Tallstar's Revenge

by Erin Hunter

  Tallpaw leaned back and let Barkpaw spread the thick paste of herbs onto his grazes. “I had nightmares,” he meowed.

  “They’ll pass.” Barkpaw avoided Tallpaw’s gaze.

  “I don’t want to sleep again.” The thought of returning to his dreams made Tallpaw’s belly harden.

  “You need to rest.” Barkpaw sounded very far away. Even in this half light, Tallpaw could see tiredness shadowing his friend’s eyes. Barkpaw was still wrapped in grief for Brackenwing.

  Tallpaw understood. Loneliness jabbed his belly. If only they could share their grief. But Barkpaw seemed too far away. Did he still blame Tallpaw for Brackenwing’s death?

  Tallpaw blinked open his eyes in the pale light of dawn, surprised to find that he’d slept again after Barkpaw had left. He peered out from the gorse bush and saw Reedfeather calling patrols for the day.

  “Aspenfall, Cloudrunner, and Doespring,” the deputy ordered, “take Mole hunting with you. Hareflight, Stagleap, and Shrewpaw, check the ShadowClan and Fourtrees border. Dawnstripe and Redclaw, patrol the rest.”

  Tallpaw watched his Clanmates charge out of camp while Reena and Bess headed for the elders’ den. “We’ve come to clean out your bedding,” Bess called through the entrance.

  Lilywhisker padded out, yawning. “You’ll have to wake the others. Flamepelt’s snoring like a badger.”

  Tallpaw hauled himself to his paws, wincing as his scratches stung.

  “Stay in your nest.” Hawkheart’s stern growl surprised him. The medicine cat slid into the den. Tallpaw sat down as Hawkheart sniffed his wounds. “There’s infection in your forepaw. I can smell it,” he told Tallpaw. “I’ll dress the wound again. Then stay off it. You’re confined to your nest until it’s healed.”

  “I can’t stay here,” Tallpaw argued. “I hate it. I just sleep and have nightmares.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” Hawkheart dabbed fresh herbs onto Tallpaw’s wounds. “You have to get well. There’s been too much loss. First Brackenwing, then your father.”

  “But—” Tallpaw began to argue but Hawkheart silenced him with a look.

  Tallpaw lay back in his nest as the medicine cat left. The low gorse roof seemed to press down on him. His breath quickened in the stale air. Tallpaw longed to be on the moor. He needed to feel the wind lifting his fur, filling his chest. Fear churned in his belly. He couldn’t stay here for days. As his mind spiraled into panic, Sparrow bounded past the den, crossing the tussocks with ease.

  Tallpaw sat up. He hardly has a scratch on him. He must have fled the cave-in at the first drop of soil! Weasel-hearted coward!

  “Sparrow!” Hickorynose called to the rogue from the prey heap. “Do you want some fresh-kill?”

  “Yes,” Sparrow called. “I’m starving.”

  Hickorynose tossed a mouse to the rogue’s paws and Sparrow crouched to eat it.

  Tallpaw’s belly rumbled. Isn’t anyone going to offer me any prey? I’m still their Clanmate, after all. He sank his claws into his bedding. They don’t care if I eat. As far as they’re concerned, I killed Brackenwing. Poor Sparrow’s only crime was to follow a foolish warrior down an unsafe tunnel. He hissed, curling his lip as he watched Sparrow lick his lips. No one blames him. They’re too dumb to see what’s under their whiskers.

  “But I blame you,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You killed my father!”

  CHAPTER 19

  Tallpaw was roused by the sound of paws scurrying across the starlit clearing. He peeked through the gorse opening and saw Hawkheart heading for the nursery. Is Meadowslip having her kits? It had been a quarter moon since Sandgorse had died. Her kits were well overdue.

  Palebird’s face appeared at the nursery entrance, eyes round with worry. “They’re coming,” she whispered to Hawkheart. The medicine cat shooed her back and slid into the den.

  Tallpaw rested his muzzle on the soft wool lining of his nest. Being stuck in camp since the accident had made him feel tired, not rested. He didn’t think about running anymore, or the feeling of wind in his fur. Every time he imagined practicing battle moves with Dawnstripe again, or running across the moor, guilt tightened his throat. Sandgorse would be watching from StarClan, his eyes dark with disappointment. You were born to be a tunneler. His father’s words rang in Tallpaw’s head. You can’t change that, whatever any other cat tells you.

