Bramblestar's Storm

by Erin Hunter

  Bramblestar led his patrol a safe distance from the water’s edge and turned inland to follow the stream at the WindClan border. He spotted a WindClan patrol racing across the moor after a couple of bulky, low-flying white birds. As he watched, two of the cats leaped into the air and almost clawed one of the birds out of the sky. At the last moment it gave a vigorous beat of its wings and lurched away, gaining height.

  “I’ve never seen WindClan hunting like that before!” Sandstorm exclaimed.

  “It’s pretty brave of them.” Molewhisker sounded impressed. “Those birds are big!”

  “I wonder how hungry they must be to try learning how to fly after prey,” Bramblestar mused. “The Tribe cats hunt birds like that, but it doesn’t seem natural for us.”

  The wind was blowing strongly over the moor, bringing so much WindClan scent that it seemed to fill the forest.

  “It’s hopeless trying to tell if they’ve trespassed,” Molewhisker growled. “I can’t smell anything but WindClan!”

  The patrol renewed their own scent markers, but the wind whisked the scent away into the forest almost immediately. Battling through the gusts, the cats finally reached the ridge and gazed down at the churning gray lake. It’s definitely bigger than usual, Bramblestar realized.

  “It’s hard to believe it was once empty,” Sandstorm murmured.

  “Was that in the Long Dry?” Molewhisker asked. “Purdy started telling me about it, but he never said how the water came back.”

  Purdy hardly ever gets to the end of his stories, Bramblestar thought, twitching his whiskers in amusement.

  “Well,” Blossomfall began, “all the Clans sent two cats to form a patrol, and they traveled up the dried-out stream until—”

  “Which cats went from ThunderClan?” Molewhisker interrupted.

  “Dovewing—she was Dovepaw then—and Lionblaze,” Blossomfall replied.

  The tortoiseshell she-cat broke off with a startled squeal as a huge white bird flew unsteadily over their heads. Bramblestar ducked to avoid its erratic wingbeats. A moment later it crashed into a holly bush and struggled in the branches, trapped.

  Bramblestar raced over to it with Molewhisker beside him. Reaching the bush, he stood back to let the younger warrior make the easy kill.

  Molewhisker dived into the bush and sank his teeth into the bird’s neck. It stopped struggling and went limp; Molewhisker backed out of the bush, dragging his prey with him.

  “Good job!” Bramblestar praised him.

  Blossomfall let out a snort. “You’ve made a bit of a mess of its wings,” she pointed out. “You should be more careful.”

  “I only bit its neck!” Molewhisker protested.

  Looking more closely, Bramblestar saw claw marks on the wings, and a spattering of blood on the white feathers. “This must be the bird we saw the WindClan warriors attacking,” he meowed. “They’ve wounded it badly enough to bring it down, but it managed to get onto our territory.” He let out a satisfied purr. “It’ll make a great addition to the fresh-kill pile,” he added, “but it’s so heavy we might need more warriors to carry it back, so we don’t do any more damage.”

  “Hey—what are you doing?” An outraged yowl came from the other side of the stream.

  Bramblestar turned to see Nightcloud at the head of a WindClan patrol. Her apprentice, Hootpaw, and gray-and-white Gorsetail were just behind her.

  “That’s our catch!” the black she-cat growled. “We should have it.”

  “It is not your catch,” Molewhisker defended himself. “I killed it, so it’s mine!”

  “It was alive when it entered ThunderClan territory,” Bramblestar pointed out, “and that makes it ours.”

  All three WindClan cats were bristling with fury. “Look at this,” Nightcloud snarled, holding up one paw to show scraps of white feathers stuck between her claws. “That proves we wounded it. If we hadn’t, you would never have caught it.”

  “And we need it more than you,” Hootpaw put in. “Rabbits are scarcer than usual, so these white birds are all we have.”

  “Be quiet!” Nightcloud hissed, giving her apprentice a cuff around the ear.

  Sandstorm spoke softly to Bramblestar. “We have plenty of prey. I think Firestar would have let WindClan have this bird.”

  “I’m not Firestar,” Bramblestar retorted. “We caught this fairly, so it belongs to us.”

