Warriors: Battles of the Clans

by Erin Hunter

  “You cannot steal our kits!”

  I lowered the kit to the ground—I still wasn’t sure which one it was—and met the WindClan leader’s gaze. “They are RiverClan, too. They belong with their mother.”

  “They are my kits as much as Fallowtail’s.” A pale brown tabby stepped alongside Heatherstar. It was Reedfeather, the deputy. “You said we could have them!”

  “I made a mistake.” I forced the words out, choking as if they were thistles. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “You can’t do that,” hissed Heatherstar.

  There was movement behind me as Ottersplash and Owlfur emerged from the nursery. “He can,” meowed Owlfur softly. “And we’re here to help him.”

  “Three of you against all of us?” Heatherstar sounded scornful.

  “Actually, there are five. And right now, I’d say we held the advantage.”

  Every cat, including me, turned to look up at the top of the hollow. Rippleclaw and Timberfur stood there with their unsheathed claws pressed against the throats of the guards.

  “Let our Clanmates pass, or their blood will feed your barren home,” Timberfur went on. The eyes of the guard he was holding bulged madly.

  Heatherstar took a step back. Her gaze when it met mine was puzzled and a little sorrowful. “A threat to kill? That is not how we fight, Hailstar.”

  “It is when we have to,” I replied through clenched teeth. I picked up the kit once more, and Ottersplash scooped up the other one. With Owlfur beside us, we carried them through the silent WindClan warriors and up the slope. Timberfur and Rippleclaw released the guards when we drew level; as the scrawny cats hurtled down the slope to their Clanmates, we pushed through the gorse bushes and started running for the border.

  Thundering paw steps behind us told us that we were being pursued. I wasn’t surprised; I would have done the same.

  “Faster!” panted Rippleclaw.

  The dark ground was a blur beneath my paws, and the kit wailed as she bumped against my legs. I tried to tip my head back to lift her higher, but she seemed to weigh as much as a full-grown cat, getting heavier with every stride. Owlfur tried to help me, but we couldn’t match our pace and ended up falling over each other, sending the kit flying through the air. Timberfur snatched her up and we raced on. Behind us, the sky was growing lighter, and ahead I could see the dark line of the forest, then an empty gray space where the land dipped down to the river.

  “That way!” I screeched, swerving.

  The ground started to slope in front of us, lending speed to our paws. But the WindClan warriors hadn’t already climbed up a cliff, and weren’t burdened by kits. I could feel their breath on my tail, and a barb of pain shot through me as one of them reached out to claw my flank. I wrenched myself away and kept running without looking back.

  “Get into the river!” I yowled to my Clanmates.

  Ottersplash grabbed a mouthful of fur on Timberfur’s kit, and Owlfur helped Rippleclaw with his. Side by side, the warriors raced awkwardly toward the water. I slowed down, offering myself as an easy target to our pursuers. At once I felt myself toppling over, crashing down on a rock, which sent a stab of agony along my ribs. Reedfeather stood over me, his lips pulled back in a snarl. “You can’t steal my kits!”

  I looked up at him, wondering if I was about to lose one of my lives. “We already have!” I growled back.

  Reedfeather raised his paw, ready to strike, when there was a screech from ahead. “They’re nearly at the river!”

  He dropped his paw and leaped away from me. “Stop them!” he ordered.

  Letting out a quavering breath, I rolled over and pushed myself up. My warriors stood knee-deep in the water, facing the WindClan cats, with the kits placed on stones above the surface behind them. I charged across the grass, ignoring the pain in my side, and sprang on Reedfeather from behind, knocking him into the river. Cold water rushed up to enfold us in a noisy, bubbling grip. I threw back my head and took a gulp of air before thrusting down with my front paws as hard as I could. Beneath me, Reedfeather struggled to get free, sending up another flood of tiny bubbles. I unsheathed my claws until they pricked his skin beneath his thin fur.

  All around me, my warriors wrestled with WindClan cats. Owlfur swept one of his paws and left one cat floundering out of his depth. Ottersplash dived down and surfaced under the belly of another warrior, sending him lurching off balance. Meanwhile, Timberfur and Rippleclaw swam to the far side with the kits and deposited them on the shore.

