by Erin Hunter
“Troutstar? May I speak with you?” It was the following day, with hot, merciless sunshine bouncing off the reeds and the surface of the river.
The RiverClan leader opened his eyes from his doze. He was curled on a flat stone by the shore, his gray fur blending into the sun-bleached rock. “Is Snaketooth all right?” he asked anxiously.
Meadowpelt grunted. “You mean apart from having no sense at all? He’ll live. But whether he’ll be able to hunt and fight again, I’m not sure.”
Troutstar shook his head. “I don’t know why those warriors keep doing such ridiculous things.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I want to go to the Moonstone to ask StarClan for advice.”
The gray cat looked at him in surprise. “Do you really think StarClan needs to be involved?”
Meadowpelt nodded. “Yes, I do. We have raised a whole generation of warriors who only want to amuse themselves. There aren’t enough apprentices for them all to be mentors, so they’re wasting time making up stupid, dangerous games. They’ve all been hurt, but it hasn’t stopped them. Did you know they’re planning to jump into the gorge on the full moon?”
Troutstar’s tail bristled. “No, I didn’t know that. Meadowpelt, if you think StarClan can help, then you must go. May StarClan be waiting for you with answers.”
It was past nightfall by the time Meadowpelt reached the entrance to Mothermouth. The Highstones jabbed angrily into the sky, black against dove-gray. Meadowpelt let his mind empty as he felt his way down the long, dark tunnel. At the bottom, the flattened-egg moon made the Moonstone glow brightly enough to light up the chamber. Meadowpelt lay down at the foot of the Moonstone and pressed his muzzle against the sharp, cold rock.
“StarClan, please show me how to make my Clanmates understand that the Clan depends on them for its survival, and that they can’t play like kits now that they are warriors.”
He closed his eyes, and at once the scents of the riverbank brushed against his fur. He could hear the water rolling past, whispering against the stones, and the reeds rattling together as they were bent over by the breeze. When he opened his eyes, he found that he was lying in the center of the RiverClan camp with cats stirring softly around him, preparing for the night. With a shock, Meadowpelt realized that he didn’t recognize any of them—no, it was more that he couldn’t see them clearly enough, as if their faces were always in shadow and their scents too mixed by the breeze to distinguish one cat from another. Even their voices sounded muffled, almost familiar but not quite. He lay still with his chin on his paws and listened.
“We tracked that fox to the border, so hopefully it will stay away,” one voice reported.
“I’m on dawn patrol tomorrow, so I’ll look out for any new scents,” came the reply.
“The elders are convinced it will come back once more,” meowed another voice. “They said that foxes will check out a place twice before deciding whether or not to settle. I think we should take their advice and be prepared to chase it out again.”
“I promised I’d take all the apprentices for a fishing lesson tomorrow. Could you do a hunting patrol in my place?”
“Sure. With those kits due any day, we’re going to need a full fresh-kill pile. Have you seen how much the queens eat when they’re nursing?”
There was a mrrow of amusement from the other cats, and Meadowpelt purred, too. Whoever these cats were, they were the kind of warriors RiverClan could be proud of: brave, loyal, hardworking, and aware of how much the whole Clan depended on them, from the frailest elder to the tiniest kit.
Warm dawn light roused Meadowpelt and he sat up, blinking, in the sunlit cavern. Was that it? He’d spent a night in his own Clan, listening to unidentified cats talk about their lives? How is that supposed to help?
There was the faintest echo inside his head: A night in his own Clan, listening … But how does that provide me with answers for our mouse-brained warriors?
Silence pressed on his ears. What was he going to tell Troutstar?
A night of listening …
To cats who cared about their Clan, who understood their duties and took pride in doing them well.
Is that what the warriors need?
Meadowpelt burst into the dazzling air and started to run down the rock-strewn hill. StarClan had given him the answer!
“One night? To think about being a warrior?” Troutstar sounded unconvinced, and Meadowpelt was starting to wonder if this wasn’t such a great idea after all. Knowing the current RiverClan cats, they’d just come up with a bunch of games to play in the dark.
