by Erin Hunter
Tallkit flexed his claws. “We’re warriors too!” he snapped. “We train to hunt and fight like moor runners. We just have extra skills.”
“Do you mean digging?” Shrewkit sneered. “Rabbits can dig. It’s not such a great skill.”
“Yes, it is!” Tallkit felt a rush of fury. “Sandgorse is helping to build a tunnel right down to the bottom of the gorge. No rabbit could do that. No rabbit would even think of it.” He fluffed out his pelt, hoping his anger would hide the fear that was pricking through his fur at the thought of squeezing down such a long, long tunnel.
“Tunnels are a waste of time,” Shrewkit scoffed. “They’re only good for hiding in.”
“No, they’re not!” How dare Shrewkit suggest that tunnelers were cowards? Being underground was far scarier than running around the moor. “The new tunnel means an extra prey run and a secret route in and out of our territory if we ever need it.”
“Real warriors don’t need secret routes. They stay in the open and fight.”
Tallkit lashed his tail. “Tunnelers can fight underground!”
“I’m just saying I’m glad I don’t have to be a tunneler’s apprentice. Don’t tell me you’re looking forward to spending your life in the dark.”
“I’m proud to follow in Sandgorse’s paw steps.” Tallkit shifted his paws guiltily. I just wish I wasn’t dreading it.
Barkkit nosed his way between them. “I don’t know why you’re arguing,” he mewed. “It’s okay to want different things. If we all wanted to be moor runners we’d be just the same as ThunderClan or ShadowClan or RiverClan. But we’re not; we’re WindClan, and we can fight and hunt and tunnel.”
Tallkit swallowed his frustration. Barkkit was right. WindClan cats were special and it was mouse-brained to stand around arguing about it. Whipping his tail, he turned and stomped away. Sharp pain stabbed his paw. “Ow!” He lifted it, hopping. His pad stung like fury.
Barkkit bounded over. “What’s wrong?”
“I stepped on something sharp.” Tallkit held out his paw.
Barkkit crouched and peered at the pad. Gently he tipped it up to get a better look. “It’s a gorse thorn,” he mewed.
Tallkit glanced nervously toward the medicine den. “Should I ask Hawkheart to get it out?” If Hawkheart was busy, he wouldn’t want to be disturbed—especially by buzzard prey.
“No need.” Leaning close, Barkkit pressed his muzzle to Tallkit’s pad. Tallkit felt his denmate’s breath warm on his paw; then there was a sharp tug and the pain melted away. Barkkit sat up. A long thorn stuck from between his teeth. Blood glistened on the tip. He spat it out. “Lick your paw really hard,” he ordered. “That’ll stop it from going bad.”
Tallkit lifted his paw and examined the pad. A spot of blood was welling where Barkkit had removed the thorn. He lapped it, amazed at how quickly the pain had disappeared. The blood tasted salty on his tongue. “Thanks, Barkkit.” He looked at his friend. “How did you know what to do?”
Barkkit shrugged. “It was obvious.”
Shrewkit rolled his eyes. “Brilliant,” he snorted. “That’s really going to help catch rabbits or fight invaders.”
Barkkit tipped his head on one side. “There’s more to life than hunting and fighting.”
“Is there?” Shrewkit blinked in surprise. “Don’t tell me you want to be a tunneler?”
“That’s not what I said,” Barkkit mewed.
“Another digger!” Shrewkit turned his tail on his brother. He clearly wasn’t listening. “That’s just what WindClan needs.”
Barkkit watched his brother march away.
Tallkit narrowed his eyes, confused. “Don’t you want to be a moor runner, Barkkit?”
“No. I want to train as a medicine cat,” Barkkit confessed.
Tallkit stared at him. “Really?”
“I’m going to ask Heatherstar if I can be apprenticed to Hawkheart.”
“Hawkheart?” Tallkit echoed in astonishment. I’d rather train as a tunneler. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” Barkkit’s eyes shone. “I can’t wait to learn about all the herbs, and how to treat different injuries.”
“I can’t imagine Hawkheart with an apprentice.”
“Do you think he’ll refuse to train me?” Worry clouded Barkkit’s gaze. “Maybe that’s why he’s never had an apprentice before.”
“No one’s been brave enough to volunteer,” Tallkit muttered. He purred. “He’ll probably be impressed by your courage.”
