Dark River wpot-2

by Erin Hunter

  “Lionpaw?” Hollypaw lifted her head. “Is that you?”

  Panic seared his paws, then irritation. “Yes,” he hissed.

  “Where are you going?” she yawned.

  Lionpaw hesitated. He couldn’t use the dirtplace excuse again. She’d think he was ill. “Dawn patrol,” he answered quickly.

  Hazelpaw sat up groggily and blinked. “I thought I was doing that with Honeypaw?”

  “I’m coming too,” Lionpaw mewed, “just for the experience.” His pelt burned. So many lies!

  Hollypaw tucked her nose back under her paw. “Rather you than me,” she murmured.

  “We’d better get a move on.” Hazelpaw prodded Honeypaw. “Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s time to go.”

  Lionpaw glanced longingly at his nest, his paws as heavy as stones, but Hazelpaw was already brushing past him, leading

  the way out of the den. He padded after her, leaving Honeypaw stretching in her nest.

  “You’re up early, Lionpaw.” Sandstorm, sitting by the entrance with Dustpelt, looked surprised to see him.

  “I wanted to join the patrol,” Lionpaw mewed.

  “Good for you.” Dustpelt looked up at the clear dawn sky.

  “It’s going to be a great day for hunting. I think I’ll take Hazelpaw out again once we’ve checked the borders.”

  Birds twittered noisily at the top of the ravine. Lionpaw stifled a yawn and stretched.

  “Are you ready, Honeypaw?” Sandstorm asked. Her apprentice was stumbling from the den, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

  Honeypaw nodded.

  “Come on, then.” Sandstorm padded out of the camp.

  Back out in the forest, Lionpaw gazed longingly at every patch of moss, wishing he could lie down and rest. He trotted after the patrol, trying not to trail too far behind as they followed the ShadowClan border, renewing the scent markers.

  “All clear here,” Dustpelt meowed at last.

  Great, now we can go home!

  Sandstorm sniffed the air. “Let’s check the WindClan border.”

  Lionpaw’s heart sank.

  The patrol turned and headed back through the forest.

  Lionpaw felt his eyes glazing with tiredness. Suddenly, a movement caught his eye. Far off through the trees, something was stirring.

  Tigerstar! He scanned the forest, but it was only a fern flickering in the light breeze. Why had they come that morning?

  Tigerstar had said they’d been watching him. They must know I’ve been meeting Heatherpaw. His paws tingled. Did they think he was doing something wrong? But they had warned him about Spiderleg. Perhaps they only wanted to help him. But why?

  The patrol neared WindClan’s territory. A small gully marked the border, a stream trickling at the bottom between tangled ferns and brambles. Beyond it, the forest stretched farther before opening onto the moorland. Dustpelt stopped to mark a tree. Honeypaw clambered down into the gully for a drink, disappearing beneath thick brambles.

  Hazelpaw stiffened. “Look!” she mewed, staring over the border.

  Breezepaw and Harepaw were pelting toward the stream.

  Ahead of them raced a squirrel, its tail bobbing. The WindClan apprentices weaved skillfully through the thick undergrowth; it was strange to see them hunting in woodland.

  Dustpelt padded to Sandstorm’s side. “Why are they hunting here?”

  “It is their territory,” Sandstorm pointed out

  “But WindClan don’t eat squirrels!” Honeypaw had scrabbled up from the stream, alerted by Hazelpaw’s warning.

  Dustpelt narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I thought they only hunted rabbits.”

  Two more WindClan pelts appeared. Tornear and Whitetail were watching their apprentices from the edge of the moor.

  “A hunting party so near to our border?” Dustpelt’s mew was sharp with suspicion.

  “They’re still heading for us,” Hazelpaw warned.

  Breezepaw and Harepaw pelted after the squirrel; their eyes were fixed on their quarry.

  “They’re not slowing down,” Dustpelt warned.

  “They won’t cross the border on purpose,” Sandstorm reassured him.

  “But they might do it accidentally,” Dustpelt replied. “The stream’s hardly visible here.” He dropped into a crouch and crept to the edge of the gully, ducking behind the brambles that covered it.

  Breezepaw’s and Harepaw’s pads thumped the ground as they hurtled nearer. They still weren’t slowing.