  “Hailstar? Hailstar! Stop!”

  Owlfur was standing beside me, wild eyed with fear. I looked down and saw Reedfeather’s eyes beginning to close. His body hung heavily in my claws, and the bubbles were petering out. “You’re killing him!” Owlfur hissed.

  In horror, I unhooked my claws and stepped back. Reedfeather’s body twitched in the current as he sank to the bottom. Owlfur pushed me back, ducked his head, and came up with the WindClan deputy hanging from his jaws. “Help me get him out!” he spluttered around a mouthful of sodden fur.

  I grabbed the loose skin at the top of Reedfeather’s tail and hauled him onto the sand. The deputy lay still for a moment while Owlfur rubbed his chest. Behind me, the other WindClan warriors stood frozen in horror. They knew they had lost the battle with us; now they were willing Reedfeather to win his battle with the river.

  Suddenly Reedfeather bucked under Owlfur’s paws and coughed up a stream of sticky water. He rolled onto his belly and coughed again.

  “He’ll be okay now,” Owlfur meowed.

  “No thanks to you,” snarled one of the warriors, stepping forward. He glanced across the river to where Timberfur and Rippleclaw were licking the kits in an effort to dry them out. “I hope they were worth it.”

  I followed his gaze and thought of Fallowtail. “They are.”

  Shortly before Graypaw’s sister, Willowpaw, was due to receive her warrior name, Fallowtail asked to speak to me in private.

  “I’d like her warrior name to be Willowbreeze,” she meowed. “And Graypaw to be Graypool. That way I’ll always know that my daughters carry the strength of wind and water together.”

  I looked at her soft brown face, her blue eyes gazing earnestly into mine. She had never stopped loving Reedfeather, not for a single moment. I had won back her kits, but part of her heart lay on the moor, with the wind and the rabbits.

  WINDCLAN

  * * *

  WINDCLAN FACTS

  Leader: Onestar

  Deputy: Ashfoot

  Medicine cat: Kestrelflight

  Hunting territory: The open hillside

  Camp: Shallow scoop in hillside

  Unique battle skill: Speed and agility

  * * *

  Ashfoot’s Welcome

  Welcome back, Onestar. I see your companions are still in one piece. They now know about three different kinds of combat—forest, water, and night. But they have yet to learn about WindClan’s strengths, which enable us to survive on the bleakest, most open territory, where there is nowhere to hide from invaders, and where borders lie open to the sky, as fragile as the breeze.

  Come into our camp, kittypets. That’s right. Now settle down in the shade here, and help yourself to some fresh-kill. There are plenty of cats here with tales to tell you about battles from the past. See that dark gray tabby over there? That’s Webfoot, our best storyteller. You’ll have to squeeze past a crowd of kits to hear him talk!

  You have nothing to fear here. Unlike the other Clans, who skulk in brambles or shadows or even in water, WindClan has nothing to hide. We live in the open, and we fight in the open, too, with two lines of cats facing one another across empty ground. This is surely the noblest way to fight. Both sides are equally prepared but only one Clan leaves the field victorious, in certain knowledge of its superior strength. The loser can only lick its wounds and accept that, this time, it fell short in strength, skill, or courage. Yes, the other Clans are content to skirmish amid bushes or mud, but as the great WindC
lan tactician Graywing the Wise taught us, it is open battles that carry the weight of destiny.

  * * *

  SPECIAL BATTLE TACTICS

  Graywing the Wise led WindClan many, many moons ago, before “star” was added to leaders’ names. He won the reputation for being the greatest leader of any Clan, thanks to his attention to battle strategy. He realized that the most important element of any battle was the position of warriors before and during combat. Using small stones and marks made by sticks on the floor of his den, he developed tactics for every sort of battle, even on WindClan’s open moorland territory, where there were no natural hiding places or traps.

  1. APPROACH FROM ABOVE YOUR ENEMY.

  The advantage of gaining the higher ground is that you can charge at greater speed at the enemy, who will be weakened by having to fight uphill.

  2. USE THE LIGHT FROM THE SUN.

  The sun should be behind you to dazzle the enemy. In greenleaf, the midday sun is especially bright and cruel to cats who are used to skulking under the cover of trees. In leaf-bare, the low sun hovers around the eye line like a troublesome bee; keep your enemies facing it, and they’ll have trouble seeing an attack from any direction.

