by Erin Hunter
The Great Battle has been won. We will survive the greencough. She turned to head after her Clanmates. Suddenly her paws felt lighter. And the warrior code will last forever!
EXCERPT FROM WARRIORS: BRAMBLESTAR’S STORM
CHAPTER 1
Bramblestar pushed his way through the thorn barrier into the camp with the rest of the patrol behind him. The sun shone down into the hollow, casting long shadows across the ground. Above the cliffs, the trees rustled gently and a warm breeze stirred the dust on the ground.
Bramblestar could still see traces of the terrible conflict when the warriors of the Dark Forest had poured into the camp: fresh bramble tendrils entwined with the old in the walls of the nursery, and broken branches on the hazel bush that screened the elders’ den. It was too easy to close his eyes and be plunged back into the storm of fighting and blood, with cats both dead and alive attacking from all sides. The Dark Forest cats had flung themselves into battle in a furious quest for power and vengeance, and it had taken all the strength of the living cats—and the strength of StarClan—to beat them back. Bramblestar gave his pelt a shake, trying to recall his earlier optimism. At least the dens were repaired, and the surviving cats had recovered from their wounds.
But the scars we can’t see will be harder to heal.
When the battle was over, Jayfeather had propped a bark-stripped branch against the cliff below the Highledge. He had scored claw marks across it, one for each life taken by the Dark Forest.
“It will remind us of the debts that we owe to our former Clanmates,” he had explained.
Now Whitewing was standing in front of the branch with her apprentice, Dewpaw, beside her. Seedpaw and Lilypaw stood watching with their mentors, Bumblestripe and Poppyfrost.
“Can you remember all the names?” Whitewing asked her apprentice.
Dewpaw narrowed his eyes in concentration. “I think so. This one is for Mousefur . . .” he began, touching the first claw mark. “She was an elder, but she fought so bravely! And this one is for Hollyleaf. She had been away for a while, but she came back in time to help us when the Dark Forest attacked. And this is for Foxleap, who died of his wounds afterward. . . .”
Bramblestar nodded as Dewpaw went on reciting the names. He had decided that all the apprentices had to learn the list as part of their training, so that their lost Clanmates would be remembered for season after season, as long as ThunderClan survived.
“This one is for Ferncloud,” Dewpaw continued. “She was killed by Brokenstar when she was defending the kits in the nursery. And this is Sorreltail. She hid her wounds because she wanted to take care of the kits, but she died just when we thought we had won. She was the bravest of all.”
“And the big mark right at the top?” Whitewing prompted. “Do you know who that stands for?”
“That’s our leader, Firestar,” Dewpaw replied. “He was the best cat in the whole forest, and he gave up his last life to save us!”
Bramblestar felt a familiar stab of grief. I wonder if he’s watching us now? I hope he approves of what I have done.
“I miss Firestar, too.”
Bramblestar turned to see that Jayfeather had appeared at his side, the medicine cat’s blue eyes fixed on him so intensely that it was hard to believe he was blind. “I didn’t think you could tell what’s in my mind anymore,” Bramblestar mewed, surprised.
“No, those days are past,” Jayfeather admitted, sounding a little wistful. “But it wasn’t hard to figure out that you were thinking of Firestar. I heard Dewpaw run his paw over Firestar’s mark and say his name, and then you sighed.” He pressed himself briefly against Bramblestar’s side. “I’m sure Firestar watches over us.”
“Has he walked in your dreams yet?” Bramblestar asked.
Jayfeather shook his head. “No, but that’s a good omen in itself. I’ve had enough warnings from StarClan to last me nine lifetimes.” With a brisk nod to Bramblestar, he padded away to join Leafpool, who was sorting coltsfoot flowers and fresh-picked catmint outside their den.
“Come on, Snowpaw,” Ivypool called to her apprentice. “Time for battle training!”
“Can we go too?” Dewpaw begged, as his sister scampered over to join her mentor.
“Sure we can,” Whitewing meowed.
“And me!” Amberpaw raced across the camp and skidded to a halt beside her littermates.
