by Erin Hunter
She jumped down onto the bright green square of grass below the fence. Without looking back, she trotted to the Twoleg den and vanished through a little gap in the wall. Pinepaw studied the stretch of ground between the fence and the trees. There was no sign of the mother fox; he guessed it had gone into its den under the fallen tree. He leaped down, holding his breath when the fence rattled under his hind paws. He crouched in the long grass for a moment, but there was no movement, no fresh fox scent carried to him on the breeze, so he darted across the open ground to the safety of the pine trees.
His second encounter with a kittypet had been even more startling than the first. And much as he hated to admit it—and he certainly wasn’t going to tell Mistpelt or his denmates what had happened—he owed his life to that bold she-cat. Too late, he realized he hadn’t thanked her. And I’ll probably never see her again, he thought as he trotted through the trees toward the sound of his patrol.
CHAPTER THREE
Pinepaw clenched his teeth and tried not to gag as he dabbed the moss soaked in mouse bile onto Seedpelt’s gray pelt. The stench made Pinepaw’s eyes water, but the elder didn’t seem to notice. Seedpelt grunted as the bile sank into the skin around the fat tick on her belly, and wriggled farther onto her back so that Pinepaw could apply the moss again.
Pinepaw wondered how long he could hold his breath before he keeled over. He couldn’t believe he had been an apprentice for nearly six moons, yet he still had to do the most disgusting jobs. If only there were younger apprentices to take over tick duties! He pressed down a little harder, and with the faintest pop, the tick jerked free from Seedpelt’s skin. Pinepaw knocked it to the ground and squashed it firmly.
“Thanks,” Seedpelt mewed, sitting up and licking the speck of blood left behind on her belly. “That feels much better.”
Pinepaw scooped up the moss with the dead tick inside it and headed toward the dirtplace tunnel. He was almost among the brambles when there was a thud of paws behind him as several cats burst into the clearing. Pinepaw dropped the bundle of moss and whirled around.
Mumblefoot stood in the center of the camp, his thick-furred brown flanks heaving. The rest of the border patrol crowded behind him, all breathless. “Kittypets!” Mumblefoot burst out.
Several cats around the clearing jumped to their paws. “Where? Here? Are we being attacked?”
Oakstar and Doefeather emerged from the leader’s den beneath Highrock. “What’s going on?” Oakstar demanded.
“Not here,” Mumblefoot panted. “But inside our territory, on this side of the fence.”
“I picked up their scent under the pine trees,” Windflight put in. “Farther in than they’ve ever come before.”
“They could be planning an invasion!” Hollypelt meowed, her black fur fluffed up and speckled with bits of fern from her race through the forest.
Littlepaw and Daisypaw joined Pinepaw. “Do you think kittypets would really be dumb enough to attack us?” whispered Littlepaw.
“I wish they would!” mewed Daisypaw, unsheathing her front claws. “I’d love to show them just how hard we fight!”
“I don’t think we’re in any great danger,” Oakstar meowed. “But we do need to remind those furballs that they aren’t welcome in our territory. It’s a sign that they’re getting much too bold if they’re coming all the way into treecutplace.” He looked around the clearing. “I think we should send a patrol into Twolegplace tonight to show them that we won’t tolerate this. What do you think, Doefeather?”
The Clan deputy nodded. “That’s an excellent idea.” She gestured with her tail to warriors dotted around the clearing. “I’ll lead it, and I want Rooktail, Harepounce, Mistpelt, and Squirrelwhisker to join me. We’ll take our apprentices, too.”
“What about me?” called Flashpaw. “You didn’t choose Nettlebreeze.”
“I think my days of chasing around Twolegplace are over,” grunted his mentor. “But you can join the patrol if you wish.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Rooktail offered, and Nettlebreeze nodded his thanks.
“We’ll leave at sunset,” Doefeather decided. “Warriors, take something from the fresh-kill pile and get some rest. Those of you who won’t be coming with me, please take over hunting duties for the rest of the day.”
There were quiet murmurs as the cats dispersed around the camp. Pinepaw joined the other apprentices at the end of the queue for the fresh-kill pile, behind the warriors.
“I’m too excited to eat!” Daisypaw confessed.