  “Absolutely right, you’re not Firestar,” Gorsetail muttered, overhearing.

  Bramblestar felt a flash of anger. Snatching up the white bird, he stalked away with it, even though it was almost too heavy for him to carry and the trailing wings threatened to trip him. Sandstorm and Molewhisker hurried to help him, one on each side, while Blossomfall padded ahead to clear any twigs or bramble tendrils out of the way. As they headed into the trees, Bramblestar could hear the WindClan cats hissing behind him, but he paid no attention.

  “You made the right decision,” Sandstorm meowed after a moment. “You’re the leader now, and you can’t show weakness to another Clan.”

  Bramblestar shrugged. “Whatever,” he mumbled around his mouthful of feathers. He was thinking about what Hootpaw had said: Rabbits were getting scarce in WindClan, and they were relying on birds that didn’t usually come to the moor. There’s something very familiar about the scent of the white bird’s wings. . . .

  The ThunderClan cats gathered around to stare at the white bird when the patrol returned to the hollow.

  “Wow, it’s huge!” Berrynose exclaimed.

  “I never saw a bird like that before,” Ivypool meowed. “It’s enough to feed the whole Clan!”

  “I caught it,” Molewhisker announced, giving his shoulder a couple of proud licks.

  His sister Cherryfall blinked at him. “Great catch! Those wings could really have hurt you.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t that difficult,” Molewhisker mewed.

  No, because the bird was already wounded and trapped in a bush, Bramblestar thought, suppressing a mrrow of amusement. He said nothing. Let Molewhisker have his moment of glory!

  “Squirrelflight!” he called, beckoning to his deputy with his tail. He led her up to the white bird and angled his ears toward it. “Smell it,” he mewed. “What does it remind you of?”

  Squirrelflight took a deep sniff, then looked up, puzzled. “Er . . . dead birds?” she guessed.

  Bramblestar twitched the tip of his tail. “No, think of a place,” he urged.

  Squirrelflight sniffed again, and understanding began to dawn in her eyes. “Now I remember! There’s a salt-tasting tang on the feathers, like the water in the sun-drown-place. Do you think that’s where it came from?”

  Bramblestar remembered that Onestar had mentioned at the Gathering that WindClan were hunting birds from the sun-drown-water. He hadn’t paid much attention at the time, thinking that the WindClan leader must be imagining things. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “The wind must be incredibly strong,” he commented, “to blow these birds all the way here.”

  He gazed through the trees as though he could see all the way to the sun-drown-place. A shiver passed through him from ears to tail-tip as he remembered the surging mass of blue-green water.

  Squirrelflight waited a few moments more to let all the Clan, especially the apprentices, get a good look at the white bird. Then she raised her voice to make herself heard throughout the clearing. “Come on, all of you! There’s enough prey here for every cat!”

  That night Bramblestar found it hard to rest. Wind blustering around the Highledge disturbed him, and when he did manage to snatch a few moments of sleep he was assaulted by strange dreams of salty water and falling down holes on top of badgers.

  A paw prodding him in the side woke him. The faint light of dawn was trickling into his den, and he just managed to make out the features of Jayfeather. The medicine cat was wide-eyed and agitated.

  “Wha . . . ?” Bramblestar muttered. “Did I call out in my sleep and wake you?”

  Jayfeathe
r shook his head. “No. I went out before dawn, because I was concerned about the new plants in the wind. And I found something . . . something awful. Come and see, Bramblestar!”

  Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, Bramblestar followed Jayfeather out of his den and down the tumbled rocks to the floor of the hollow. Jayfeather led the way into the forest at a run, sure-pawed as always in spite of his blindness, while Bramblestar blundered after him in the near darkness.

  The two cats followed the disused Thunderpath until they came to the abandoned nest. By now there was enough light for Bramblestar to see more clearly. He stopped, his fur bushing up in dismay. The plants that Leafpool and Jayfeather had tended so carefully had been destroyed by a branch from a nearby ash tree. Wind had blown it across the patch of earth, churning up the ground and flattening the young herbs. Torn leaves had blown everywhere.

  “Well, it’s bad, but it should be possible to repair it,” Bramblestar meowed. “Some of the roots must have survived. I’ll send you a patrol later today, to help clear up the mess and look for new plants in the forest.”