  3. KNOW WHERE THE WIND IS COMING FROM.

  If there is a strong wind, it should blow from behind you toward the enemy, blinding them with dust and holding them back like the current of a river. If you wish to preserve the element of surprise, the wind should blow from the enemy position toward you so that your scent is carried away from them.

  4. CONCEAL THE SIZE OF YOUR FORCE.

  The number of cats in your battle patrols can be hidden to confuse the enemy from a distance. Cats packed tightly together will appear as a small attacking force, encouraging the enemy to be overconfident and make poor strategic decisions. Alternatively, if cats are spread out single file, they will look like a solid border of warriors, which will seem impenetrable to an advancing enemy.

  5. ATTACK BOTH ENDS OF THE ENEMY LINE FIRST.

  If both ends of the enemy’s line are defeated, the cats in the center of the line will have to fight on two fronts. Even if they are not outnumbered, they will be outflanked, vulnerable, and in disarray.

  6. KEEP FRESH WARRIORS IN RESERVE.

  Always have adequate reserves of fresh, fit warriors behind the battle line. They will be able to replace injured warriors, launch a separate attack if the enemy tries to encircle your forces, or fend off a surprise enemy from the rear. If the battle is in your favor, finish it by sending your reserve warriors behind the enemy line to surround them and demand surrender.

  7. FEIGNED RETREAT AND AMBUSH.

  A group of strong cats charges at the enemy, screeching, then turns around and withdraws. Repeat this until the infuriated enemy finally breaks its line and gives chase. Then the trap is sprung. Other warriors positioned in rabbit holes and in dips in the ground—out of the enemies’ eye line—attack as soon as your opponents have gone past. The enemy will be forced to stop and turn around to fight this unexpected threat, and as they do the retreating cats must turn and charge back at them at full speed. The enemy is caught between two bodies of attacking cats and will quickly surrender.

  * * *

  Webfoot Speaks: The Story of the Lost Tunneler

  Okay, one story; then it’s bedtime for all of you. I will tell you about a distant ancestor of mine, a young tunneler named Rabbittail who lived in the very early time of the Clans, before the Twolegs built the Thunderpath that cut ShadowClan off from the rest of the forest. Without the stinking trail of monsters to divide them, and with few clear territory markers on the empty hillside, WindClan and ShadowClan were forever bickering and squabbling about where the boundary should lie. Finally, after yet another ShadowClan patrol ignored WindClan’s border marks, the two great Clans confronted each other on the moor for a deciding battle. Gorsestar, the WindClan leader, signaled to his Clanmates that they should use the feigned retreat and ambush against their crow-food-eating foes. Rabbittail, who was pale gray with a stunted white tail like a rabbit’s, was one of the tunneling cats who crawled into a burrow, ready to attack the enemy as they crossed over his head. He figured that if he followed the tunnel farther down the hillside, he could come up on the far side of the enemy and attack them from behind at the same time his Clanmates appeared in the middle of their ranks.

  As Rabbittail tunneled, he heard the WindClan warriors begin to charge and retreat above him, their paw steps echoing through the ground like thunder. But ShadowClan held steady, ignoring the insults hurled at them. Rabbittail kept going, right underneath the line of ShadowClan warriors. All at once, the ground shuddered above him! The enemy had finally taken the bait and were charging after the retreating WindClan cats. Rabbittail twisted and turned along the narrow black paths, looking for one that would lead him up to the surface so he could launch his own attack. But he had never tunneled this far before, and the paw steps thudding overhead confused him until he knew he was walking in circles. Rabbittail was lost.

  He forced himself to stand still in the cold, empty dark, and waited for his senses to tell him which way he should go. He felt a cool breeze stroke his flank, carrying a faint scent of rabbit. A breeze on its own could signify nothing more than a long, steep, unclimbable shaft reaching far underground; but combined with rabbit scent, it suggested that Rabbittail was close to the surface. He headed back the way he had come, staying quiet and scenting the air every few paces. The breeze on his face led him down a side tunnel, where the darkness began to fade to gray. He was nearly out!