But Meadowpelt kept his doubts to himself. The full moon was only a day away, and with any luck a sleepless night would at least make the warriors too tired to carry out their mouse-brained scheme of jumping into the gorge.
The young cats looked startled when Troutstar explained what they had to do: spend one night in silent vigil, watching over the camp while their Clanmates slept. “And make sure you listen, as well!” he added sternly.
The sun was already sliding behind the outline of the Twoleg barns beyond the willow trees, so the Clan started to prepare for the night. Molewhisker, Lightningpelt, and Nettlepad stayed in the middle of the clearing, looking uncertain about what they were supposed to be doing. Meadowpelt couldn’t blame them; he wasn’t sure anymore that he’d understood StarClan.
Meadowpelt slid into his nest and gave in to a wave of black sleep.
“Fox! Wake up! Fox attack!”
Meadowpelt was on his feet and racing into the clearing before he had fully opened his eyes. The camp was bathed in cold white light and cats were plunging out of the reeds, hissing in alarm. Nettlepad stood in the middle of the clearing with his fur bristling.
“We heard a fox!” he gasped. “Creeping up on the nursery. Molewhisker and Lightningpelt have chased it away.”
Troutstar nodded to a couple of senior warriors. “Go after them. Make sure they don’t try to confront the fox. We just need it to leave the territory.”
A white she-cat with splashes of ginger on her fur padded up to Nettlepad. A pair of tiny kits bundled along beside her. “You saved our lives!” she exclaimed. “Thank you!”
“I didn’t even hear that mangy ol’ fox creeping up on us!” squeaked one of the kits.
“Yeah, even though you’ve got really big ears!” taunted his littermate.
“Have not!”
“Have so! You look like a rabbit!”
Meadowpelt padded over to Nettlepad, who was looking rather uncomfortable at being the center of attention. “Sunspots is right; you saved her life and her kits’. You should be very proud.”
Nettlepad shuffled his paws. “It’s because we were being quiet, like you said. We’d never have heard that fox if we’d been in our dens.”
Meadowpelt narrowed his eyes. “Or jumping into the gorge. Or climbing the Great Oaks at Fourtrees. Or chasing one another through the reeds, scaring off prey.”
Nettlepad hung his head. “Yeah, I guess that was pretty mouse-brained.”
Just then, Lightningpelt and Molewhisker hurtled back into the clearing, followed by the senior warriors. “We chased that fox all the way to the border!” Molewhisker panted, his eyes shining with triumph.
“It won’t come back here in a hurry!” Lightningpelt declared.
“Don’t be so sure,” rasped Fernleaf, one of the elders. “Foxes have a habit of coming back once more before they decide whether or not to settle. You need to be ready to chase it off again.”
Molewhisker straightened up. “No problem,” he promised. Lightningpelt spotted a row of apprentices peering out of their den. “Hey there! I know some great fishing techniques! Would you like me to show you them today?”
Nettlepad nodded. “She’s really good, honestly. I’ll do your hunting patrol for you, Lightningpelt.”
“Thanks, that would be really helpful.”
Meadowpelt stared. His vision was unfolding around him, faces and scents falling into place
like raindrops. A night of listening had turned these cats into warriors that RiverClan could be proud of.
“Thank you, Meadowpelt,” murmured a voice beside him. It was Troutstar.
Meadowpelt shrugged. “Thank StarClan,” he mewed gruffly.
“At the Gathering tomorrow night, I’ll suggest we add a new part to the warrior code: that all new warriors must spend one night in silent vigil so they understand how much their Clan needs them now,” Troutstar went on.
Meadowpelt nodded, and inside a small worm of pride stretched and swelled satisfyingly. Yes, make it part of the warrior code, so that all cats have a night of listening....
Squirrelflight’s Words of Wisdom
One day even you might have to sit vigil. Here are a few tips from Squirrelflight to help you pass the night—if you’re a ThunderClan warrior, that is!
Avigil is the proudest and scariest night of any warrior’s life. It was for me! Having to spend a whole night awake guarding the Clan, trying not to doze off, jumping at every leaf fall in case it’s an enemy attack, it’s enough to send any cat running back to the nursery. So, I’m going to give you some tips on how to get through a vigil. That way you’ll be prepared when it’s your turn.
