When he saw the gleam in Spire’s eyes, he realized that the skinny tom knew exactly what he was doing. With a flick of his tail, Spire lifted his head and let out a mournful yowl.
Tigerheart’s pelt prickled. That would get the foxes’ attention, surely?
A growl sounded from the top corner of the patch, where the stone leg of the soaring Thunderpath reached into the earth. Tigerheart jerked his muzzle toward the sound and saw a red pelt streak through the scrub. It darted toward Spire, lips drawn back in a threatening sneer. Spire blinked at it, then shot away beneath a low-spreading juniper. As the fox raced after him, Fierce exploded from her hiding place. With a hiss, she swiped her claws along the fox’s flank.
It turned, snarling at her, its gaze turning quickly from surprise to fury. Slinking low to the ground, it advanced on her. Tigerheart forced his paws to stay still. He wanted to rush in to help, but he had to trust that the guardian cats would stick to their plan. Relief sparked in his belly as Cinnamon and Ant leaped from their hiding place and flanked the fox. Pipsqueak leaped out behind it. The fox was surrounded. It spun, its long body curving as it took in the sight of four cats. Alarm sparked in its gaze. It showed its sharp teeth and dropped its head. Tigerheart’s breath caught in his throat. A cornered fox was more dangerous than a full set of badgers. Wildness shone in its eye, and it lunged for Fierce, its jaws snapping at her paws as she leaped clear. Cinnamon and Ant leaped at its flanks, tearing at its pelt with outstretched claws. Pipsqueak caught hold of its tail and bit in hard.
Yelping with pain, the fox thrashed desperately as the guardian cats clung on. Fierce hissed at it and raked her claws across its muzzle.
Tigerheart still held his breath. The vixen must be close. Foxes rarely left each other’s side once they’d mated. He saw red fur near the Thunderpath leg. That must be where the den was. “She’s coming!” With a yowl, he charged forward, blocking the vixen’s path to its mate. As it crashed from the undergrowth, he faced it. Anger bristled through its pelt as it saw him. Instantly it tried to snatch at his ear, its jaws snapping shut a whisker away as he ducked clear. With relief, he saw Rascal and Mittens dart from their hiding places. Dotty leaped from hers, aiming for the second fox’s tail as they’d planned. As she sank her teeth into the thick brush, Rascal and Mittens copied Cinnamon and Ant’s tactic and leaped for the vixen’s flanks. Tigerheart faced its muzzle, triumph surging in his chest. It staggered under the weight of the others. He swiped his claws across its nose. Confusion and panic lit its eyes. Its mate had been dragged to the ground. Fierce, Ant, Cinnamon, and Pipsqueak clawed at it with such speed and ferocity, it could only flail its paws and snap. With a yelp, the vixen called to its mate. The dog fox scrabbled free of its attackers. Shrieking in terror, both fled through the scrub, their shredded tails bobbing behind them as they disappeared from the herb patch.
Fierce met Tigerheart’s gaze, her fur bushed with excitement. “We did it!”
Cinnamon, Ant, and Pipsqueak wove around each other happily while Rascal, Mittens, and Dotty congratulated one another.
“You moved so fast!” Dotty told Mittens.
“You got such a good grip on its tail, it didn’t know what to do!” Rascal praised her.
Tigerheart shook out his fur, a purr rippling through him as he let his eyes rove over all the guardian cats. None of them had been hurt, and the foxes had fled. They had won!
He glanced toward the wide stone leg where the foxes had been nesting. “Let’s block up their den in case they find the courage to come back.”
His paws ached by the time he slumped down beside Dovewing in the cavern. Late-afternoon sunshine filled the Twoleg space with rosy light. He’d spent the afternoon with the others, hauling rocks and earth to the foxes’ den and filling it so thoroughly that no fox would ever have the patience to unearth it.
Rascal and Mittens had left the patrol early to hunt, and they slid through the entrance now, mice dangling from their jaws. They jumped from the ledge and crossed the space, where the guardian cats had gathered to celebrate their victory. Dropping their catch in the middle, they nodded to Fierce, who was washing mud from her paws.
“We met Boots and Bracken while we were hunting,” Mittens told her. “They’re bringing more prey. There will be food for every cat.”