  Suddenly there was a scrabbling noise behind him, and an earsplitting yap bounced off the rock walls. There was a dog in the tunnels! Peering over his shoulder, Rabbittail caught a glimpse of brown-and-white fur, a pointed muzzle, and glistening black eyes before he pushed off with his hind legs and ran as hard as he could. The tunnel twisted and turned, making him lose his footing more than once as he scrabbled to change direction. He could feel the dog’s hot, stinking breath on his haunches, and flecks of saliva spattered over his back. But the gray light was growing brighter ahead of him, pulling him on and giving extra speed to his tired paws.

  The sky burst open in front of him, and Rabbittail hurled himself out of the mouth of the tunnel, springing with all four feet off the ground.

  But he didn’t land with familiar prickly grass under his paws. Instead, he hung in midair, trapped in a floppy brown mesh that smelled strongly of Twolegs and rabbits. A furless pink face appeared beside him, shouting so loud that Rabbittail tried to shrink down in the net, but his hind paws slipped through the holes until he was swinging on his belly with his head twisted up at an angle. Behind him, to his horror, he saw a pile of dead rabbits, their necks broken. This was no tempting pile of fresh-kill: The Twoleg must have killed them when his dog chased them into the mesh.

  Rabbittail was not used to giving up. He rolled onto his side and wrenched his paws clear of the mesh. Then he sank his claws into the coarse brown tendrils and ripped hard. One of his claws was torn out and blood sprang from his foot, making the dog circle madly on the ground below him. The Twoleg bellowed and shook the net, but Rabbittail clung on with his claws and hauled at the mesh until he felt it start to give way. He thrust down with his hind legs as hard as he could, and the mesh split open beneath him, spilling him onto the grass.

  The dog pounced, but Rabbittail had already leaped up and was racing across the grass. He was on the far side of the moor from the camp, but there was a gully beyond the next rise that would lead him around the peak of the hill to just below the circle of gorse bushes that sheltered the dens.

  For several long heartbeats, the dog chased him; Rabbittail considered whether he should find a burrow to hide in but decided that he might get lost again—and besides, the dog was small enough to follow him, as he had already found out. Just as he thought his legs would give way from exhaustion, the Twoleg shouted and Rabbittail heard the dog slither to a halt behind him. With a reluctant whine,
it spun around and trotted back to the Twoleg.

  Mouse-brained, fox-hearted, useless dog! Rabbittail thought as he skidded over the top of the rise and down into the gully. Gathering his paws beneath him, he headed for the camp, still running flat out. You’d better hope that Twoleg lets you share his fresh-kill pile, he thought, because you’re too dumb to catch your own prey.

  Well, I think that’s enough. Bed, all of you! And when you wake up tomorrow, practice those battle skills. As the story proves, our battle skills serve us equally well in times of peace, giving us the strength and cunning to outwit Twolegs and dogs, and other creatures too dumb to know the skill of their enemies. Rabbittail never surrendered, and didn’t let courage abandon him even when he was cornered by a dog in a place where dogs weren’t supposed to be. Aboveground or in the tunnels, WindClan cats don’t give up as easily as the other Clans think. There have been no easy victories against WindClan warriors, nor will there ever be.

  Heathertail Speaks: The Lost Skill of Tunneling

  In the old territory, WindClan’s moor was almost hollow with tunnels and burrows, some made by animals, others by underground streams that cut through stone and sand to leave endless holes filled with nothing but darkness. The cats who first settled there realized that the tunnels could be used to their advantage—not just for storing fresh-kill or sheltering from the weather, but as a strength against their enemies, enabling WindClan warriors to move right across their territory without being seen.

  Certain cats—usually the smallest—were trained as tunnelers, clearing the secret passageways and memorizing the cobweb of paths that led underground. Some led right into other Clans’ territories, giving a secret means of access into (or escape from) enemy camps; the exit was always carefully concealed with bracken and branches, and any trace of scent wiped away with the pelt of a freshly killed rabbit. Often the tunnelers grew so accustomed to working in blackness that they lost any daylight vision, and were clumsy and nervous above the ground. But once inside their tunnels, they could run as fast as any WindClan warrior, using scent and touch and sound to navigate their way beneath the entire forest.