by Erin Hunter
“There’s more to being a warrior than hunting and fighting,” Brightheart replied.
The thorn barrier rattled. The dawn patrol had returned.
Whitewing, Ashfur, Lionpaw, Spiderleg, and Mousepaw carried the scent of the forest temptingly into the clearing. And yet Jaypaw could sense anxiety among them; Ashfur was lashing his tail while Whitewing padded in agitated circles.
Brambleclaw swished out through the entrance of the warriors’ den, followed by Squirrelflight. “Anything to report?”
“ShadowClan are marking every tree along the border,”
Ashfur replied, his mew sharp with anger.
Jaypaw felt an explosion of energy as Graystripe leaped to his paws. “Are ShadowClan up to their old tricks already?”
the warrior spat. “If any of them set paw on ThunderClan territory while I’m on patrol, I’ll claw their ears off.”
“They haven’t crossed the new border yet,” Brambleclaw informed him. “So we’ve decided to ignore them.”
Graystripe snorted. “Ignore ShadowClan? You may as well try to ignore the wind and the rain—it won’t stop you from getting cold and wet!”
“That may be how it was in the forest,” Brambleclaw meowed. “But it’s not necessarily the best thing to do here.”
“Things are different since the Great Journey,”
Squirrelflight added.
“Not so different that we should trust ShadowClan!”
Ashfur growled. “Some cats will always try to take what another cat has.”
Jaypaw sensed his mother flinch, as though stung. What did Ashfur mean, exactly?
“ShadowClan will always push for more than is rightfully theirs!” Dustpelt agreed.
Jaypaw’s whiskers quivered. He knew there had been dark mutterings about Firestar’s decision to give up territory to ShadowClan, but now the warriors were openly agreeing with Graystripe. Shouldn’t they be loyal to their leader first?
“Firestar has decided to ignore ShadowClan for now.”
Brambleclaw kept his voice steady, but Jaypaw could tell he was watching and listening for the slightest sign of rebellion among his Clanmates.
Pebbles clattered from Highledge as Firestar leaped down into the clearing. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Graystripe feels that we shouldn’t ignore ShadowClan,”
Brambleclaw replied.
“I think Graystripe’s right,” Firestar meowed.
Jaypaw waited for his father to object, but Brambleclaw remained silent.
“Graystripe may not have been in our new home for long,”
Firestar went on. “But he knows ShadowClan of old. I agree with him—ShadowClan will keep pressing on our borders unless we make a stand.”
“That’s not what you said before the Gathering,”
Brambleclaw meowed quietly.
“But at the Gathering, ShadowClan were obviously looking for trouble,” Firestar reminded him. “I didn’t want to overreact before, but now I think we need to do something
to show them we are ready to defend our borders.”
Why didn’t you tell me this before? Jaypaw felt the question burning in his father’s mind.
“Are we going to fight them?” Ashfur asked.
“Not unless we have to,” Firestar replied.
“But we must increase patrols along the border,” Dustpelt put in.
Firestar nodded. “And we’ll start matching ShadowClan’s markers, tree for tree. If they think they can intimidate us into giving up more territory, they are wrong.”
“Very well, Firestar,” Brambleclaw meowed. “Stormfur and Brook can mark the trees along the ShadowClan border while Squirrelflight leads the hunting patrol as planned.”
Dustpelt shifted uneasily. “Surely it would be better to let Squirrelflight’s patrol mark the ShadowClan border? Their scent markers are pure ThunderClan and will send a stronger message to ShadowClan.”
Jaypaw felt resentment flash from Stormfur; he half expected the gray warrior to lunge at Dustpelt and rake his flank with thorn-sharp claws. But Brook got to her paws before Stormfur could react.
“There is truth in Dustpelt’s words,” she conceded.
“But ShadowClan must know by now that you and
Stormfur are ThunderClan,” Whitewing argued.
“In a battle over boundaries, it is better to make things as clear as possible,” Ashfur meowed.
An uncomfortable silence hung in the hollow until Firestar decided, “Squirrelflight will lead her patrol to mark
the ShadowClan border. Stormfur and Brook can hunt.”
