by Erin Hunter
“After all, the Clan means more to a cat than real kin,” he went on.
“Even Tawnypelt?”
“She is with ShadowClan now. My loyalty to her comes second to ThunderClan, and she understands that.”
“And what about Hawkfrost and Mothwing? Do you feel anything for them, now that you know you share the same father?”
“Knowing we share the same father doesn’t change anything,” Brambleclaw went on. “I am nothing like Hawkfrost.” The tip of his tail twitched anxiously. “Am I?”
“Of course not,” Squirrelpaw replied hotly. “No cat would think you are.”
“Even when they find out what we have in common?”
“ThunderClan will always think of you as a brave warrior, loyal to his Clan,” Squirrelpaw reassured him.
“Thank you.” He gave her a quick lick on the cheek before getting to his paws and moving away towards the river.
Squirrelpaw followed, keeping pace with him until he sat down and stared across the border into RiverClan territory.
Squirrelpaw followed his gaze. The river carved its way though the small glade, its surface shattered by the pouring rain. She peered closer and blinked. “Look, Brambleclaw!” she mewed in surprise. “Look at the river!”
“What about it?”
“Do you remember when Hawkfrost and Sasha waded across it earlier?”
“Yes.” Brambleclaw twitched his ear. “So?”
“Well, they waded across it,” Squirrelpaw repeated. “They didn’t swim; they waded.”
Brambleclaw looked baffled.
“Look at the stepping-stones!” Squirrelpaw jumped up and pointed with her tail. “They’re sticking right out of the water. After rain like this, in the middle of leaf-bare, they should be nearly covered.”
“You’re right.” Brambleclaw sat up.
“Surely the river shouldn’t be this shallow?”
“Well, it’s been quite dry lately,” Brambleclaw commented.
“Not that dry,” she argued. “It’s been pouring all day today, but the river’s not swollen at all. Something must be wrong.”
“Like what?”
Just then a familiar voice called from the bank opposite, “What are you two up to?”
Stormfur appeared and waded across the stream. “Are you finding it as hard as I am, being cooped up in camp after our journey?”
“Yes. Everything is harder. Shrewpaw died,” Squirrelpaw told him sadly. “Whitepaw’s sitting vigil.” Suddenly she wondered if they should be back at camp, mourning their lost Clanmate. She glanced at Brambleclaw, who seemed to understand her anxiety.
“We’ll join them soon,” he promised.
“Do you want me to catch you a fish to take back?” Stormfur offered.
“The Clan needs all the fresh-kill they can get,” Brambleclaw meowed. “But I don’t think they’d accept it.”
“Are you sure?” Stormfur asked. “They’re easy to catch now that the water’s dropped.”
“So I was right. The level is lower than usual,” Squirrelpaw mewed, gazing again at the shallow stream. “Is something wrong?”
Stormfur shrugged. “Just a dry spell. This rain will get it flowing again.”
Squirrelpaw picked up a trace of Sasha’s stale scent on the breeze. She glanced at Stormfur; the mystery of the river seemed suddenly less important than how the rest of RiverClan felt about the rogue she-cat who seemed to come and go as she wished—and whose kits had so much influence in their adopted Clan. “We saw Sasha this morning,” she began.
“You know Sasha?” Stormfur looked surprised. “Oh, I forgot. You met her when you rescued Mistyfoot, didn’t you? When . . . when my father was taken.”
His voice trailed away, and Squirrelpaw pressed her flank against his. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured helplessly.
Stormfur nudged her with his nose. “So am I. I wish I could have been there to help,” he meowed. “But my father made his own decision to help the trapped cats.” He took a deep breath before he went on. “Thanks to him we got Mistyfoot back. The whole of RiverClan were amazed when she showed up.”
“Hawkfrost especially, I’m sure,” Brambleclaw commented. Squirrelpaw shot him a warning glance. Hawkfrost had been made deputy when Mistyfoot disappeared, which meant he might not have welcomed Mistyfoot back with the same enthusiasm as every other cat, but was Brambleclaw giving away too much interest in Sasha’s kit? They couldn’t be sure how much Stormfur knew about Hawkfrost’s parentage.