“But we’ll need our strength,” Littlepaw pointed out solemnly.
Pinepaw said nothing. He was eager to go over the fence and explore Twolegplace, but he wasn’t convinced that the kittypets were such a terrible threat. If they were really as lazy and well fed as his Clanmates said, surely they weren’t interested in stealing ThunderClan’s prey? And he couldn’t believe they’d find their way right to the camp, hidden in the ravine among bushes and trees.
Then he thought of the fierce kittypet who had chased away the fox all those moons ago, and he reminded himself that he shouldn’t underestimate any cat, not even those who lived with Twolegs.
The patrol set out toward Sunningrocks as the last rays of sun glowed above the trees. A three-quarter moon was already high in the pale sky, ready to cast enough silver light for the warriors to see clearly once they were outside familiar territory. Pinepaw felt his heart race as he pushed through the gorse with his denmates and scampered up to the top of the ravine. What would be waiting for them in Twolegplace?
“We’re not out to cause damage,” Doefeather warned over her shoulder as she led them at a brisk walk through the ferns. “Our plan is to find as many kittypets as we can and give them a good scare—claw their fur if they fight back, but there’s no need to shed blood unnecessarily. They just need to learn to respect the Clan cats, and stay out of our territory!”
The warriors around her nodded. “I’m happy to teach them a lesson they won’t forget,” muttered Harepounce, her light brown fur turning pale gray in the dusk.
Pinepaw had been out of the camp at night before—his journey to see the Moonstone had begun long before dawn, and they had been halfway across WindClan’s territory before the sun rose—but this was the first time he had set out to defend his Clan from enemies. He was surprised it was quiet even with so many cats walking together; hardly a pine needle cracked underpaw, and even the whispers stopped as they approached the edge of the trees.
Doefeather stopped below the fence and the warriors circled her. “I’ll take the lead,” the deputy whispered, her voice hardly louder than the breeze. “If I spot a kittypet, I’ll let you know. We’ll separate into groups to issue each warning. No need for all of us to terrorize one cat!”
There was a purr of amusement through the patrol, but Pinepaw was aware of tension crackling through the air like lightning. He flexed his legs in turn, preparing his muscles for battle moves, if only to strike fear into the too-bold kittypets.
Suddenly Doefeather was vanishing over the fence, her paws hardly seeming to touch the wood as she leaped to the top and disappeared down the other side. The patrol streamed after her and the fence creaked ominously under the weight of so many cats. Pinepaw jumped down to the short, soft grass and felt the others land around him, hardly visible in the shadows beneath a heavily scented tree. Doefeather trotted into the moonlight cast on the grass and the rest of the cats followed in silence, ears pricked and muzzles open to taste the air. They rounded the edge of the silent Twoleg den and entered a narrow gap between red stone walls, too high to jump up on. Doefeather picked up speed and they burst out onto a little Thunderpath, lined with sleeping monsters.
A pair of yellow eyes gleamed on the far side of the Thunderpath. Doefeather jerked her muzzle. “Rooktail, Harepounce, Flashpaw, off you go.”
The three cats bounded across the hard black stone and Pinepaw heard a thrum of paws as the kittypet tried to run away. Rooktail let out a screech and the
warriors sped up, hurtling around a corner with the kittypet yowling just ahead of them.
Doefeather nodded in satisfaction. “Come on,” she ordered the rest of the patrol. They followed the Thunderpath between the Twoleg dens, keeping to the shadows cast by the motionless monsters. Pinepaw felt his pelt crawl at being so close to the stinking silver beasts, and he prayed to StarClan that none of them suddenly woke up.
The soft rumble of a mew drifted on the warm air, and Doefeather froze, her tail up in warning. Pinepaw strained his ears and picked up the sounds of two cats talking quietly beyond a low gray wall. Doefeather pointed to him and Mistpelt. “You can take those. Squirrelwhisker, you go with them. Daisypaw and Littlepaw, stay with me.”
Mistpelt nodded and set off toward the wall at a run. Pinepaw followed with Squirrelwhisker at his heels. Watch out, kittypets! Here comes ThunderClan!