As the patrols assembled, Jaypaw gulped down the rest of his meal and got to his paws. He didn’t want to watch his Clanmates head out into the forest, while he wished he could go with them. He might as well get Graystripe’s den cleaned.
He scanned the camp for Brightheart and found her with Leafpool outside the medicine cat’s den.
“Where shall I get clean moss if I can’t leave the camp?” he demanded, interrupting them. He turned to Leafpool. “Have you got any to spare?” He knew she kept clean bedding in case of injured cats.
“There’s some inside my den,” Leafpool told him. “Help yourself. Hollypaw’s out looking for borage. She can fetch more moss when she gets back.”
Brightheart’s pelt bristled as he brushed past her, and he heard her whisper to Leafpool, “I don’t think I’m making him very happy so far. I don’t know how to get through to him.”
How about realizing that having one eye doesn’t make you so much better than me?
The clean moss was easy to sniff out, piled at one side of the cave. Jaypaw picked up a large wad in his jaws. The fresh, grassy taste reminded him of his adventure into WindClan territory. He may have ended up in the lake, but at least for one morning he had been free.
Before he reached the trailing brambles at the entrance to Leafpool’s den, he heard Firestar’s hushed mew outside.
Brightheart had gone, and Firestar was talking to Leafpool.
Jaypaw dropped his moss and pricked his ears.
“I need you to share tongues with StarClan,” Firestar meowed softly to the medicine cat.
“You are worried about Graystripe,” Leafpool guessed.
“I have to know who ThunderClan’s rightful deputy is,”
Firestar explained. “Vigil or no vigil, Graystripe was still alive when I appointed Brambleclaw.”
Leafpool paused. “Are you prepared for any answer they give?”
“Graystripe’s my friend. I owe him so much. But Brambleclaw is a brave and loyal warrior.” Firestar sighed.
“Whatever StarClan say, a decision must be made.”
“What if StarClan have no answer for you?”
“Then I will do what I think is best for the Clan.”
“I’ll visit the Moonpool,” Leafpool promised.
Jaypaw’s whiskers twitched with curiosity. He had heard about the Moonpool. It had always sounded so mysterious—
a place where only medicine cats visited to share tongues with StarClan. Would Hollypaw get to go with Leafpool tonight?
As Firestar headed away, Jaypaw recognized Hollypaw’s quick step hurrying toward the medicine den. She halted beside Leafpool. “Are these the right leaves?”
Jaypaw smelled the familiar tang of borage.
“Yes,” Leafpool purred. “Well done, Hollypaw.”
“I knew I’d get it right in the end,” Hollypaw mewed happily.
Jaypaw picked up his wad of moss and nosed his way out through the brambles.
“You took your time,” Leafpool commented. Did she sus
pect that he had overheard his conversation with Firestar? If she did, she gave no sign. “Hollypaw,” she mewed, turning to her apprentice, “you’ll have to sort these leaves yourself.
Make sure you store only the undamaged ones. Damaged leaves will rot before they dry.”
“Won’t you be here to help?” Hollypaw asked.
&nbs
p; “I have to go to the Moonpool,” Leafpool explained.
“But you don’t have to leave now. It’s not even sunhigh.”
“Moonhigh is early this season,” Leafpool explained. “I want to make sure I’m there in good time.”
“What if a cat needs treatment?’ Hollypaw mewed anxiously.
“You’ll be fine. Brightheart knows a lot of the herbs and berries,” Leafpool soothed. “Ask her if you need help.”
“Could you show me which herb is which one more time?”
Hollypaw pleaded.
“Okay,” Leafpool agreed. “But then I must go.”
The two cats disappeared inside the medicine den, leaving Jaypaw by himself. His mind was buzzing. He wasn’t going to stay in the camp cleaning out bedding all morning. If Leafpool was going to the Moonpool, he was going to follow her.
He carried the moss across the clearing and deposited it outside Graystripe’s den. Then he headed back toward Leafpool’s den, as if he were going to fetch some more, except this time he hurried straight past the entrance and slipped into the clump of brambles beside it. This was a corner of the hollow too overgrown to be used for sleeping or storing fresh-kill, and Jaypaw knew that the rock wall behind had
crumbled enough to make it possible to climb to the top.