“No, not you!” Spiderleg called from where he stood beside the fresh-kill pile with Cloudtail and Cherryfall. “You did the dawn patrol this morning. You need to rest.”
Amberpaw’s tail drooped. “But they’ll be learning stuff when I’m not there!” she wailed. “I’ll get behind, and then I’ll never be a warrior!”
Spiderleg padded over to her and gave her ear a friendly flick with his tail. “Of course you’ll be a warrior, mouse-brain! Once you’ve rested, I’ll show you the move they’re going to learn, I promise.”
“Okay.” Amberpaw still cast a regretful look after her littermates and their mentors as they left the hollow.
“What about us?” Lilypaw asked, exchanging a disappointed glance with Seedpaw. “Why can’t we do battle training?”
“Because we’re going hunting,” Poppyfrost replied briskly. “Come on! Bumblestripe knows the best place to find mice.”
“Great!” Seedpaw exclaimed with an excited little bounce. “Lilypaw, I bet I catch more mice than you.”
“I’m going to catch enough for the whole Clan!” her sister retorted.
“It’s not fair,” Amberpaw muttered as she watched them go. “Why don’t I get to do anything?”
“I told you,” Spiderleg responded. “You did the dawn patrol. Now you rest. But before you do,” he went on, “you can fetch some clean moss for Purdy’s den.”
Amberpaw brightened up. “Sure! And maybe he’ll tell me a story!” She darted off and thrust her way into the barrier.
“I wonder if I ever had that much energy?” Bramblestar mewed aloud as he watched the young cat disappear.
Sandstorm popped her head out of the nearby nursery. “You still do!” she told him. She emerged into the open, pushing a ball of moss in front of her. “It’s good to see the little ones being so lively. It gives me new hope for our Clan.” She paused, her gaze clouding, and Bramblestar wondered if she was thinking about her former mate, Firestar, who wasn’t here to watch this group of apprentices grow up. Then she lifted her head again. “Daisy and I are clearing out the nursery,” she announced, giving the ball of moss a prod with one paw. “There might not be any kits now, but surely some of our young she-cats will be expecting soon.”
“I hope so,” Bramblestar replied, remembering his earlier conversation with Berrynose. I really hope so. “Surely there are other cats who could help Daisy?” he went on, thinking that Sandstorm didn’t need to be struggling with bedding, covered in dust and scraps of moss.
Amusement sparked in Sandstorm’s green eyes. “Are you trying to pack me off to the elders’ den?” she teased.
“You’ve served your Clanmates long enough,” Bramblestar responded. “Why not let them take care of you now?”
Sandstorm flicked her whiskers dismissively. “I’ve plenty of life in my paws yet,” she insisted, retreating into the nursery to help Daisy wrestle with a huge clump of brittle, musty moss.
Bramblestar watched the she-cats for a moment longer before turning away. His deputy, Squirrelflight, stood near the elders’ den, sorting out the hunting patrols with Graystripe; like Sandstorm, the former deputy was one of the oldest cats in the Clan now.
“We need the hunting patrols to go out early,” Graystripe was explaining to Squirrelflight. “With the days getting hotter, it’s best to avoid sunhigh for chasing around.”
Squirrelflight nodded. “And the prey will be holed up by then, too. I’ve already sent out one patrol,” she went on, “but I’ll send out another. Brightheart would be a good cat to lead it.” She glanced around. “Hey, Brightheart!”
The ginger-and-whit
e she-cat slid out between the branches that sheltered the warriors’ den. “Yes?”
“I want you to lead a hunting patrol,” Squirrelflight told her. “But stick to one area, and come back before it gets too hot.”
Brightheart dipped her head. “Any particular place?” she asked.
“You could try up by the ShadowClan border,” Squirrelflight suggested. “Millie spotted a nest of squirrels there yesterday.”
“Good idea,” Brightheart mewed. “Which cats should I take with me?”
“Millie, obviously, since she knows where the nest is. Apart from her, any cat you like.”
“I’m on my way.” Brightheart bounded off to call Millie from the warriors’ den. Then she rounded up Dovewing and Mousewhisker and headed out through the thorns.