They bounded over the wall and crouched down among the shadows. Two shapes were outlined in moonlight on the far side of a stretch of pale stones. “We’ll make too much noise if we approach them directly,” Mistpelt whispered. “Get back on the wall and see if we can follow it around.”
They jumped onto the wall and padded along it, crouching low to avoid making too large a silhouette. Pinepaw concentrated on keeping his balance low and steady, even though his heart was pounding hard enough to make him out of breath. They passed a deep shadow between the wall and a much smaller den made of wood. Mistpelt hesitated, pricking her ears.
“I think I hear something down here. Pinepaw, check it out.”
Pinepaw gulped. On my own? Then he told himself that he was very nearly a warrior, and if Mistpelt trusted him, he wasn’t going to argue. As the others continued along the wall, he sprang down into the shadow. It was almost pitch black down here, and he blinked hard to force his eyes to adjust. A pair of eyes shone out of the darkness and the scent of several cats reached Pinepaw, making his fur stand on end. He crouched down, ready to leap at the kittypets and give them a demonstration of how ThunderClan warriors were brave and ready to fight.
Before he could move, a paw lashed out at him, almost taking off his whiskers. Pinepaw found himself face-to-face with a furious she-cat, her teeth bared and her claws glinting in the moonlight.
“It’s you!” he gasped. This was the cat who had faced down the mother fox. In all of Twolegplace, Pinepaw had found her—this time as an enemy.
“Get away from here!” the she-cat snarled.
Pinepaw bristled. “Don’t tell me what to do, kittypet! I’m a ThunderClan cat!”
“Is that supposed to scare me?” hissed the she-cat.
Pinepaw braced himself for a full strike with his front paws. Then he caught a different scent, one that he had smelled a long time ago, soft and milky and filled with tender memories. There are kits here!
He looked at the she-cat and saw the same fury that had been in the eyes of the fox. This cat was frightened of nothing, not when she had her kits to protect. And did she really deserve to be attacked, after she had saved his life? Pinepaw took a step back and forced his fur to lie down.
“It’s okay,” he mewed. “Your babies are safe. I’m not going to hurt them.”
“I wasn’t going to let you,” growled the she-cat.
“I know you weren’t,” Pinepaw mewed hastily. He didn’t want this cat to think she needed to prove a point.
Beyond the walls that sheltered them, the air was split with yowls and screeches and thudding paws as the ThunderClan cats rousted and startled kittypets.
The she-cat’s eyes grew huge. “What’s going on?”
Pinepaw glanced over his shoulder. “I . . . er . . . we came to teach a lesson to the kittypets who’ve been straying into our territory.”
“A lesson in what? That we aren’t safe in our own homes?”
“No, that you’re not welcome in ours.”
The she-cat harrumphed. “Well, it wasn’t me. I’ve got more than enough to deal with here.”
As she spoke, three tiny faces peeked out from behind her. Above them, a sharp white light flicked on, and Pinepaw found himself staring at a ginger tom with the greenest eyes he had ever seen. He flinched at the sudden brightness. “What’s that?”
The she-cat shrugged. “My housefolk put a light on so I can find my way back at night.” She curled her tail around the kits. “Come on, little ones. It’s time for bed.” She started to usher the kits past Pinepaw. “Are you going to chase me into my house?” she teased.
Pinepaw shook his head. Suddenly there was a yowl above him, and a scrabble of paws.
“Pinepaw? Are you down there?” Mistpelt was standing on top of the wall, unable to see Pinepaw and the kittypets in the tiny gap.
The she-cat’s eyes stretched wide and her tail folded more closely around her kits. Pinepaw gave a tiny shake of his head. I won’t bring them to you, he promised silently.
“Just coming!” he called up to his mentor. “There’s nothing down here.” He stepped back and let the she-cat move into the shadow with her kits. She broke into a trot, her babies scampering behind her. Just before they vanished around the corner of their den, the ginger tom looked back at Pinepaw.
“Thank you!” mewed the tiny cat, and Pinepaw nodded.
“Are you stuck in something?” Mistpelt bellowed. “Where are you?”
Pinepaw whisked around and jumped up onto the wall. “I’m here, everything’s fine,” he panted.