“Hawkheart’s okay.” Barkkit’s anxious gaze slid toward the medicine den. “He just doesn’t like being asked rabbit-brained questions, that’s all.”
“Then how will you learn anything?” Tallkit pointed out.
“I’ll watch what he does and only ask questions when I’m sure I don’t understand.”
Tallkit blinked, surprised by how determined Barkkit sounded. He must have been planning this for ages. Sadness pricked his chest. “We’ll never train together.”
“You’re training as a tunneler anyway,” Barkkit reminded him.
“I’ll have to learn to hunt and fight, and you would have learned basic tunnel skills.” Tallkit glanced at Shrewkit, who was following Stagpaw from the prey heap. “Now I’m stuck with him.”
“Ignore his teasing,” Barkkit urged. “If you don’t react, he’ll get bored and back off.”
“I guess.” Tallkit wasn’t convinced. “Let’s go see if Lilywhisker needs help hunting fleas.” He turned toward the elders’ den.
“I’ll catch up,” Barkkit mewed. “I want to ask Heatherstar about becoming Hawkheart’s apprentice.”
As Barkkit headed for Heatherstar’s den, Tallkit padded toward the thick gorse at the far end of the clearing. Flamepelt was outside the den, propped against a low hummock while Lilywhisker sat beside him, carefully grooming her lifeless leg.
Doepaw and Ryepaw were crouching in the grass beside them, eyes fixed on Flamepelt. The elder was midstory. “I took a right fork in the tunnel,” he rasped. “It was darker than the inside of a rock but I could hear the rabbit a few tail-lengths ahead. It was running fast, leaving a trail of fear-scent so strong even a moor runner could follow it.”
“Isn’t tunnel hunting easy?” Doepaw interrupted. “There’s only one way for the prey to run.”
Flamepelt met her gaze. “You think it’s easy to run full pelt in stone-black darkness?”
As Doepaw’s eyes widened, Whiteberry padded from the gorse den. His snowy pelt glowed in the sunshine. “You’ve only got your ears, nose, and whiskers to guide you,” he explained. “One wrong paw step and you could hit a wall.”
Flamepelt leaned forward. “A dead end gives a different echo from a passage. An experienced tunneler can hear whether an underpath will open out or get narrower just by the way the air ruffles his ear-fur.”
Lilywhisker lifted her muzzle. “I used to be able to hear a cavern halfway across the moor, just by the echo of my paw steps,” she boasted.
Whiteberry lay beside her and stretched sleepily. “I could scent prey through a tail-length of soil.”
Tallkit blinked. One day he’d learn all of these skills. He knew he should feel excited, but he could only picture darkness and mud. He shivered as though he were already belowground.
Flamepelt returned to his story. “The rabbit was well under ShadowClan territory.”
“And you followed it?” Ryepaw gasped. “But it was ShadowClan prey once it’d crossed the border!”
“Tunnels belong to WindClan,” Flamepelt rasped.
Tallkit padded closer. “How did you know it was ShadowClan territory when you were underground?”
“The soil smells of pinesap,” Flamepelt told him briskly, then pressed on. “The rabbit kept running. I was closing on it fast. Then I heard paw steps on the forest floor above. I was close to the surface.”
Doepaw’s tail twitched. “Could they tell you were there?”
Whiteberry cut in with a snort. “No overgrounder can smel
l through earth.”
“But they might have heard my paw steps.” Flamepelt lowered his voice. “If they mistook me for a rabbit, they might start digging. I couldn’t risk them discovering the tunnels. So I froze.” Flamepelt paused. “I could hear the rabbit racing away, and there was fresh air wafting down the tunnel. The prey was heading for an opening. I just had to hope that the ShadowClan patrol wouldn’t spot it and chase it back underground.”
“Did they?” Ryepaw asked breathlessly.
“The ShadowClan paw steps suddenly broke into a run,” Flamepelt told her. “I heard their calls: Rabbit! Rabbit!” His gaze widened, flicking from Doepaw and Ryepaw to Tallkit.
The fur on Tallkit’s spine lifted. “What happened?”
“Earth showered around me as they pounded overhead. I had to think fast. If they found the opening and chased the rabbit back down, they’d find me and discover the tunnel. I had to block it.”
“Block it?” Ryepaw squeaked. “How?”
“I had to cause a cave-in!” Flamepelt announced. “The soil was light and soft. If I could loosen enough to block the tunnel without bringing the whole roof down, I’d be safe.”