The barrier was still trembling from their departure when Amberpaw reappeared with a huge bundle of moss in her jaws. As she staggered toward the elders’ den, Bramblestar noticed that the moss was dripping with water, leaving a line of dark spots on the dusty floor of the clearing.
Squirrelflight stepped out to intercept the apprentice as she drew closer to the den. “You can’t take that in there,” she told Amberpaw sharply. “That moss is too wet. It’ll soak all the other bedding and Purdy will claw your ears off for making his legs ache from the damp.”
At the mention of his name Purdy ducked out of the shelter of the hazel bush. “There’s nothin’ wrong with my legs, or my ears,” he snorted.
“How about your pelt?” Amberpaw asked, dropping the moss.
Bramblestar stifled a mrrow of amusement: Purdy’s tabby pelt looked as if he had crawled backward through the thorns, the fur clumped and sticking up as if he hadn’t groomed himself for a moon.
“Eh? Speak up!” Purdy complained. “Why are you mumblin’? Young cats these days always mumble,” he added crossly.
“I was explaining to Amberpaw that she can’t bring wet moss into your den,” Squirrelflight meowed.
“What?” Purdy prodded the bundle of moss. “You’re sure you weren’t tryin’ to bring me a drink instead?” he asked Amberpaw.
The apprentice looked crestfallen. “I was only trying to help.”
“Sure you were, young ’un.” Purdy stroked Amberpaw’s side with his tail. “Come on. You an’ I will spread the moss out here, just outside the den, an’ it’ll soon dry in the sun. An’ while it does that, I’ll tell you how I once killed a whole nest o’ rats.”
“Yes!” Amberpaw bounced in delight and began spreading out the wet moss.
On the other side of the clearing, Sandstorm headed out of the camp, pushing a huge bundle of used bedding in front of her. Bramblestar slid into the nursery and began helping Daisy scratch together the next bundle.
“Have you heard anything about new kits?” he asked hopefully.
Daisy shook her head. “No, but I’m sure we’ll need the nursery soon, now that newleaf is here.” She paused, then added, “Come and look.”
She led Bramblestar out of the nursery and pointed with her tail to where Lionblaze and Cinderheart were sharing tongues in a patch of sunlight. “That one will be expecting soon,” Daisy mewed, twitching her ears at Cinderheart.
Bramblestar felt a flash of excitement. He remembered play fighting with Lionblaze as a kit outside the nursery, and how he had taught him his first pounce. In spite of all that’s happened, I couldn’t have loved those three kits more if I’d been their real father.
Lionblaze looked up and noticed Bramblestar watching him. With a quick word to Cinderheart he got up and limped across the camp to join his leader.
“Did you want me?” he asked.
“No, but since you’re here, you can tell me how things are going. It looks as if we might have some new kits soon,” Bramblestar meowed with an affectionate nudge.
“Great StarClan!” Lionblaze gave his chest fur a couple of embarrassed licks. “No pressure, then?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bramblestar went on more anxiously, spotting a scratch on Lionblaze’s shoulder. He’s limping on that forepaw, too.
Lionblaze sighed. “Yes, I’m fine. Leafpool and Jayfeather checked me out, and gave me a dock leaf for the sore pad. It’s just hard to get used to the way I can be hurt now. All I did was trip over a stupid bramble!”
“Too bad,” Bramblestar mewed. “You’ll have to start watching where you tread!”
“That will make me very fearsome to our enemies. Not,” Lionblaze muttered. He limped back to his mate and settled down beside her.
Movement at the entrance caught Bramblestar’s eye as the first hunting patrol returned. Dustpelt was leading it; he carried a squirrel in his jaws. Behind him came Brackenfur, Blossomfall, and Poppyfrost, all laden with prey. Bramblestar watched approvingly while they carried their catch over to the fresh-kill pile.
He noticed that Dustpelt looked exhausted as he dropped his squirrel on the pile. The brown tabby tom was still haunted by the death of his mate, Ferncloud, in the Great Battle. Squirrelflight had told him that Dustpelt often woke yowling in the warriors’ den, thrashing in his nest. In his dreams he still tried to save Ferncloud from the claws of Brokenstar, and every time he had to watch her die again.