“Well, I doubt he wanted to stop being deputy quite so soon,” Stormfur agreed. “But he welcomed her return as much as any cat. He’s a good warrior. He knows he’ll be deputy one day, and he doesn’t mind waiting.”
“He sounds very confident,” Squirrelpaw remarked carefully.
“He’s always been like that,” Stormfur replied. “What’s more important is that he’s totally loyal to the Clan, and sticks to the warrior code like a caterpillar to a leaf.”
Squirrelpaw blinked. Somehow she didn’t think Stormfur had the faintest idea of who Hawkfrost’s father was. She looked at Brambleclaw, trying to read his reaction, but Brambleclaw had something else on his mind.
“Do you think there’s any chance Leopardstar will change her mind about leaving the forest?”
“Leopardstar says she’s not going anywhere as long as there’s fish in the river,” Stormfur told him.
“Doesn’t she care about the Clans staying together?” Squirrelpaw demanded.
“She did ask Mudfur if he’d had any sign from StarClan, just to be sure,” Stormfur told her defensively. “But Mudfur hasn’t left his nest much recently.”
“So he’s had no sign either?” Squirrelpaw asked, disappointed.
“Nothing.” Stormfur sighed. “It looks like the sign Midnight promised us isn’t going to come, now that the Twolegs have destroyed Fourtrees.”
“Perhaps we’ve seen the sign but just not realised what it was,” Squirrelpaw wondered out loud.
“Well, we’ve seen plenty of dying since we got back,” Brambleclaw muttered darkly. “Not just warriors, but kits and apprentices, too. But you know what? I’m beginning to think that no cat’s going to show us the way. Wherever we’re going, we’ll have to find our own way there.”
CHAPTER 12
Leafpaw raked through the fur at the base of her tail, scraping out the troublesome flea. She cracked its fat body between her teeth, tasting with some satisfaction the blood it had stolen from her. “Got it!”
“Don’t tell the others you had an extra piece of fresh-kill,” Squirrelpaw joked. “They’ll all want one.”
Leafpaw’s belly growled. The vole she had just shared with her sister had barely touched her hunger. They were lying side by side in a shallow dip in the stone, watching the sun sink behind Sunningrocks. The clouds had cleared, and a perfect half-moon hung in the blue evening sky.
“Has Cinderpelt decided whether you’re going to make the journey to the Moonstone tonight?” Squirrelpaw meowed.
“She’s speaking with Firestar about it now,” Leafpaw replied. The medicine cats of every Clan met each half-moon at Mothermouth to share tongues with StarClan. They didn’t need the half-moon to secure a truce—medicine cats lived outside the differences between Clans that sometimes led to quarrels—but it was an important time for sharing concerns and advice about treating their Clanmates.
Leafpaw saw Cinderpelt emerge, and she clambered to her paws, keen to find out if they would be going to Highstones in spite of the dangers that lurked in the forest.
But Cinderpelt shook her head as she came over and stood at the edge of the hollow. “Firestar agrees with me,” she reported. “We can’t risk the journey with so many Twolegs and monsters about.”
“But we need to share with StarClan now more than ever!” Leafpaw protested.
“Firestar says he cannot risk losing us, and he’s right. Where would the Clan be without a medicine cat?”
Leafpaw sighed and scraped at t
he rock with her claw.
“StarClan will share with us if they wish to,” Cinderpelt mewed.
Leafpaw shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not going,” Squirrelpaw meowed as Cinderpelt padded away. “I nearly lost you to the Twolegs once. I don’t think I could bear it again.”
Leafpaw gave her sister a quick, fond lick on her head and settled down again. “Do you think the RiverClan cats will go to Highstones?” she wondered out loud. It was strange to think that the other medicine cats might be making the journey without them. Would StarClan think Cinderpelt and Leafpaw were being cowardly?
“I doubt they’ll risk it,” Squirrelpaw told her. “Last time Brambleclaw and I saw Stormfur, he said Mudfur was pretty sick.”
“I was just hoping that, if the medicine cats from all the Clans travelled to the Moonstone together, it might bring us closer,” Leafpaw admitted.
Squirrelpaw nodded. “I know. You’d think trouble like this would unite us, like it did when BloodClan attacked, but instead we seem forests apart.”
“Each Clan seems to have its own idea about what to do.” Leafpaw sighed. “If only StarClan would give us a sign!”