  He must have dozed because it was light when the chatter of his Clanmates woke him. They were clustering outside the nursery. Lilywhisker and Whiteberry had pushed their way to the front. Larksplash and Appledawn circled Palebird beside the Meeting Hollow. They were showering her with questions.

  “Is Meadowslip okay?”

  “How many kits are there?”

  “What did Hickorynose say when he saw them?”

  For once, Palebird’s eyes were bright. Tallpaw climbed out of his nest, pricking his ears as she answered the warriors’ questions. “Three kits,” she announced. “Hickorynose is delighted. He’s named the tom Hopkit. One of his paws is a little crooked, but he’ll be fine. There’s another tom—Pigeonkit. He’s dark gray and white, and there’s a she-kit, Sorrelkit. She’s gray and brown.” Palebird sat back, ears twitching with delight. “They are beautiful! Hungry the moment they arrived.”

  Heatherstar purred. “WindClan will have more warriors.”

  Plumclaw eyed her sharply. “Let’s hope Hickorynose insists they become tunnelers.”

  “Let’s hope they grow up healthy and strong,” Heatherstar meowed.

  Bess nosed in among the Clan cats. Reena’s ginger fur flashed beside her. They seemed as excited as the warriors. Sparrow watched from a tussock, staring at the nursery with an unreadable expression while Hareflight and Redclaw paced excitedly beside him.

  “This is the first good thing to happen to WindClan in moons,” Hareflight enthused.

  “The rogues have brought luck to the Clan,” Redclaw gushed.

  Luck? Tallpaw bristled. He imagined the pleasure he’d get from sinking his claws deep into Sparrow’s short, brown fur.

  “Tallpaw!” Reena slid from the crowd and hurried over to him. “Isn’t it great? Kits in the camp! I can’t wait to see them!”

  “What do you care?” Tallpaw sniffed. “They’re Clan kits, not rogues.”

  Reena stopped in front of him, eyes flashing. “Of course I care!” she exclaimed. “They’re WindClan cats.”

  “Stop acting like you’re one of us,” Tallpaw growled. “If you hadn’t come, Sandgorse would still be alive.”

  Reena gasped. “We helped you fight off ShadowClan!”

  Tallpaw curled his lip. “Sparrow took my father into a tunnel and left him to die.”

  Sparrow’s head turned. Tallpaw watched the rogue’s expression from the corner of his eye. He looked more curious than angry. Tallpaw dug his claws into the ground. Was Sparrow too much of a coward to fight for his honor? “Weasel-heart,” he hissed.

  Reena’s eyes blazed. “Don’t you dare blame Sparrow for Sandgorse’s death!” she spat. “Your father knew those tunnels were unsafe, but he took Sparrow down there anyway. Sparrow could have been killed too!”

  “But he wasn’t,” Tallpaw mewed coldly. He looked at Sparrow, but the rogue had turned back to Hareflight and Aspenfall. “Now he’s got more friends in WindClan than I have.”

  “You’ve turned mean, Tallpaw,” Reena spat. “That’s why you’ve got no friends anymore. Whenever a cat comes near you, you bite their head off.”

  “So?” Tallpaw hissed. “At least I don’t kill them.”

  “See what I mean?” Reena’s gaze hardened. “Why don’t you talk to me once you’ve finished feeling sorry for yourself?” She turned and stalked away, her tail twitching angrily.

  Paws thrummed the grass as Shrewpaw whisked past. “Hey, Reena!” Together they disappeared among the cats gathered outside the nursery.

  Tallpaw headed for the camp entrance. Let them all chatter like starlings. I don’t care.

  “Wait for me.
” Flailfoot’s mew rasped behind him.

  “I’m just going for a walk,” Tallpaw muttered. “Don’t try and stop me.”

  “I wasn’t going to.” Flailfoot fell in beside him. “Is this your first time out since the accident?”

  “You mean since Sandgorse was killed.” Tallpaw pushed through the heather.

  Flailfoot followed. “If you want to put it that way.”

  “Then, yes. It’s my first time.” Outside camp, the wind snatched at Tallpaw’s fur and he shivered, forgetting how cold it could feel. He took the rabbit trail that led to the grassy slopes below the moor-top. The blossom was beginning to fade, but as it dropped from the bushes it gave a far sweeter scent than before. Tallpaw breathed it in, opening his mouth to let it bathe his tongue.