  “Stop!” Dustpelt reared up and yowled across the stream at the WindClan apprentices.

  Breezepaw and Harepaw skidded to a halt, their eyes wide with alarm. The squirrel leaped the gully and disappeared up a tall birch.

  “What in StarClan’s name are you doing?” Tornear’s angry mew rang through the trees. The WindClan warrior broke into a run, racing down to the border with Whitetail on his heels.

  “How dare you frighten our apprentices?” Tornear halted at the edge of the gully and glared at Dustpelt.

  “They were about to cross the border!” Dustpelt arched his back aggressively.

  “How do you know?” hissed Breezepaw.

  “You weren’t even slowing down!” Dustpelt accused him.

  “I’d have caught the squirrel in one more stride!”

  Lionpaw curled his lip. “You were nowhere near it!”

  Breezepaw bristled. “Was too!”

  “Everyone knows WindClan can only catch rabbits!”

  Lionpaw spat back. “ThunderClan are the best squirrel hunters.”

  “Not anymore!” Harepaw squared his shoulders beside his denmate. “Every WindClan apprentice has special training in the woods so we don’t have to rely on rabbits anymore.”

  Sandstorm’s eyes grew round. “Really? Why?”

  Tornear turned his glittering gaze on her. “It’s none of your business!”

  “Is it so you can invade our territory?” Dustpelt paced the borderline, lashing his tail.

  Whitetail stepped forward, her ruffled fur smoothing.

  “We have woodland in our territory,” she meowed evenly. “It makes sense to use it. And we don’t want to be dependent on one sort of prey anymore. The elders still speak of the hunger WindClan suffered when Twolegs started poisoning the rabbits before the Great Journey.”

  That made sense. Lionpaw let his claws curve back into their sheaths. But it still felt odd to think of WindClan hunting ThunderClan prey.

  Harepaw was nodding. “And there are sheep on the moorland now, with Twolegs and their dogs—”

  Tornear silenced his apprentice by flicking his tail across his mouth. “That’s none of ThunderClan’s business either,”

  he snapped. “So long as we stay on our side of the border, we can hunt what we like.”

  “But squirrels don’t know about the border. They cross over it. You’d be eating our prey.”

  “If it’s on WindClan territory it becomes our prey!”

  Tornear snapped.

  “Squirrels have always been ThunderClan prey!” Dustpelt stopped pacing and let the fur stand up on his neck.

  “Is that part of the warrior code?” sneered Tornear. He took a step forward, his eyes glittering.

  Dustpelt dropped into a crouch, ready to spring. Blood pounded in Lionpaw’s ears. He unsheathed his claws again; his tiredness forgotten, he was more than ready to show these pushy WindClan cats what happened to warriors who dare invade ThunderClan’s hunting grounds.

  “Leave it,” Whitetail murmured to her Clanmate. “This isn’t worth losing fur over.”

  Tornear dragged his gaze from Dustpelt and looked at Whitetail. Lionpaw held his breath, then Tornear nodded.

  “Okay. For now.”

  Dustpelt watched through narrowed eyes as the WindClan cats turned and padded away along the border, deliberately not hurrying.

  “Come on.” Sandstorm flicked her tail toward home.

  Dustpelt didn’t move. “Not until they’ve left the trees.”

  Sandstorm
sat down and began to wash her face. “You three may as well see if you can find any prey to take back while we’re waiting.”

  Lionpaw reluctantly stopped watching the dawdling WindClan patrol and followed Honeypaw and Hazelpaw over to a patch of brambles.

  “Do you think WindClan are planning to invade?” Hazelpaw whispered.

  Honeypaw’s eyes stretched wide. “What makes you think that?”

  “Chasing squirrels is what forest cats do. But they’re moorland cats,” Hazelpaw mewed. “It’s a bit suspicious.”

  “Well, Dustpelt’s acting like they are,” Lionpaw commented.

  Honeypaw glanced back over her shoulder. “But why would they want to take our territory?”

  “Perhaps the Twolegs and their dogs are more of a problem for WindClan than we realized,” Lionpaw suggested.

  “They coped with it last newleaf,” Hazelpaw pointed out.

  Foreboding clawed at Lionpaw’s belly. “It might be worse this time.”