“Were you hoping that StarClan might share something with you tonight?”
Leafpaw gave a small nod, avoiding her sister’s gaze. She didn’t want to betray the fear that had made her heart pound all day: the cold dread that they would go all the way to the Moonstone and find StarClan silent even there.
“It’s stupid that the Clans should find it so hard to come together.” Squirrelpaw’s mew interrupted her thoughts. “They have far more in common than they think.”
Leafpaw looked thoughtfully at her sister, suddenly wondering what Squirrelpaw was hinting at.
“After all, ShadowClan, RiverClan, and ThunderClan even share kin,” Squirrelpaw went on.
“You mean Tawnypelt and Stormfur?”
“Not just them.” Squirrelpaw’s tail twitched as she spoke. “There are other cats linked to ThunderClan by blood.”
With a jolt Leafpaw wondered if her sister had discovered a secret she had known for a moon and kept to herself. “Are you talking about Tigerstar being Hawkfrost and Mothwing’s father?”
Squirrelpaw stared at her in astonishment. “Have you been sharing my dreams again?”
Leafpaw shook her head. “I’ve known for some time,” she admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Squirrelpaw demanded.
“I didn’t think it mattered. Not right now, when all the Clans are in danger. Why should it make a difference if Tigerstar is Hawkfrost and Mothwing’s father?” Leafpaw knew she was trying to convince herself. The last thing the Clans needed was another cat with Tigerstar’s hunger for power.
“A warrior like Hawkfrost can’t be trusted,” Squirrelpaw insisted.
Leafpaw felt an uneasy knot twist in her belly. “But Tigerstar is Brambleclaw’s father too,” she pointed out. “And Brambleclaw is a loyal warrior.”
“Brambleclaw has nothing to do with this,” Squirrelpaw snapped.
“Of course not,” Leafpaw agreed quickly. “I only meant that having Tigerstar as a father doesn’t mean a warrior has to follow in his pawsteps.” She prayed this was true.
“Good.” Squirrelpaw nodded. “Because Brambleclaw is completely different from Hawkfrost. They have nothing in common. Nothing.”
Leafpaw curled into a ball beside her sister and buried her nose under her paws for warmth. Squirrelpaw’s words had sounded like an echo—were they Brambleclaw’s, perhaps?
“Good night, Squirrelpaw,” she whispered, curling up close to Squirrelpaw, their sharp words forgotten. Leafpaw did not need a visit from StarClan to tell her that her sister was falling in love with Brambleclaw. Amid everything else that was going on, and however much Leafpaw missed the connection that once only the two of them shared, this felt right and good for the whole Clan.
She closed her eyes. I wonder if StarClan will share my dreams, she thought as sleep tugged at her like a gentle river. It was a half-moon, after all; that had to count for something, even if they weren’t at the Moonstone.
Leafpaw felt the insistent nudge of a nose prodding her awake. “Who is it?” she whispered sleepily.
“It’s me, Mothwing.” The young cat’s voice trembled with fear.
Leafpaw blinked open her eyes and saw the RiverClan apprentice outlined in the pale moonlight.
“Come quick; I need you,” Mothwing mewed under her breath.
Leafpaw felt her sister stirring beside her. “What’s going on?” Squirrelpaw yawned.
“It’s Mothwing,” Leafpaw told her.
Squirrelpaw was on her paws in an instant. “What are you doing in our camp?” she hissed.
“I need Leafpaw’s help,” Mothwing explained. “Mudfur is very ill.”
“And you thought you’d just creep in here in the middle of the night?”
“Be quiet, Squirrelpaw, before you wake the whole Clan,” Leafpaw growled. She wanted to tell her sister to stop seeing Tigerstar’s daughter standing in front of them, and see her instead as a medicine cat in trouble, but she didn’t want to make Mothwing feel uncomfortable. “Wait here, both of you,” she meowed. “I’ll go and tell Firestar and Cinderpelt.”
“But—” Mothwing began.
Leafpaw silenced her with a glance. “I’ll come with you, but I have to tell them where I’m going.” Leaving the two cats in uneasy silence, she hurried up the slope to the overhang. She crept into the shadowy cavern and followed her father’s scent.
Firestar lifted his head drowsily. “Is that you, Leafpaw?” Beside him, Sandstorm shifted but did not wake.