Tallkit’s heart began to pound. “What if the whole roof had collapsed?” His chest tightened.
“I’d have drowned in soil,” Flamepelt breathed.
“No!” Ryepaw’s mew was barely a whisper.
“I could hear ShadowClan voices at the end of the tunnel, then the rabbit’s paws thumping closer. Stronger steps were on its tail. The patrol was heading straight toward me.” Flamepelt reached up with a forepaw. “I began scraping at the soil above my head. Claws out, I dug as hard and as fast as I could. The paw steps were thundering nearer, echoing against the walls of the tunnel. Another few moments and they’d smell me. A few moments after that, they’d crash right into me. I clawed at the roof with both paws until I heard the earth groaning. I stuck my paws in for a final pull and the roof showered down. I leaped back just in time as the whole tunnel gave way in front of me. Beyond the wall of soil, I heard the squeal of the rabbit as the ShadowClan patrol caught up with it.”
“Didn’t they know you were there?” Doepaw asked.
“It was too dark, and the earth-scent hid my smell.” Flamepelt shrugged. “As far as they were concerned, it was just a dead-end rabbit hole. I turned around and headed for home.”
Lilywhisker sighed. “I miss those days.”
Flamepelt nodded. “What I wouldn’t give to be running tunnels again!”
Whiteberry whisked his tail over his paws. “There were enough tunnelers back then to patrol every tunnel.”
“We kept them in good condition,” Flamepelt agreed. “These days, if there’s a cave-in, the Clan just thinks it’s one less tunnel to patrol.”
Doepaw narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t it good that we don’t have to send so many cats underground?” She nodded at Lilywhisker’s leg. “It is dangerous.”
“Being a moor runner’s not exactly safe,” Flamepelt retorted. “There are buzzards and dogs and foxes aboveground. They’re just as dangerous as a cave-in. The better trained we are, the less risk there is. That’s why we need to keep training our young’uns to tunnel. There’ll come a time when we’ll depend on the tunnels again.”
Ryepaw tilted her head sideways. “But there are plenty of rabbits these days. Now our territory covers the whole moor, and even in the worst snows we can find enough to feed the Clan.”
Flamepelt sat up. “What if another Clan decides to invade our territory?”
Doepaw bristled. “We’d fight them off.”
Flamepelt’s tail twitched. “Tunnels give us an advantage in battle.”
Tallkit glanced from elder to apprentice. Had moor runners and tunnelers always disagreed like this? How had WindClan stayed together for so many moons if the two sides felt so differently?
CHAPTER 4
The camp entrance swished as Sandgorse padded into camp, Plumclaw and Mistmouse at his tail. Mud streaked Sandgorse’s pelt and his shoulders sagged. Tallkit hurried to greet him.
“Hi, kit!” Sandgorse meowed. “Have you had a good day?”
“Yes! Flamepelt’s been telling us about the time he chased a rabbit all the way under ShadowClan territory.”
“Ah, that’s a good story.” Sandgorse ran his tail along Tallkit’s spine. The tip felt wet and smelled of mud. “We’ve been working on the gorge tunnel.”
“Sandgorse!” Heatherstar leaped out of the Meeting Hollow and crossed the camp. Reedfeather bounded after her. “How’s the work going?” Heatherstar prompted. The leader’s gaze flicked over the muddy, bedraggled pelts of Plumclaw and Mistmouse, and there was a flash of concern in her eyes.
“It’s fine,” Sandgorse reported. “We’ve shored up the stretch beyond the peat ridge. It’s steep there, but we’ve pulled up clay from lower down and strengthened the tunnel walls.”
Reedfeather narrowed his eyes. “It seems like a lot of work.”
Plumclaw shook out her pelt. “It’ll be worth it when it’s finished.”
“When will that be?” Heatherstar asked.
Mistmouse exchanged glances with Sandgorse. “It’s hard to say,” she meowed. “We’re tunneling in territory we haven’t worked before. It’s difficult to predict whether we’re going to meet sand, clay, or stone next.”
Reedfeather moved beside Heatherstar. “It sounds dangerous.”
“It’s challenging.” Sandgorse puffed out his chest. “But we’re learning a lot. And when it’s done, WindClan will have a secret route from the top of the moor right down to the river.”