  Flailfoot padded alongside him. “You must have missed the moor.”

  “I guess.”

  They weaved on in silence, the bushes brushing Tallpaw’s pelt, sprinkling his fur with purple blossoms. As they broke from the heather onto the grassy slope, Tallpaw felt the wind tug his ears. He’d also forgotten how it could spark excitement in his paws. Suddenly he wanted to run until his chest hurt. He glanced at Flailfoot.

  The old tom’s whiskers twitched. “Go on,” he urged. “Run. I can tell you’re longing to.”

  Tallpaw plunged forward, his legs stiff at first, but loosening as he hared across the grass. Ears flat, tail streaking behind, he raced as hard as he could. He screwed up his eyes as the wind battered his face, and felt the rush of air as he crested the moor-top and saw meadows and valleys stretch before him. Flailfoot was a speck far behind, his black pelt a smudge on the grass. Tallpaw whirled around in a broad circle and raced down to meet him.

  “Feeling better?” Flailfoot asked as Tallpaw slowed to a halt in front of him.

  “Yes.” The restlessness that had suffocated Tallpaw while he was stuck in the camp had disappeared.

  Flailfoot headed upslope. Tallpaw paced beside him, catching his breath. “The sun feels hotter out on the moor.”

  Flailfoot purred. “There’s no better feeling than the sun on your pelt.”

  Tallpaw stared at the old tunneler. “You like it?”

  Flailfoot kept walking. “Of course. The sky, the wind, the wide-open moor—they’re all in the blood of every WindClan cat. Even tunnelers.”

  “I thought tunnelers preferred being underground.”

  “We get used to working in the dark,” Flailfoot told him. “And the challenge of building tunnels safely makes it interesting. But it always feels good to come up to the surface.” He winked at Tallpaw. “We’re not worms, you know.”

  Tallpaw looked up. Gray clouds were drifting in from the mountains, swallowing the blue sky. “I love being in the open more than anything else,” he confessed. “Sandgorse never understood that.”

  “I think he did,” Flailfoot murmured. “In his own way.”

  “No.” Tallpaw stiffened. “I disappointed him so much,” he mewed. “By not wanting to be a tunneler.”

  “Every tunneler dreams of passing on their skills to their kits. Of working side by side with their own kin.”

  “Mistmouse didn’t,” Tallpaw reminded him. “She’s glad that Doespring, Stagleap, and Ryestalk are moor runners.”

  Flailfoot stopped and looked directly at Tallpaw. “Sandgorse wanted you to be happy, you know.”

  “He had a strange way of showing it.” Tallpaw remembered the furious glare his father had given him after Heatherstar had announced that the gorge tunnel was to be shut down.

  “He didn’t know he was going to die,” Flailfoot rasped. “If there’d been more time, he would have come to accept that your dream was not his. There would have been time to forgive and forget.”

  Tallpaw’s throat tightened. He pictured Sandgorse puffing out his chest as Heatherstar gave Tallpaw his warrior name. He stopped walking, his paws suddenly as heavy as stones.

  “Sandgorse loved you, Tallpaw.” Flailfoot began to head downhill, back toward the camp. “Whatever your differences. Never forget that.”

  Tallpaw stayed where he was. Up here, there was nothing between him and StarClan but the sky. Is Flailfoot right, Sandgorse? He stared up at the clouds but there was no reply. Tallpaw shook himself and sprinted down the slope, quickly catching up with Flailfoot. “What was my father like?” he asked breathlessly. “When he was in the tunnels?”

  “Sandgorse was a great planner,” Flailfoot told him. “He could pick out a route overground, then dig it exactly the same underground, paw step for paw step. He knew the tunnels under this moor better than any other tunneler.” Flailfoot’s eyes glowed. “But he hated worms.”

  “Worms?”

  “Yes.” The old tunneler purred. “Every time we hit worm soil, he’d send his tunnelmate in first. He always said he’d rather be plastered whisker to tail in clay than get a worm under his claw.”

  Tallpaw purred, amused that his father could be so squeamish, but sad that he was only just hearing about it. Why didn’t I know this before?

  They were nearing the hollow and Tallpaw could see the walls of camp silhouetted in the early-morning light. He glanced at Flailfoot. The old tunneler’s eyes were half-closed. He was enjoying the last moments of sun on his pelt before they headed into the shadows. Did tunnelers really love the open moor as much as their Clanmates? Tallpaw had never imagined that they enjoyed being aboveground. He’d thought that they tunneled because they loved the dark and the closeness of earth around them.