  “Anything to report?” Firestar called down from Highledge as the dawn patrol padded into camp.

  “WindClan are hunting in the forest,” Dustpelt answered.

  “In our forest?” Firestar leaped down from the ledge.

  Lionpaw padded quickly to the fresh-kill pile and dropped the mouse he had caught, then hurried back to join Dustpelt. He was ready to defend his Clan’s prey from any marauding WindClan cats, but what if one of those cats was Heatherpaw?

  “Lionpaw!” Hollypaw stopped him halfway. “What’s going on?”

  Jaypaw was with her; his ears pricked with interest.

  “WindClan were at the border,” Lionpaw explained. He glanced at the patrol.

  The ThunderClan leader had reached Dustpelt and Sandstorm. He was lashing his tail, clearly disturbed by Dustpelt’s news.

  “They haven’t crossed the border,” Sandstorm explained.

  The tip of Dustpelt’s tail twitched. “They almost did.”

  Brambleclaw emerged from the warriors’ den. “What’s going on?”

  “Two WindClan apprentices near our border,” Sandstorm meowed. “They were chasing a squirrel and nearly crossed the stream by mistake.”

  Hollypaw bristled. “A squirrel!”

  “They should have known better,” Dustpelt growled.

  “Unless they’re so used to crossing the stream by mistake they don’t notice anymore.”

  “There was no scent of WindClan in our territory,”

  Sandstorm reminded him.

  “But why is WindClan chasing squirrels?” Brambleclaw demanded. “They hunt rabbit.”

  Hollypaw hissed into Lionpaw’s ear, “Exactly!”

  “Not anymore.” Hazelpaw kneaded the ground.

  “Breezepaw said that all the WindClan apprentices are being trained to hunt in woodland now.”

  Brambleclaw stiffened. “We must re-mark the borders!” he meowed.

  “We’ve already done that,” Dustpelt told him.

  Sandstorm sat down. “Let’s not make a big thing about this. It was just two young cats—”

  Dustpelt cut her off. “Hunting our prey!”

  “We should be on our guard,” Brambleclaw advised. “It needs to be reported at the next Gathering.”

  Firestar plucked at the ground. “Did any WindClan cats cross the border?”

  “No,” Sandstorm replied.

  “And there was definitely no scent of WindClan cats on our side of the stream?” Firestar pressed.

  “None.”

  Dustpelt snorted. “The rain might have washed it clean.”

  “Or they’ve never crossed the border,” Firestar pointed out. “I can’t tell WindClan what to hunt on their own territory.” He turned away. “We’ll leave it for now and see what happens.”

  Jaypaw narrowed his eyes. “Not again!” he muttered.

  Lionpaw glanced at his brother. “What do you mean?”

  “Firestar didn’t want to help RiverClan either,” Hollypaw explained. “Even though Jaypaw dreamed they were in trouble.”

  “How are the Clans going to respect us if we never do anything?” Jaypaw complained.

  Lionpaw frowned. “Does it matter? So long as none of them cross our borders.”

  “But there must be balance,” Hollypaw protested. “If one Clan is too weak, we should help them; if one is too strong, we must react so we look strong as well.”

  Jaypaw scowled. “I don’t know about balance,” he mewed.

  “It just seems like Firestar’s wasted another chance to make ThunderClan look as if we can take care of ourselves.”

  Flicking his tail, he padded away.

  Hollypaw stared after him. “What do you think, Lionpaw?”

  Lionpaw stiffened, suddenly picturing Heatherpaw chasing a squirrel toward the ThunderClan border. Was Hollypaw wondering the same? “What do I think about what?” he stalled.

  “Should Firestar challenge WindClan at the next Gathering?” Hollypaw tipped her head to one side. Her clear green gaze was curious. Lionpaw shifted his paws, uncertain what to think about his leader’s decision. If Firestar ignored every problem, ThunderClan might look weak. But the thought of fighting WindClan made his stomach churn. How could he go on meeting Heatherpaw if their Clans were at war?

  Suddenly, a breeze ruffled his fur and a voice murmured in his ear. Be honest, Lionpaw. Don’t be afraid of the things you desire. You know what you think.

  Lionpaw’s belly twisted with guilt, but Tigerstar was right.

  He knew exactly what he thought. A battle with WindClan was the last thing he wanted.