This was the fast route down from the forest that Brambleclaw had used when the patrol had discovered the trapped fox. It was steep, but Jaypaw hoped he could use it to get out of the camp without any cat noticing.
His heart pounding, he plunged through the brambles until he reached the cliff. Sniffing and feeling with his paws, he reached up and dug his claws into a bush rooted a tail-length up the stone. He hauled himself free of the bramble bush, then sniffed for the next hold. Little by little, grasping tussocks of grass for pawholds, he fought his way up, praying that he didn’t give himself away by sending loose stones clattering down into the camp. At last a fresh breeze ruffled his ears. He had reached the top of the hollow. Digging his claws into the soft grass, he dragged himself over the edge of the cliff.
Following the slope of the forest, he headed down the steep bank that led to the camp entrance. On familiar ground now, he stopped a fox-length from the bottom and wriggled backward into the bracken.
A moment later Leafpool came pattering over the forest floor. Jaypaw let her pass, then scampered after her, keeping to one side so that he was never directly behind her. The trees were a good shield, and he wove between them, following his instinct as much as his whiskers. The scent of WindClan soon began to taint the air. Leafpool was heading toward the hilly moorland. But she did not cross the border; instead she veered toward the sun and kept going until the land grew steeper and the trees began to thin.
Jaypaw heard a stream and followed Leafpool’s scent trail as it turned off the soft grass and onto the jagged boulders that lined the tumbling water. He dropped back a little, shivering in the sharpening breeze. There was less vegetation here to shield him. He would have to depend on the camou-flage of his striped pelt against the stony ground. At least the sound of water disguised his stumbling steps. The rocks beneath his paws rose and fell unevenly, and he had to slow down. Fortunately Leafpool’s scent remained strong and steady.
Suddenly his paws started to recognize the path, and images from his dream flooded his mind. He was trekking through the same narrow valley he had visited in his sleep—
which meant that he knew what it looked like. He pictured the rocks that lined his path, sharp as fox teeth. Ahead, he knew that a stream danced down the mountainside, sparkling in the sunlight. He was following Leafpool to its source, and, with a prickle of excitement, he realized that its source must be the Moonpool.
Stones rattled in front of him, and Jaypaw stopped. He guessed that Leafpool was climbing the steep rocks that led up to the ridge. He waited until the noise had ceased and he was sure she had disappeared over the top. Then he followed, scrabbling from rock to rock, grazing his pads on the sharp granite.
Out of breath, he stopped at the top. He shivered; the setting sun must be blocked by the surrounding rocks. He
was at the brink of a hollow; Leafpool’s scent drifted up, mingled with new smells of damp stone, dusty lichen, and water, fresh and sharp with the smell of the mountains. It trickled and splashed, echoing off encircling stone.
As he padded cautiously forward, he realized there were other cats brushing against him, first one side, then the other, unbalancing him.
Stop pushing! He shoved back, stumbling when he found only air around him.
Voices whispered around the hollow.
“They have come.”
“We must hurry. The moon is rising.”
Who else is here?
Jaypaw tasted the air, but he could scent only Leafpool.
Steadying his trembling tail, he listened to figure out where she was. The enclosing rocks amplified her breath as it rippled the water beneath her muzzle. He knew from its soft rhythm that she was sleeping.
Carefully, he followed the slope down toward the pool.
The smooth stone beneath his paws was polished and dimpled, worn into a pathway over endless moons by countless pawsteps. It led him on until water lapped at his paws with a cool tongue. Then he lay down a fox-length away from where Leafpool slept and closed his eyes.
As soon as his nose touched the Moonpool, stars filled his vision. It was as though great paws had swept him up into the inky sky and freed him among countless blue-white lights.
Far below he could see the starlit slopes of the hollow
curving down to the glittering Moonpool. He stared, his breath coming quicker. The hollow was no longer empty but crowded with cats. They lined every ridge, their pelts bathed in moonlight.
StarClan!