First, don’t lie near the warriors’ den; the noise of all that snoring will make you want to nod off. Or deafen you. If you feel sleepy, jump onto the Highledge—quietly, obviously, so you don’t wake Firestar. I know, I know, we’re not supposed to go up there, but it will give you a surge of energy and keep you going. When I kept my warrior’s vigil, back in the old forest, I climbed onto the Highrock in the middle of the night and it was amazing. The camp looked so tiny! And I thought about how brilliant it would feel to summon all the cats just by calling them together. ... Don’t look at me like that; you know I’d never have done something like that. Honestly.
Even if you don’t go up to the Highledge, make sure you stand up and stretch every so often, otherwise you’ll feel like you’ve turned into a lump of stone. A little game of mouse-chase won’t offend the ancestors if it gets really cold. Just don’t send it flying too close to the nursery, like I did, or you’ll wake every kit. They can hear a game going on even when they’re fast asleep! Trust me, the queens won’t thank you for that.
If you hear or see anything suspicious, call out, “Who’s there?” Even if it’s just a cat coming back from the dirtplace, better to be safe than sorry. After all, tonight you’re in charge! The safety of the whole Clan depends on you! Sorry, I’m really not trying to worry you. Let’s hope nothing does happen, because after all you’re not supposed to make any noise during the vigil. Unless there is a raid, in which case you must wake Firestar first, then the warriors. Don’t investigate anything on your own; it’s too risky. Obviously you’re allowed to call for help if you need it. And you can drink if you get thirsty, but you mustn’t eat. Your old mentor will come and tell you when the vigil is over, once the sun is up.
So, does all that sound okay? I haven’t scared you, have I?
Good luck! May StarClan watch over you!
CODE SEVEN
A CAT CANNOT BE MADE DEPUTY WITHOUT HAVING MENTORED AT LEAST ONE APPRENTICE.
Our skills and our knowledge will live forever, thanks to our mentors, who teach the next generation of Clan cats the way of the warrior. But it took a great leader to see that it was not only the apprentice who gained valuable knowledge from the mentor. Being entrusted with an apprentice teaches the mentor how to lead and gain loyalty and respect. For what is a deputy or leader if not a mentor to the whole Clan?
Second in Command
“StarClan, hear me as I make my choice. Acorntail will be the new deputy of WindClan.”
Featherstar stretched out and rested her muzzle lightly on top of Acorntail’s head. Acorntail closed his eyes, swallowing his grief for Pebblefur, the cat who had once been his mentor, and whose death from a strange, agonizing lump in his belly had shocked the Clan.
“Acorntail! Acorntail!” called the cats behind him, but to Acorntail, they sounded flat and disappointed. It was obvious they didn’t want him to be their deputy.
“Good luck, Acorntail,” murmured a voice in his ear. It was Morningcloud, the dark gray she-cat who had made no secret of her surprise when Acorntail was picked for deputy instead of her.
“Thanks,” Acorntail meowed. Behind her, he could see her apprentice Quickpaw glaring at him, his pale ginger face screwed up with indignation. Acorntail wondered if all young cats rewarded their mentors with such fierce loyalty. He hadn’t yet had an apprentice of his own, so he didn’t know what it would be like to train a new warrior and to watch him or her develop from bumbling kit to strong, skillful fighting cat.
Morningcloud padded back to Quickpaw, and Acorntail heard the young cat hiss, “It should have been you!”
The she-cat quieted him with a flick of her tail. “Maybe one day,” she murmured softly.
“Acorntail, you need to sort out the patrols for today,” Featherstar prompted. Her tone was almost apologetic, as if she didn’t want to remind him of his duties.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Acorntail stammered. “Gorseclaw, Sheeptail, and Cloversplash, you can go on hunting patrol.”
Cloversplash, a lightly built dark brown she-cat with a white flash on her nose shaped exactly like a cloverleaf, stopped him. “We went on hunting patrol this morning. We should have a training session with our apprentices now.”