  “You don’t understand,” Jayfeather told him, his voice somber. “This is an omen. Something terrible is going to happen. Darkness and destruction and tragedy are closing in on our Clan once more.”

  Bramblestar felt an icy trickle of fear run down his spine. “Not the Dark Forest again?”

  “No,” Jayfeather replied, and his voice sounded far away, and somehow older. “Something different from the Great Battle. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it coming on the wind.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Dawn had scarcely broken by the time Bramblestar and Jayfeather returned to the hollow. But their Clanmates were already awake and restless, pacing around the clearing with their fur blown the wrong way and their ears turned inside out. The trees clattered overhead as the wind gusted through them.

  “I don’t like this,” Squirrelflight muttered as she joined Bramblestar in the center of the camp. “It reminds me too much of the time the tree fell, when Longtail died and Briarlight was injured.”

  Bramblestar nodded, knowing that terrible day must be in the mind of every cat. A couple of fox-lengths away Dovewing was standing with her claws dug into the earth as if she were trying to take root. Her head was raised, and Bramblestar knew she was struggling to listen for falling trees.

  Dovewing’s mother, Whitewing, emerged from the warriors’ den and padded up to her daughter. “This isn’t doing any good,” she murmured, giving Dovewing’s ear a gentle lick. “Come and share a vole with me.”

  Dovewing hesitated, then allowed her mother to coax her over to the fresh-kill pile.

  “I’m worried about Dovewing,” Bramblestar confided to Squirrelflight.

  “I know,” Squirrelflight responded. “It was hard for all three cats to lose their powers.”

  “But Dovewing seems to be suffering most of all,” Bramblestar mewed.

  Lionblaze and Cinderheart pushed their way into the camp through the thorn barrier. Lionblaze looked ruffled, and was speaking over his shoulder to Cinderheart.

  “It’s mouse-brained, trying to hunt in this!” he complained. “That branch from the beech tree whacked me right on the head!”

  “Honestly, Lionblaze,” Cinderheart purred. “It was only a twig! You have to get used to being injured.”

  Bramblestar sent Squirrelflight to round up the senior warriors. “We still have to send out patrols,” he began when they were gathered around him. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the blustering wind. “I don’t want any cat injured by falling trees—”

  “Right,” Lionblaze muttered, rubbing the top of his head with one paw.

  “But we need to restock the fresh-kill pile,” Bramblestar went on. “And I wouldn’t put it past ShadowClan or WindClan to take advantage of all this noise and chaos to cross the border. Especially WindClan, chasing those storm-blown white birds.”

  Blossomfall nodded. “I’d bet a moon of dawn patrols that they’d have crossed our border after the bird we caught, if we hadn’t been there.”

  “So who will lead a patrol?” Bramblestar asked.

  “I will,” Squirrelflight offered immediately.

  “And me,” Dustpelt and Ivypool added in chorus.

  “I will, too,” Bumblestripe meowed. “Except . . . Dovewing, will you be okay if I leave you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Dovewing replied, though she was working her claws agitatedly into the ground.

  Bramblestar could see that she was in too much of a state to be sent out on patrol. She was still trying to use her far-senses, even though she had lost them right after the battle. She feels like she’s deaf and blind, and she can’t bear it!

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Whitewing promised, leading her daughter back to the warriors’ den.

  “Four patrols, then,” Bramblestar ordered. “Ivypool, take the WindClan border, and Dustpelt, take ShadowClan. Bumblestripe and Squirrelflight, your patrols can hunt. I’ll go with Bumblestripe.”

  “Which cats should we take with us?” Dustpelt asked.

  “Choose your own,” Bramblestar responded. “Have one cat in each patrol to watch out for danger—wind-blown branches, creaking trees, whatever. And if that cat says run, run!”

  As Bumblestripe began to look around for other cats, his apprentice, Seedpaw, scampered up. “Can I come?” she chirped.

  Bumblestripe shook his head. “It’s too dangerous out there for apprentices.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Bramblestar interrupted. “You and the others can help by clearing up any debris that gets blown into the camp. Tell your denmates I said so. You are responsible for keeping the camp tidy and safe, okay?”