  “Tallpaw!” Dawnstripe called to him as he nosed his way into camp. “Good news!” She raced across the tussocks to meet him. “Hawkheart says you’re fit enough to start training again!”

  Tallpaw halted. “Really?”

  Flailfoot flicked his tail along Tallpaw’s flank. “Congratulations!”

  Plumclaw and Woollytail looked up from the bracken patch. “There you are, Flailfoot!” Plumclaw called. “We wondered where you’d gone.”

  “Tallpaw?” Dawnstripe leaned closer. “Did you hear what I said?” Tallpaw nodded. “Aren’t you happy?” Dawnstripe’s eyes flashed with worry.

  Tallpaw lifted his muzzle. “I want to train as a tunneler.”

  Woollytail jumped to his paws. “What did you just say?” He bounded across the clearing toward Tallpaw.

  Plumclaw trotted after her denmate. “That’s wonderful news!”

  Dawnstripe blinked. “But you’re going to be a moor runner.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.” Tallpaw spoke slowly, more certain that he was making the right decision with every word. “I want to continue what my father was doing. I want to learn his skills and pass them on to my kits when the time comes.”

  “But you’re a great moor runner,” Dawnstripe argued. “And you’ve learned so much already.”

  “I know,” Tallpaw mewed. “But everything has changed; don’t you see?”

  Dawnstripe shifted her paws. “I suppose I’d better speak with Heatherstar.”

  “Thank you.” Tallpaw touched his muzzle to her cheek. “I’ll miss training with you; I really will, but this is something that I have to do.” His grief was floating away like mist. “I must honor Sandgorse’s memory and protect the skills he valued.”

  Dawnstripe backed away. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She turned and headed for Heatherstar’s den.

  Woollytail stopped beside him. “Do you really mean this?”

  Tallpaw nodded. “Completely.”

  “Don’t do this for your father’s sake.” Woollytail lowered his voice. “Sandgorse would never want that. He was tough on you, I know. But tunnelers have to be tough. It doesn’t mean he didn’t understand. He was proud to see you fight for what you truly wanted, even if that wasn’t what he’d hoped for. He’d have been proud to see you as a moor runner, you know.”

  “Don’t talk him out of it!” Plumclaw shouldered her denmate aside. “Sandgorse would have been so happy! We need more paws.�
��

  Tallpaw met her eager gaze. “Tunneling is in my blood, Plumclaw. I just never realized it before.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “Is it true?” Barkpaw lifted his head from the spring that bubbled just outside the camp wall. “You’re becoming a tunneler?”

  Tallpaw padded down the slope and stopped beside him. “Dawnstripe’s asking Heatherstar right now.” He crouched at the water’s edge. Finding Barkpaw here had surprised him. Tallpaw had grown used to the medicine apprentice avoiding him whenever he could. They’d hardly spoken in the quarter moon since Sandgorse’s death. Tallpaw wasn’t sure if it was because they were both lost in grief, or because Barkpaw blamed him for Brackenwing’s death. He didn’t dare ask.

  Barkpaw hauled a dripping wad of moss from the spring. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “I want to.” Tallpaw dipped his head and began lapping at the cool, fresh water.

  Barkpaw sat down, letting the moss drain beside him. “Why?”

  Tallpaw flicked his tail. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “You were doing so well with your training.” Barkpaw tipped his head on one side. “And you loved being a moor runner.”

  “I’ll love tunneling, too.” Tallpaw sat up, water dripping from his chin.

  “Even Shrewpaw was impressed by your hunting skill.” Barkpaw didn’t seem to be listening to anything Tallpaw said. “Though he’d never admit it.”

  “This is something I have to do.” Tallpaw licked his lips. “For my father’s sake.”

  “But you’re not Sandgorse!” Barkpaw leaned forward. “You don’t have to live his life for him just because he’s dead.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” Tallpaw growled under his breath.

  Barkpaw’s gaze burned into Tallpaw’s. “You think you’ll feel better if you follow his wishes, don’t you?”

  Tallpaw looked away first. “The Clan needs tunnelers more than ever. It’s my duty to follow in Sandgorse’s paw steps.”

  “It’s your duty to be the best warrior you can, for your Clan,” Barkpaw argued. “And you could have been the best moor runner ever.”