A little more than a moon ago, Bramblestar had suggested that Dustpelt might like to retire and join the elders.
“Anything but that,” Dustpelt had growled. “Let me keep busy. I need something to distract me, or the memories hurt too much.”
“You’ll meet Ferncloud again one day, in StarClan,” Bramblestar meowed, trying to comfort the older warrior.
Dustpelt shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s true.” His voice shaking, he added, “I kept some of the moss from her nest. But I can’t even smell her scent on it anymore.”
Bramblestar hadn’t known what he could do to help, except to do as Dustpelt asked and make sure he stayed busy.
Bramblestar headed across the camp, intending to praise Dustpelt’s patrol for their good hunting, when he heard his name yowled from the other side of the barrier. Startled, he spun around to see Brightheart bursting out of the thorns with the rest of her patrol just behind.
“ShadowClan!” she gasped as she scrambled to a halt.
“Calm down,” Bramblestar meowed. “Tell me what happened.”
“Are they attacking?” Brackenfur called as the rest of the Clan gathered around, their whiskers quivering with curiosity.
“No, but it’s almost as bad,” Brightheart panted. “We picked up ShadowClan scent inside our borders.”
“And it’s not the first time it’s happened,” Millie added with a lash of her tail.
“Are they after that nest of squirrels?” Lionblaze asked.
More cats jumped in with urgent questions. Only Dovewing looked quiet and subdued. Bramblestar felt a stab of pity. Once she would have been able to look into ShadowClan without leaving the hollow, and listen to their conversations to find out why they were crossing the border, but those days were gone. She feels blind and deaf without her powers, he guessed.
Bumblestripe padded up to Dovewing and pressed his muzzle against her shoulder. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
Dovewing leaned into him. “I’m fine,” she sighed.
Bramblestar raised his tail for silence. “Brightheart, where exactly—” he began.
“We should attack now!” Mousewhisker interrupted, his shoulder fur bristling with fury. “Those crow-food eaters have no right to set paw on our territory.”
For a moment a cold trickle of suspicion passed through Bramblestar. Mousewhisker had been one of the cats who had trained in the Dark Forest, and although he had returned to his Clan, he seemed a bit too ready to attack their neighbors. Did he want to try out the skills he had learned from his Dark Forest mentors? Bramblestar thrust the suspicion away. Mousewhisker is young, and young cats are hotheaded.
“No cat will attack any of the Clans,” he warned.
“Try telling that to WindClan,” Rosepetal mutte
red, flicking the ear that Nightcloud had scratched that morning.
“So what are we going to do about ShadowClan?” Millie asked.
“We’re not going to let ShadowClan get away with this, are we?” Berrynose meowed. He sounded almost as belligerent as Mousewhisker.
“Not at all,” Bramblestar replied. “I’m going to visit Blackstar, and find out why his warriors are crossing our border.”
“Seriously?” Mousewhisker’s eyes stretched wide, and his voice was even more indignant than before. “You’re going to give them a chance to come up with a reason, when we all know what they’re doing is wrong?”
“Mouse-brain!” Mousewhisker’s sister Cherryfall gave him a hard nudge, almost unbalancing him. “That isn’t what Bramblestar is doing. He’s just going to tell Blackstar that he knows what’s going on!”
Bramblestar was touched by the ginger she-cat’s faith in him. My Clanmates should be able to trust me to keep them safe. What would they say if they knew how much I doubt myself?
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ERIN HUNTER is inspired by a love of cats and a fascination with the ferocity of the natural world. As well as having great respect for nature in all its forms, Erin enjoys creating rich mythical explanations for animal behavior. She is also the author of the bestselling Seekers and Survivors series.
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BOOKS BY ERIN HUNTER
Book One: Into the Wild
Book Two: Fire and Ice
Book Three: Forest of Secrets
Book Four: Rising Storm
Book Five: A Dangerous Path
Book Six: The Darkest Hour
THE NEW PROPHECY
Book One: Midnight
Book Two: Moonrise