  Seedpaw lifted her head proudly. “We can do that, Bramblestar.” She dashed off toward the apprentices’ den.

  The leaders of the patrols quickly found other cats to go with them and headed into the forest. Mousewhisker and Cherryfall had joined Bumblestripe’s patrol. Both of them seemed spooked by the wind, darting uneasy glances around at every paw step, and starting at each unexpected noise.

  Bramblestar took on the duty of keeping watch for danger. Though the trees were thrashing in the wind, none of them looked ready to fall. But the noise of the gusts and creaking branches was so loud that there was little chance of picking up tiny prey sounds, while the strong gusts scattered scents everywhere.

  “I think we ought to hunt in places where prey might go to shelter,” Bumblestripe suggested. “Like a bramble thicket, or maybe the abandoned Twoleg nest.”

  “Great idea!” Cherryfall agreed. “Let’s go to the nest.”

  Anything to get out of this wind for a bit, Bramblestar thought.

  He brought up the rear as Bumblestripe led the patrol along the old Thunderpath. Now they were battling into the wind, their eyes watering and their pelts pressed flat to their sides. Every paw step was a massive effort, as if the wind was trying to pluck them up and send them crashing into the trees.

  When the Twoleg nest came in sight, Bumblestripe and the others halted, staring in dismay at the fallen branch and the damaged plants.

  “Leafpool worked so hard over that!” Cherryfall gasped.

  “And she and Jayfeather will put it right again as soon as this wind drops,” Mousewhisker reassured her.

  Bramblestar couldn’t share Mousewhisker’s optimism. His memory of Jayfeather’s ominous omen was too strong, and he glanced around with his ears pricked. But all the trees within sight had their roots firmly fixed in the ground.

  Bramblestar followed Bumblestripe and the others into the tumbledown den. Cherryfall puffed out a sigh of relief as she stepped inside. “Sheltered from the wind at last!” she mewed, smoothing her whiskers with one paw.

  “Keep quiet and listen for prey,” Bumblestripe ordered.

  In a brief moment of silence when the wind dropped, Bramblestar picked up a strong scent of mouse and heard the patter of their tiny feet
above his head, where strong, straight, Twoleg-crafted branches were supporting the roof.

  Bumblestripe had heard it, too. “Up there,” he whispered, pointing with his tail.

  “I’ll go!” Cherryfall lightly climbed the wooden slats that were fixed to the far wall. From the top she made a graceful leap onto one of the branches.

  “Be careful!” Bramblestar warned.

  The young she-cat stalked along the branch. Farther along, in the shadows, Bramblestar could just make out a flicker of movement that told him a mouse was there.

  But as Cherryfall was readying herself to pounce, a powerful gust of wind hit the den. One of the flat stones that formed the roof was torn free and clattered away. Cherryfall jumped in shock and lost her balance. Yowling in terror, she fell, her body twisting in the air. She just managed to snag the bulky wood with one claw before she plummeted to the ground.

  “Help!” she wailed.

  “Can you climb back up?” Bramblestar yowled.

  Cherryfall stretched up with her other forepaw, but she couldn’t grasp the smooth surface. “I’m slipping!” she gasped.

  “Mousewhisker, go after her,” Bramblestar ordered. “And for StarClan’s sake, watch where you’re putting your paws.”

  Mousewhisker bounded up the wooden slats and leaped neatly onto the end of the branch. Balancing carefully in the center, he headed toward Cherryfall.

  “Come on,” Bramblestar meowed to Bumblestripe. “Let’s collect dead leaves, debris, anything to break her fall if she loses her grip.”

  Together they scraped up the earthy litter that lay on the floor of the den, then darted outside to find more. Bumblestripe tore up moss from the side of the den, while Bramblestar scraped up a clump of yarrow that grew near the door. The pile was growing, but agonizingly slowly, while Cherryfall dangled above it.

  Mousewhisker had reached the point on the branch where his Clanmate was hanging. He stretched down, trying to grab her scruff, but it was just out of reach. While he strained, he brushed against Cherryfall’s leg, dislodging her precarious grip. She uttered a wild screech as she fell.