all his senses were alert in the hunt for prey.
Before long he spotted a mouse scrabbling among fallen leaves, and dispatched it with one swift blow. Satisfied, he scraped earth over the little brown body until he was ready to collect it, and looked around for more. Soon he added a squirrel and another mouse to his hoard—which was as much as he could carry—and set off for the meeting place.
On the way he began to wonder how Feathertail was getting along, asking himself if he should have stayed with her after all. He was not one of StarClan’s chosen cats; he had come on this mission especially to look after his sister. He had been wrong to abandon her in this strange place, just because Crowpaw had annoyed him. What would he do if something happened to her?
When he reached the camping place he saw Tawnypelt stretched out in the shade of a hawthorn bush, her tortoiseshell fur hardly visible in the dappled sunlight. Midnight was beside her, dozing, and there was more chewed-up burdock root laid on Tawnypelt’s injured shoulder. The badger must have found some growing by the stream. Brambleclaw was perched above Tawnypelt on a steeply arching tree root, obviously keeping watch, while Feathertail and Crowpaw shared a squirrel just below. As Stormfur dropped his catch on the small pile of fresh-kill in the center of the hollow, Squirrelpaw appeared at the top of the slope, dragging a rabbit, and Purdy followed with a couple of mice in his jaws.
“Good, we’re all here,” meowed Brambleclaw. “Let’s eat and then get moving.”
He leaped down into the hollow and chose a starling from the pile. Stormfur took one of his mice over to Feathertail, settling down next to her on the opposite side from Crowpaw.
“Good hunting?” he asked.
Feathertail blinked at him. “Brilliant, thanks. There’s so much prey here! It’s a pity we can’t stay longer.”
Stormfur was tempted to agree, but he knew that the danger to their home was too desperate for them to delay. He began to devour his mouse in famished gulps, his paws already itching for the next stage of their journey.
He had swallowed the last of the fresh-kill and was beginning to groom his thick grey pelt when he heard a low snarling behind him. He saw Brambleclaw raise his head, alarm flaring in his yellow eyes.
Stormfur whipped round to see what had spooked the ThunderClan warrior. A familiar smell hit his scent glands a heartbeat before two slender, tawny shapes emerged from the bracken beside the stream.
Foxes!
CHAPTER 2
Leafpaw wrinkled her nose at the foul scent and tried not to hiss in disgust. Shaking her head, she parted Sorreltail’s tortoiseshell fur with one paw and dabbed the wad of bile-soaked moss on the tick clinging to her shoulder.
Sorreltail wriggled as she felt the bile soak through her fur. “That’s better!” she meowed. “Has it gone yet?”
Leafpaw opened her mouth and dropped the twig that held the moss. “Give it time.”
“There’s only one good thing about ticks,” Sorreltail mewed. “They hate mouse bile just as much as we do.” Springing to her paws, she gave herself a vigorous shake and flicked the tick off her shoulder. “There! Thanks, Leafpaw.”
A breeze rustled through the trees that surrounded the medicine cat’s den. A few leaves drifted down; there was a chill in the morning air that warned Leafpaw of how few moons there were before leaf-bare. This time there would be more than the cold and shortage of prey to face. Leafpaw closed her eyes and shuddered as she remembered what she had seen the day before on patrol with her father, Firestar.
The biggest monster the cats had ever seen had been forging a dreadful path through the forest, scoring deep ruts into the earth and tearing up trees by their roots. The huge, shiny monster had rolled inexorably through the bracken, roaring and belching smoke while the cats scattered helplessly before it. For the first time, Leafpaw began to understand the danger to the forest, which had been prophesied twice now, once in Brambleclaw’s dream that had sent him on the journey with Squirrelpaw, and once in Cinderpelt’s vision of fire and tiger. The doom that had been foretold was coming upon the forest, and Leafpaw did not know what any cat could do to stop it.
“Are you ok, Leafpaw?” meowed Sorreltail.
Leafpaw blinked. The vision of smoke, splintered trees, and shrieking cats faded away, to be replaced by soft green ferns and the smooth grey rock where Cinderpelt made her den. She was safe, ThunderClan was still here—but for how long? “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied. Firestar had ordered the patrol to keep quiet about what they had seen until he had decided how to break the news to the Clan. “I’ve got to go and wash this mouse bile off my paws.”
“I’ll come with you,” Sorreltail offered. “Then we could go along the ravine and pick up some fresh-kill.”
Leafpaw led the way into the main clearing. Whitepaw and Shrewpaw were scuffling outside the apprentices’ den in warm shafts of early morning sunlight, while Ferncloud’s three kits watched them with huge admiring eyes. Their mother sat at the entrance to the nursery, washing herself while keeping one eye on her litter. The dawn patrol—Dustpelt, Mousefur, and Spiderpaw—were just pushing their way into the clearing through the gorse tunnel, Dustpelt’s eyes narrowing with pleasure as he caught sight of Ferncloud and his kits. Leafpaw gazed at the busy, peaceful camp, and could hardly keep back a wail of despair.
As soon as the apprentices spotted Leafpaw, they stopped their practice fight and stared at her, then started whispering urgently together. Even the cats in the returning patrol gave her an uneasy look as they padded over to the fresh-kill pile. Leafpaw knew that rumours about yesterday’s patrol were starting to fly around the camp. At daybreak
Firestar had called his deputy, Greystripe; Leafpaw’s mother, Sandstorm; and Cinderpelt into a meeting in his den, and every cat had begun to suspect that something unusual had happened the day before.
Before she and Sorreltail could reach the gorse tunnel, Firestar appeared from his den at the foot of the Highrock. Greystripe and Sandstorm followed him out into the clearing with Cinderpelt limping after them. Firestar leaped to the top of the rock, leaving the other three cats to find comfortable places to sit at its base. In the slanting leaf-fall sun, his flame-coloured pelt blazed like the fire that gave him his name.
“Let all those cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting,” he called.
Leafpaw felt her belly lurch as Sorreltail nudged her gently towards the front of the gathering cats. “You know what he’s going to say, don’t you?” the tortoiseshell warrior murmured.
Leafpaw nodded bleakly.
“I knew something weird happened yesterday,” Sorreltail went on. “You all came back looking as if the whole of ShadowClan were clawing at your tails.”
“I wish it were just that,” Leafpaw muttered.
“Cats of ThunderClan,” Firestar began, then paused to take a deep breath. “I . . . I don’t know if any Clan leader has ever had to take his Clan into the darkness that I see ahead.” His voice faltered and his eyes met Sandstorm’s, seeming to draw strength from the she-cat’s steady gaze. “Some time ago, Ravenpaw warned me about more Twoleg activity on the Thunderpath. Back then, I didn’t think it was important, and there was nothing we could do anyway because that is not our territory. But yesterday . . .”
A tense silence had fallen in the clearing. Firestar did not often sound so serious; Leafpaw could see how reluctant he was to go on, how he had to force himself to speak.
“My patrol was not far from Snakerocks when we saw a Twoleg monster leave the Thunderpath. It tore into the earth and pushed trees over. It—”
“But that’s ridiculous!” Sootfur interrupted. “Monsters never leave the Thunderpath.”