Acorntail felt as if the three apprentices attached to these warriors were looking at him with a mixture of scorn and pity. He ducked his head. “Oh, yes, of course, training. Well, maybe you could take the evening hunting patrol?”
“Sure,” mewed Thistlepaw, Sheeptail’s apprentice. “We’re always in the mood for chasing rabbits all over the place after fighting all afternoon.”
Acorntail’s fur prickled with embarrassment. Why didn’t he think of that? Why was he being such a flea-brain?
“Right, okay. Morningcloud, could you and Quickpaw do a hunting patrol instead?”
Morningcloud put her head on one side. “On our own?” she questioned.
“Er, no. I’ll come with you,” Acorntail decided hastily. He glanced at Featherstar, who gave a tiny nod. Acorntail felt lower than a worm’s belly. Why did Featherstar make me her deputy when I’m so useless?
“You’ll do fine, Acorntail,” Featherstar told him. She sounded tired and strained, and Acorntail realized how much she must still be grieving for Pebblefur, who had died only three sunrises ago. They were in her den, a shallow scoop in the sandy earth shielded by a wall of gorse. Sunhigh had just passed, and the hunting patrol was due to leave.
“Prey is running well at the moment. You’ll catch plenty with Morningcloud and Quickpaw.”
Acorntail heard the dismissal in her tone. He backed out of the den. Morningcloud and Quickpaw were waiting for him in the center of the camp. Quickpaw still looked hostile, but the she-cat’s expression was impossible to read. Morningcloud just nodded and let Acorntail lead the way up the slope and out onto the moor.
Acorntail quickly detected the musky tang of rabbit and hurtled off. For the first time since being made deputy, he felt sure of what he was doing, confident in the swiftness of his paws and the prospect of a good piece of fresh-kill for the Clan. The rabbit tried to outrun him but he drew steadily alongside, pounced from running full speed, and brought it down with a muffled snap of neck bones. He lifted his head and looked around. Morningcloud was racing after a young rabbit, her tail bouncing as she tore across the warm grass, and Quickpaw was sniffing the ground as if he had picked up the scent of a plover’s nest. Eggs laid in a scoop of earth were a rare treat for the cats as plovers defended their unhatched young fiercely, but Quickpaw already had a reputation not just for tracking the nests but for carrying the eggs undamaged back to camp, tucked under his chin. Acorntail felt a little pebble of worry in his stomach dissolve. His Clan was the best by far, and it was an honor to be their deputy.
He stiff
ened. There was another scent on the air, not rabbit or freshly laid eggs, but feline. The breeze was carrying it from the direction of Fourtrees and the border with ThunderClan. What did those mangy tree-dwellers want now? They were far too slow and fat to catch WindClan’s prey, so why would they even try?
His fur bristling, Acorntail shoved his rabbit under a gorse bush and trotted toward the border. The scent grew stronger. As he crested a rise close to the edge of WindClan territory, he saw three ThunderClan cats walking along the border, barely a whisker-length from trespassing.
“Did you want something?” he growled.
The biggest ThunderClan cat shook his head. “Just doing a patrol,” he replied indifferently.
Acorntail looked closer. The smallest cat, which looked like an apprentice, had a tuft of dusky-brown fur stuck on his nose. There was only one type of prey that had fur like that.
“Have you been stealing rabbits?” Acorntail hissed.
The apprentice’s eyes stretched wide—in guilty horror, Acorntail was sure—but the big warrior just curled his lip. “As if we’d waste our energy chasing your scrawny prey.”
Acorntail opened his jaws; he could clearly taste the scent of fresh-killed rabbit clinging to these cats. Before he could say anything, Morningcloud and Quickpaw hurtled up from farther along the border.
“We found a dead rabbit!” Quickpaw panted.
“With ThunderClan scent on it,” Morningcloud added. She skidded to a stop and narrowed her eyes at the rival patrol.
Acorntail flattened his ears. “So you did steal our prey!”
“It was dead already,” growled the ThunderClan warrior. “We know better than to waste good fresh-kill—unlike your Clan.”
“It did look old and it smelled funny,” Quickpaw meowed before Acorntail could silence him. “It could have been dead for days. Yuck, you just ate crow-food!”