He stared harder until he could see every pelt and muzzle clearly. The cats were watching Leafpool, crouching at the water’s edge. He could see himself too, curled up asleep.
I’m watching from outside my body.
Jaypaw scanned the hollow, suddenly aware of cold stone beneath his paws. He was at the top of the ridge now, not the sky.
Leafpool stood and began to greet StarClan like old friends, padding around the slope and stopping to brush muzzles here and there. Jaypaw recognized none of them.
They had lived before he was born. Only their Clan scents were familiar. He shrank back into the shadows, where he was sure no cat could see him, and watched.
“Bluestar.” Leafpool dipped her head to a she-cat, broad-faced and round-eyed, with long, pale fur.
“You are welcome, Leafpool,” Bluestar murmured. “We thought you might come.”
Beside her sat a pale tom whose eyes shone with warmth.
“It is good to see you again,” he meowed.
“You too, Lionheart,” Leafpool replied.
Bluestar’s eyes sparkled. “You come with good news.”
“Yes, Graystripe is back,” Leafpool purred.
Murmurs of joy rippled around the cats.
“But there is a problem,” Leafpool went on. “Firestar doesn’t
know who should be ThunderClan’s deputy. Graystripe and Brambleclaw were both appointed according to the warrior code.”
A deep mew echoed from across the hollow. “Both cats have an equal claim.”
Leafpool jerked her head around. Behind her, a tom with a pelt as dark as the sky flicked his long, thin tail. Jaypaw tasted the air. He was WindClan.
“If Firestar is wise,” mewed the tom, “he will choose the warrior who knows the Clan best.”
“That will be a hard choice, Tallstar,” Bluestar warned the WindClan cat. “One that no leader has ever had to make before.”
Lionheart flicked his tail. “If only we had known that Graystripe was still alive. We could have let Leafpool know.”
“He was in a place too far beyond our seeing,” Bluestar reminded him. “And ThunderClan needed a deputy.”
“Is that why you sent me the vision of thorn-sharp brambles
encircling the camp?” Leafpool asked.
“We had to let Firestar know that it was time to appoint one,” Bluestar meowed.
Lionheart nodded. “When we showed you that vision, Brambleclaw was the best warrior to help Firestar protect the Clan.”
Leafpool looked up sharply. “Is he still the best?”
Bluestar and Lionheart exchanged glances but did not answer.
“Do you wish you had not sent the sign?” Leafpool pressed.
“Brambleclaw has done well,” Bluestar reassured her. “He was the right choice. Firestar would have been foolish to go on without a deputy when no cat knew if Graystripe would return.”
“But who should be deputy now?”
“There is no true answer,” Bluestar warned.
Leafpool blinked. “Then the decision is Firestar’s to make?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “But Tallstar is right when he says Firestar must choose the cat who knows the Clan best. He must use his head, not his heart, to reach his decision.”
“Should I tell him this?”
“Tell him only that he must make his own choice.”
Leafpool dipped her head. “I will share this with him,” she promised. She turned away from StarClan and padded back down to the Moonpool.
Jaypaw stared round-eyed at the cats. A well-muscled tom was murmuring something to the she-cat beside him. Jaypaw guessed from his glossy pelt he was RiverClan. A group of thin, lithe cats whispered together in the shadow of a boulder. WindClan? Jaypaw searched the slope, tasting the air, wondering which of the cats were ThunderClan. Then he froze, his paws turning to ice.
A she-cat was staring straight at him. Her fur was long and pale, and her face was broad and lined with old battle scars.
Jaypaw could not guess her Clan from her shape. Her eyes sparked with a fierce spirit, and he drew farther back into the shadows. Something told him he should not be spying here.
Leafpool hesitated at the edge of the pool. “Cinderpelt?”
she called hopefully, looking at the cats around the hollow, but there was no reply. She blinked, her eyes wistful, before lying down with her paws tucked neatly under her chest.
Resting her muzzle beside the water once more, she closed her eyes.
“Jaypaw!” Leafpool’s shocked mew woke him from where he lay on the cold stone. He scrambled to his paws. The pebbles scraped his pads and he stumbled. He was blind again.