Mistpelt twitched the tip of her tail. “While you’ve been hiding down there, the rest of us have chased off that pair of chattering kittypets. Doefeather is waiting for us on the Thunderpath, come on.”
Pinepaw followed his mentor at a run along the wall and joined the rest of the patrol in a patch of shadow cast by a huge, straight-backed monster. Doefeather looked around at her Clanmates and nodded. “A highly successful mission,” she declared with a purr. “Those kittypets have learned we won’t stand for trespassing!” She set off along the side of the den, following the path that led back to the fence. “Come on, let’s go tell Oakstar that our boundary is safe once more!”
The sun scorched Pinepaw’s red-brown pelt as he stood beneath Highrock with his head bowed. Oakstar stood over him, less than a mouse-length taller than Pinepaw at his shoulder. Pinepaw thought back to the days when his father had seemed to loom over him, bigger than a badger. I’m becoming more like him all the time, he thought. Perhaps I will follow in his paw steps one day and lead our Clan.
“The raid on Twolegplace was a success,” Oakstar declared, purrs rumbling in his chest. “It is easy to dismiss our kittypet neighbors as a flea-bite nuisance, rather than a real threat. But they are as capable of stealing our prey as any cat, and if we do not tolerate other Clans setting foot across our borders, we should not allow kittypets to trespass either.” He looked down at Pinepaw. “I am especially proud of the way my son acted during the raid. Mistpelt told me he worked alone, with all the bravery of a full warrior.”
Pinepaw tried not to squirm. How could he explain that he didn’t actually fight any kittypets; rather, he let them know he would leave them in peace as long as they didn’t try to interfere with the invasion.
Oakstar bent his head and touched his muzzle lightly to Pinepaw’s ear. “From this moment, you will be known as Pineheart,” he announced. “ThunderClan honors your courage in the invasion of Twolegplace, and your sense of strategy when under attack. May StarClan light your path, always.” He touched his muzzle to the top of Pineheart’s head and murmured, “I am so proud of you, my son.”
“Pineheart! Pineheart!”
Pineheart lifted his head to listen to his Clanmates as they cheered his new name. His future unrolled before him like a shining sunlit path. He had never felt more fortunate than at this moment, knowing how lucky he was to have been born in the forest, the son of a great leader, with the life of a warrior stretching ahead. No cat was more committed to his Clan, more grateful to StarClan, or more certain that his dying breath would be dedicate
d to keeping his territory and his Clanmates safe.
CHAPTER FOUR
Pineheart strode through the gorse tunnel and carried the dead squirrel across the clearing. Around him, the trees clattered their empty leaf-bare branches, and a cold wind lifted the fur along his spine. But there were tiny green buds appearing on the trees, and the mornings no longer dawned with frost that made clouds of the cats’ breath as they set out on patrol.
Pineheart thought he would never be happier to see the end of leaf-bare. He had been forced to watch his Clanmates starve around him as first floods then snow destroyed what little prey there was. Goosefeather’s idea of burying fresh-kill to preserve it had failed dismally when rain turned the clearing to mud and rotted the food before the cats could take a single mouthful. As the deputy of ThunderClan, Pineheart had felt painfully helpless, and as terrified as a kit.
Now Pineheart was aware of cats watching him and murmuring, the voices growing louder as the rest of his patrol entered the camp laden with prey. Look! Feast your eyes, then your bellies! Pineheart thought, unable to speak with his jaws full of fresh-kill. The hungry moons have passed!
He heard Larksong warning her kits to take tiny mouthfuls. “Don’t rush, or you’ll give yourself bellyache. Flamenose caught this squirrel just for you! You must thank your father when you have finished eating.”
Cloudberry took a piece of prey over to Mistpelt. “Your belly has been empty for so long, too much food will make you ill,” the medicine cat told the only surviving elder. “Why don’t we share this mouse that Mumblefoot brought?”
Mistpelt grunted in agreement, and Pineheart felt a pang of sorrow for his former mentor. She had watched her denmate Nettlebreeze starve to death, along with many others in the long, harsh leaf-bare. Pineheart knew his bones stuck out as much as his Clanmates’, and all the cats had added more moss to their nests because lying down was so uncomfortable.