Fierce nodded to the tabby tom, her eyes shining. “Thank you.”
Mittens picked up two mice by their tails and carried them toward Tigerheart and Dovewing. He dropped them at their paws. “Thanks for your help today.”
“Thanks for yours.” Tigerheart pointed his muzzle toward a huge pile of herbs at the side of the cavern. “Spire and Peanut gathered a lot of leaves.”
Spire was lying next to Blaze nearby, his gaze clear and happy. “Once I’ve sorted and dried them, we’ll have enough herbs for a moon.”
Blaze snuggled closer to the skinny tom. “Will you teach me which herb is which?”
“Of course.” Spire lapped the kit’s head.
Pipsqueak and Dotty stretched happily in the sunshine pooling on the floor.
“I didn’t think we could actually do it,” Pipsqueak admitted.
Tigerheart blinked at him. “When cats work together, they can do anything.”
As he spoke, Boots and Bracken jumped down from the entrance. They were carrying prey as they’d promised and dropped it beside the rest.
Tigerheart rubbed his cheek against Dovewing’s as he watched the guardian cats settle beside one another to eat. “I’m glad we came here,” he murmured.
“Really?” She blinked at him, her eyes round.
“We’ve helped these cats. And everyone seems happy.” After the unease and mistrust that had permeated ShadowClan for so long, the simple worries and joys of the guardian cats seemed a relief.
Dovewing’s gaze softened. “So . . . are you starting to feel like you belong here?”
Tigerheart felt his spine stiffen. That wasn’t what he’d meant. “I guess,” he told her. “For now.”
Dovewing said nothing. She just leaned against him, and Tigerheart felt the contented purr as her ribs swelled to nudge his. “I’m so happy you like it here . . . ,” she murmured.
Tigerheart’s belly churned. Fighting beside the guardian cats had felt good, but he’d still assumed that, eventually, they’d return to the lake . . . even though, lately, his Clanmates seemed more interested in fighting one another than their enemies. After all, he and Dovewing were warriors. Surely they would raise their kits to be, too?
Life here might be simpler, he thought, but, without kin—without a Clan—will our kits be anything but strays?
CHAPTER 17
Tigerheart opened his eyes. Dawn light filtered through the high stretches of clear wall. Dovewing was sleeping beside him. He let himself wake slowly. In the days since he’d helped chase the foxes away, he’d grown accustomed to the slow pace of life among the guardian cats. There were no dawn patrols, no borders to mark, no dens or camp walls to repair. He could hunt when he liked, bringing food back for the others as well as for Dovewing and himself. He’d accompanied a patrol to the herb patch to gather leaves and checked the blocked fox den. There was no sign the foxes had returned; their scent was all but gone, replaced by Thunderpath smells.
Now he gazed lazily around the cluttered cavern. The guardian cats were still sleeping, except Boots, who was murmuring softly to Marigold, the old black cat who had hardly left her nest since Tigerheart had arrived. Marigold listened, her gaze distant and dull. Boots stopped talking and began gently lapping her head, working his way along her spine with gentle strokes.
Tigerheart guessed that the old cat was dying. He was glad she had the care and protection of the guardian cats. For a moment he wondered how often strays must die alone, in a chilly makeshift den, with no help for their pain. The thought stung him, and he pushed it away. He wasn’t a stray; he never would be. And he’d make sure his kits never became strays either.
He stood up and stepped from the n
est, turning back to tuck a few pelts around Dovewing so she didn’t feel the chill of his absence. He padded into a stream of early-morning light and began to wash. The sound of his tongue rasping over his fur was loud in the silent cavern. Boots lifted his head and blinked at him, then returned to washing Marigold.
Fur swished nearby, and Tigerheart turned to see Spire creeping from his nest. The skinny black tom glanced back at Blaze, still sleeping among the furless pelts, then tiptoed across the cavern floor and leaped onto the ledge that led to the entrance.
Quiet as a mouse, the tom slid out the gap into the pale morning.