“What about the cliff face?” Heatherstar’s ears twitched. “You can’t tunnel through rock.”
“We’ve planned for that,” Plumclaw explained. “There’s a seam of clay just as the river drops into the deepest part of the gorge. We plan to dig up through that and meet the tunnel coming down.”
“Won’t RiverClan be able to see it from the bottom of the gorge?” Reedfeather asked.
“There are brambles,” Sandgorse told him. “The entrance will be hidden.” He looked at Tallkit. “I can’t wait to show you,” he purred.
Tallkit felt a rush of pride. Sandgorse could do things even the Clan leader couldn’t. “I can’t wait to see it!” he mewed.
“You may be apprenticed in time to help finish digging it,” Sandgorse purred.
Tallkit stiffened. Suddenly he imagined himself at the bottom of a long tunnel, far from the sky, digging in the dark through filthy clay, desperately trying to find his way through to fresh air. He swallowed as his chest tightened. “Yes,” he whispered shakily.
Heatherstar fluffed up her fur. “You’d better get dry,” she advised the tunnelers. “This chilly wind will give you greencough if you’re not careful.”
Sandgorse nodded and headed away. “Come on, Tallkit!” he called. “Help me lick the grit from behind my ears.”
Tallkit scurried after him, catching up to Sandgorse as he reached the tunnelers’ bracken patch. Sandgorse stopped and shook out his pelt. Tallkit screwed up his face as mud spattered him. A purr rumbled in Sandgorse’s throat. “You’ll have to get used to mucky fur.”
Tallkit shuddered.
“You’re getting him dirty!” Palebird’s mew rang across the camp. Tallkit turned to see his mother hurrying toward them.
“He’s helping me get cleaned up,” Sandgorse objected. “He wants to get the grit from behind my ears, don’t you, Tallkit?”
Tallkit gazed at his father’s mud-crusted head. Not really.
“I guess he’s got to learn how.” Palebird touched her muzzle to Tallkit’s head. “One day he’ll be cleaning the grit from his own ears.”
Sandgorse’s eyes shone. “I can’t wait till we can go on patrol together.” He looked from Palebird to Tallkit. “Running tunnels, just the three of us.”
Palebird sighed. “It may be a while before I join you.”
Sandgorse looked up sharply. “What do you mea
n?” His gaze darkened. “Surely you’ll be ready by the time Tallkit’s an apprentice?”
Palebird shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be strong enough.”
“Of course you will.” Sandgorse leaned forward and pressed his cheek against hers. “Newleaf will bring fatter prey, and you’ll have your strength back in no time.”
Tallkit stared anxiously at his mother. “You’ll be better, won’t you?”
“I hope so,” Palebird murmured. Turning, she headed toward the nursery.
“Go with her, Tallkit,” Sandgorse whispered. “I think she needs cheering up.”
Tallkit hesitated. “What about your ears?”
“I’ll wash them myself.”
Tallkit trotted after his mother, scrambling over the tussocks until he caught up with her. The comforting scent of wool and milk enfolded him as they entered the nursery. Brackenwing sat up as Palebird curled into her nest. The queen’s pale ginger pelt was ruffled with sleep. “Where are Barkkit and Shrewkit?” she meowed.
Does she know that Barkkit is planning to ask Heatherstar if he can become Hawkheart’s apprentice? Tallkit wondered. He figured it wasn’t his place to tell Brackenwing if she didn’t know. “They’re playing outside.” He scrambled over the edge of the nest and slid in beside Palebird’s belly. He was hungry.
Palebird pulled away as he nuzzled into her belly. “No, Tallkit.”
Tallkit froze. No? He wriggled closer, closing his eyes and breathing in his mother’s tempting, milky scent.
Palebird shoved him back with a paw. “I said no, Tallkit.”
“No milk?” He stared at her in disbelief.
“It’s drying up,” she told him. “You’re old enough to eat from the prey heap now.”
“But . . .” He searched for a way to change her mind, but Palebird was staring at him blankly.
Brackenwing’s nest rustled. “It’s okay, Tallkit.” She climbed out of the heather and leaned in to lick his ears. “Shrewkit and Barkkit have been eating from the heap for a moon. They prefer prey now.”
No milk at all? Tallkit couldn’t believe Palebird hadn’t warned him.
His mother half closed her eyes. “You’ll enjoy eating with the big kits,” she murmured.