  “We should leave WindClan alone,” he mewed.

  Chapter 9

  The full moon rippled on the surface of the lake while clouds bil-lowed on the horizon, gray against the blue-black sky.

  Hollypaw shivered as she trekked around the shore to the Gathering. A cold wind was ruffling her pelt the wrong way, tugging at her downy fur. She ducked between Squirrelflight and Brackenfur to hide from the chill.

  “It’ll be warmer on the island,” Squirrelflight promised, flattening her ears against the breeze.

  Spiderleg and Mousepaw padded ahead, Dustpelt, Brambleclaw, and Squirrelflight beside them, while Thornclaw kept pace with Whitewing, brushing close against her as though shielding her from the wind. Firestar and Sandstorm headed the party while Lionpaw trailed behind with Ashfur and Leafpool. As they followed the edge of the lake, small waves slapped the shore and farther out, foamy crests glowed in the moonlight.

  “Get off there!” Brambleclaw’s impatient command rose above the wind.

  Hollypaw slipped out from her sheltered spot to see who he was yowling at.

  Berrypaw was padding along a log lying in the shallows. A gust of wind whipped in from the lake, flattening Hollypaw’s whiskers against her face. Through narrowed eyes she watched as Berrypaw lost his balance and fell with a splash into the water. He fought his way to his paws and, shaking the water from his creamy pelt, raced back up the shore to join his Clanmates.

  Brambleclaw cuffed him around the ears. “That was a mouse-brained thing to do!”

  Berrypaw sneezed.

  “And don’t think you’re missing any training if you’ve caught a cold!”

  The sour smell of horseplace tainted the breeze as the cats neared the end of WindClan territory. The pebbly shore was narrow here, and the wind was blowing spray over it. Firestar led the party up onto the soft grass, skirting the fence.

  Beyond it the horses were whinnying in their field. Hollypaw felt a shiver of unease as she gazed at the great dark shapes shifting beyond the fence. Perhaps they don’t like the weather either.

  The squally wind promised rain, and plenty of it.

  Thud!

  A horse stamped its foot close to the fence. Whitewing yowled in surprise, leaping sideways in alarm. She careered into Mousepaw, sending him tumbling down onto the pebbly shore.

  “Watch out!” he spat, scrambling to his paws.

  Whitewing st
ared down at him, appalled. “I’m sorry.”

  Why is everyone so jumpy and cross? Hollypaw gazed around at

  her Clanmates. Few words had passed between them since they had left the camp. Their fur was spiked against the wind, their tails flicking. She felt uneasy herself. Ever since WindClan had been discovered hunting squirrels, there had been rumors of prey-stealing and revenge and worries about invasion. Hollypaw wasn’t convinced that WindClan’s strange behavior had to end in battle. The warrior code didn’t say what Clans could and couldn’t hunt. But she hated the tense atmosphere. And she was still worried about RiverClan.

  There had been no news since Jaypaw’s dream at half-moon. She was desperate to speak to Willowpaw tonight, but her paws pricked with anxiety. What if things were so bad RiverClan didn’t come at all?

  Lionpaw brushed against her as she followed Brambleclaw down the sandy bank, back onto the shore. “I wish I’d stayed in camp with Jaypaw,” he mewed.

  She glanced at him. That didn’t sound like Lionpaw. He looked sleepy.

  “Are you okay?” Didn’t he even want to see if Heatherpaw was going to be there?

  “Just tired,” he mewed. “Ashfur’s been training me hard.”

  Part of her was relieved by his lack of interest in the WindClan apprentice. He must have put his friendship with her behind him at last. But still, it was strange that he’d rather be stuck in camp than going to a Gathering.

  Dustpelt halted in front of them, ears pricked. “WindClan!” he warned.

  Hollypaw saw a swarm of dark shapes moving against the heather, heading down to the shore. “Do you think Firestar will mention the squirrel-hunting tonight?”

  Lionpaw shrugged. “Who knows?”

  The WindClan cats streamed onto the shore a little ahead of ThunderClan, and headed onto the marshy shore of RiverClan territory. Hollypaw wrinkled her nose as muddy water squelched between her claws. Firestar had veered closer to the water, hurrying his Clan forward so that they pulled ahead of WindClan.