Why had he left Blaze? Spire normally took the kit everywhere with him. What was he up to? Curious, Tigerheart hopped onto the wooden ledge, waited until Spire had slipped out of sight, and then leaped up and squeezed through the gap in the wall. Stone dust trickled into his fur, and he shook it free as he padded out of the shadow of the gathering place. The leaf-fall sunshine was bright, the air cold, and a blue sky arced above. The lines of stone slabs, sitting upright in the dewy grass, striped the clearing with shadow. Tigerheart saw a shape move between them. Spire was weaving his way toward a tall chestnut tree at the edge of the clearing. A Thunderpath lay beside it, monsters rumbling sedately past. Tigerheart had grown so used to them, he hardly noticed. His gaze was following Spire.
Tigerheart lingered behind a stone slab and watched as Spire reached the chestnut tree. The tom sat down and stared across the stretch of grass, which was divided by a smooth stone path that led to what Tigerheart guessed was the Twoleg entrance to the gathering place. Was Spire waiting for something? Tigerheart padded closer, his pelt tingling with curiosity. Keeping quiet, he stopped behind the stone slab nearest the chestnut tree and, hidden from view, watched to see what Spire would do next.
“Is this what warriors do?” Spire asked pointedly.
Tigerheart stiffened, confused for a moment—he hadn’t expected to hear the word warrior from one of the guardian cats, though it didn’t sound quite so strange out of Spire’s mouth. But he had been sure that he hadn’t been seen or heard as he approached.
“I came outside to get a chance to think,” Spire went on.
Tigerheart padded sheepishly from his hiding place and dipped his head to the skinny black tom. “I wondered why you’d left Blaze,” he mumbled. “You usually take him everywhere.”
“He usually follows me everywhere,” Spire answered tartly. “But even a crazy cat likes me needs solitude once in a while.”
“I’m sorry.” Tigerheart backed away. “I’ll leave you alone.”
As he spoke, a monster drew up at the end of the smooth stone path, and a brightly pelted Twoleg got out and began to walk toward the gathering place. Tigerheart froze and waited as the Twoleg disappeared inside.
“The entrance is open,” Tigerheart mewed in surprise. The wooden slabs that usually barred the entrance to the gathering place stood open. “Will they find the cavern?”
“They won’t even look for it,” Spire told him matter-of-factly. “It’s their yowling time. They do it every quarter moon, and in the evenings sometimes too.”
Another monster pulled up and stopped at the edge of the Thunderpath. Several Twolegs climbed out and headed toward the gathering-place entrance.
Tigerheart hesitated. He knew Spire wanted to be alone, but he wanted to know what yowling time was. He’d leave soon, but for now he’d watch. Another group of Twolegs were heading up the smooth stone path toward the wooden entrance. Soon more were flocking toward the thorn den, and Tigerheart glanced guiltily at Spire, whose gaze hadn’t shifted from the Twolegs. “I should go.” Reluctantly, he turned toward the cavern.
“Stay and listen if you want.” Spire shifted his paws.
“But you wanted to be alone,” Tigerheart reminded him.
“Being pestered by a kit is not the same as sitting with a warrior.” Spire didn’t look at him. He was absently watching more Twolegs arrive. He must have watched it many times before.
Tigerheart padded to the tom’s side and sat beside him.
“I like having Blaze around,” Spire meowed suddenly, as though he felt he had to explain. “But kits ask lots of questions, and this morning I need to think.”
Tigerheart remembered with a pang how Grassheart’s kits had asked questions relentlessly, and had wanted to play when Grassheart longed to doze quietly in the sunshine. The apprentices had kept them busy, teaching them games and hunting moves, and the elders had joined in, giving Grassheart a chance to rest. Would his kits ask questions? How would he and Dovewing cope without Clanmates to help them?
“I had a dream.” Spire interrupted his thoughts. “I saw a tree fall. . . .” The tom’s eyes had glazed; his mew had drifted into thoughtfulness. “It cut through a shadow as black as night.”
A shadow? Tigerheart stiffened. Spire might not be a medicine cat, and they were far beyond the reach of StarClan—but there was something about the way that he described his dream that made Tigerheart feel it might be significant.
“Where it cut through,” Spire continued, “I could see beyond.”
Tigerheart’s pelt prickled with foreboding. “What could you see?”
Spire looked at him, his gaze clearing suddenly as though waking from a trance. “Light.”