“Mothwing’s come to ask if I can go and help Mudfur. He’s really ill.”
She saw a shadow moving toward her from the back of the den, and scented Cinderpelt.
“What’s she treating him with?” the medicine cat called under her breath.
“I don’t know,” Leafpaw replied.
“Do you think it’s safe to go?” Firestar’s eyes gleamed anxiously in the gloom.
“Mothwing wouldn’t lie to me,” she assured him, guessing he feared an ambush from strong RiverClan cats.
“Then you must go,” Firestar murmured. “But if you are not back by dawn, I’ll send a patrol to fetch you.”
“We’ll be back,” Cinderpelt promised. She met Leafpaw’s surprised gaze. “I’m coming too. We must do everything we can to help Mudfur.” She led Leafpaw out of the den to the crevice where she kept her supplies and pulled out several bundles of leaves.
Leafpaw picked up half the bundles, and they hurried down the rock to where Mothwing waited with her sister.
“I’m coming with you,” Squirrelpaw announced.
Leafpaw shook her head. “No need,” she muttered through the bundles dangling from her teeth.
“I’ll make sure they both return safely,” Mothwing meowed.
Squirrelpaw stared distrustfully at the RiverClan cat, and Leafpaw knew her sister was seeing a different cat, broad-shouldered and with gleaming amber eyes. Though they had been born many moons after Tigerstar’s death, both sisters had heard him described enough times to be able to picture him as well as any of their Clanmates.
“Remember Brambleclaw,” she whispered to her sister. Sharing Tigerstar’s blood did not mean a cat shared his dark heart.
“Lead the way, Mothwing.” Cinderpelt’s order was muffled by the bundles she carried, but Mothwing nodded and bounded silently down the slope.
They waded easily across the river, keeping the herbs above the water. Leafpaw thought back to barely a moon ago, when she had crossed the stepping stones to help a RiverClan apprentice; she had nearly been swept away by the force of the water, and only the spirit of Spottedleaf had stopped her from plunging into the rain-swollen flood. Now the stream trickled quietly around the rocks, hardly covering the pebbles on the riverbed.
Mothwing led the ThunderClan cats into the reed beds; they
were no longer marshy, but felt dry underpaw. Leafpaw’s heart quickened at the thought of entering another Clan’s camp, but Mothwing seemed unconcerned and took them straight into the clearing among the reeds. Unfamiliar eyes gleamed in the shadows, but there was nothing but worry and curiosity in their faces.
“Good, you have come,” Leopardstar greeted them. Even in the moonlight Leafpaw could see that the RiverClan leader was not as well fed as she had been lately. Her pelt hung from her body, and her eyes had the dullness of hunger that Leafpaw had begun to accept as normal.
But why should RiverClan cats be starving when the Twolegs were still a long way from their territory?
“Mudfur is in his den,” Leopardstar meowed. “Mothwing will take you.” She stared into Cinderpelt’s eyes. “Do everything you can, but don’t let him suffer. He has served this Clan well, and if StarClan needs him more than we do, then we should let him go in peace.”
Leafpaw followed Cinderpelt and Mothwing through a narrow reed-lined passage that opened into a smaller clearing. It was so similar to the medicine clearing in the ravine that she felt a pang of longing for her old home.
A low moan came from a shadowy corner.
“It’s all right, Mudfur,” Mothwing whispered. “I’ve brought Cinderpelt.”
Cinderpelt hurried over to examine the medicine cat, sniffing him and pressing gently along his flanks with her paws. Whatever it was, the sickness had taken hold far inside his frail body. Mudfur was clearly in agony, his words indistinct and filled with pain.
“Cinder . . . pelt . . . let . . . me . . . go . . . peacefully,” he begged in a voice that rasped like claws scraping on bark.
“Lie still, my friend.” Cinderpelt looked up at Mothwing. “What have you given him so far?”
“Stinging nettle for the swelling, honey and marigold to soothe the infections, feverfew to cool him, and poppy seeds for the pain.” Mothwing listed her remedies so quickly that Leafpaw blinked. Last time she had seen Mothwing face a crisis—when the RiverClan apprentice nearly drowned—she had been frozen with panic, and Leafpaw had stepped in to treat the young cat instead.