Tigerheart’s thoughts spun in a way they hadn’t since he’d left ShadowClan. He’d thought he was free of omens and worry. But now, this cat, who had never even heard of StarClan, was talking of dreams like a real medicine cat. His dream sounded like one Puddleshine might have had. And it was about shadows. Always shadows! Tigerheart shivered. “The tree.” He stared at Spire. “The one that sliced through the shadow . . . What sort was it?” Could it represent Rowanstar?
Spire shrugged. “It was a tree. A tall one. An old one.”
“Was it a rowan tree?”
“I don’t know,” Spire told him. “A tree is a tree.”
“But it’s important!” Was his father going to destroy ShadowClan like the tree in Spire’s dream? Or would he cut through the shadows that threatened to swallow the Clan and find a way to light beyond? “How did you feel when you saw the tree cut the shadow? Were you scared?” Tigerheart leaned closer. “Or did you feel hope?”
“I didn’t feel anything, apart from curiosity.” Spire looked at him blankly. “Why? Does the dream mean something to you?”
Tigerheart looked away. “I don’t know.” He stared at the ground. Spire wasn’t a Clan cat. How could his dream have anything to do with ShadowClan? “You dream a lot, right?”
“Yes.” Spire curled his tail over his paws and looked back toward the Twolegs streaming into the gathering place. “Sometimes when I’m awake.”
Tigerheart forced his fur to smooth. Maybe they aren’t real visions, he told himself. Maybe Spire just has . . . a good imagination.
The gathering place began to hum with Twoleg murmuring. Then the noise swelled suddenly, and the murmurings joined into one voice that yowled in a way Tigerheart had never heard before. Their yowling lifted and fell, hardened and softened, like the song of a bird in greenleaf. Tigerheart stared at the great den. The huge thorn jutting from its roof sparkled against the cloudless sky as the Twolegs wailed inside.
Spire blinked at him. “Let’s go back into the cavern,” he meowed. “The yowling sounds more interesting from down there.”
Tigerheart’s ears twitched. He hurried after Spire as the tom headed toward the gap in the wall. Dovewing would wonder where he’d gone.
I’m coming. He broke into a run. Dovewing needed him. That’s why he’d come here. Forget about ShadowClan. Why had he let Spire’s dream spook him? But what if StarClan is trying to reach me? He pushed away the nagging doubt. ShadowClan had Rowanstar. I’m needed here now, not there.
He nosed through the gap ahead of Spire and jumped down to the wooden ledge. Dovewing was awake, sitting in a pool of sunshine, watching Blaze and Ant play fight.
“Am I doing it right?” Blaze look
ed eagerly at Dovewing as he wrapped himself around Ant’s forepaw and began churning his leg with his hind paws.
“You’re doing great!” Dovewing purred.
Spire landed on the ledge beside Tigerheart, and Blaze’s gaze flashed toward them.
“You’re back!” He released Ant’s leg and rushed to meet Spire as the black tom jumped down from the ledge. “Did you go to watch the Twolegs yowling?”
Spire had been right. The cavern throbbed with the noise above. Tigerheart caught Dovewing’s eye and blinked at her affectionately. He followed Spire down from the ledge and crossed the floor to meet her. “The noise is really something.”
Ant, sitting where Blaze had left him, lifted his head. “The first time I heard it, I thought dogs were howling upstairs.”
“It does sound like that,” Dovewing mewed. “Isn’t it strange?”
Tigerheart’s fur brushed hers as he sat down beside her. “Twolegs are weird.”
“Where did you go?” she asked him softly.
Before he could answer, Ant stretched. “Thanks for the fighting tips. I’m going to hunt.” He nodded to Tigerheart. “Do you want to come?”
“Maybe later,” Tigerheart told him. He wanted to speak with Dovewing first. Spire’s dream had shaken him.
Ant flicked his tail. “Okay.”
As the brown-and-black tom headed toward the cavern entrance, Tigerheart leaned closer to Dovewing. “I followed Spire,” he told her. “He told me he’d had a dream.”
Dovewing shifted her paws as though easing her swollen belly into a more comfortable position. “Fierce says he dreams all the time.”
“I know,” Tigerheart mewed, frowning. “He said that sometimes he even dreams when he’s awake.” Worry was tugging in his belly. “The way he talked about it, it seemed a lot like a dream Puddleshine might have.”