Code Of The Clans

NEWLY APPOINTED WARRIORS WILL

KEEP A SILENT VIGIL FOR ONE NIGHT AF TER

RECEIVING THEIR WARRIOR NAME.

Being a warrior isn’t just about catching prey and fighting other Clans, you know. It’s about being part of a tradition that stretches back longer than any cat can remember, and one that will last for all the moons to come. It was a RiverClan medicine cat who learned that the time when every cat realizes this most is when they are first given their warrior name and become responsible for the safety and survival of their Clan.

A Night of Listening

“Meadowpelt! Meadowpelt, we need you!”

Meadowpelt put down the willow stick he was shredding and wove his way between the pale yellow stalks that shielded his den from the rest of the camp. It was greenleaf, and for once the ground underpaw was dry and dusty rather than pooling with water.

Several other RiverClan cats were in the clearing, looking anxious as their Clannmates crackled nearer. Suddenly the reeds rattled together and a small black tom burst out.

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“Snaketooth is hurt!” he yowled.

“What happened, Molewhisker?” Troutstar demanded. Just then, two more cats appeared with a third propped between them, his dark brown head lolling and one of his hind legs trailing uselessly behind.

Troutstar glanced over his shoulder. “Meadowpelt, take over.”

Meadowpelt ran forward to take a look at his latest patient.

This wasn’t the first injury he’d treated among these young warriors in the last moon. Molewhisker had ripped out one of his claws trying to jump across the river, and Lightningpelt, a light brown tabby with a distinctive white streak down her back, had nearly poked out her own eye chasing through the thickest part of the reeds. Every day, the warriors seemed to come up with yet another competition to discover who was the strongest, fastest… or most mouse-brained, Meadowpelt thought crossly.

Lightningpelt and Nettlepad laid Snaketooth on the ground in the middle of the clearing. Meadowpelt studied the twisted leg, noticing the way the snapped bone jutted out beneath the skin. There was a chance Snaketooth would never walk without a limp.

“What was it this time?” Meadowpelt sighed.

“Climbing one of the Great Oaks,” Snaketooth muttered through gritted teeth. “I won.”

“You should have seen him!” Lightningpelt burst out. “He practically climbed onto a cloud!”

“If I had seen him, I wouldn’t have let him do something so utterly mouse-brained,” Meadowpelt growled. “When will you learn to stop showing off and start putting your Clan first?

At this rate there’ll be no warriors left by leaf-bare.” Lifting his head, he looked around and spotted Oatpaw, whom he was thinking of taking as his apprentice. “Oatpaw, fetch me some poppy seeds, will you?”

Oatpaw ducked his head and ran to the den, quickly returning with several tiny black seeds stuck to his forepaw.

“Lick these up,” Meadowpelt told

Snaketooth. He turned back to Oatpaw.

“Help me carry him to my den. He’ll need to stay there tonight.”

Moonlight filtered through the reeds, striping the floor of the medicine cat’s den with sharp, thin shadows. Meadowpelt checked that the reeds on Snaketooth’s splint were bound tightly enough, and then padded heavily across the clearing to his nest.

The reeds slid apart and Molewhisker, Lightningpelt, and Nettlepad squeezed into the tiny space beside their sleeping friend. “We wanted to see if he was okay,” Molewhisker explained in a loud whisper.

“That’s up to StarClan now,” Meadowpelt replied. “I’ve done as much as I can. Now go to your own dens and let him sleep.”

It was too late. Snaketooth stirred and lifted his head a little way off the pillow of moss. “Hey, guys!” he croaked.

Nettlepad bent over him. “How’s your leg? It looked really gross!”

Meadowpelt flicked his tail. “You can stay for a few moments, but no more, understand?”

The three healthy warriors looked at the medicine cat and nodded solemnly. With a grunt, Meadowpelt threaded his way between the reeds that circled his nest and settled down.

Tired as he was—and getting a little deaf in his old age, he had to admit—he could still hear the warriors whispering to Snaketooth.

“You’ve got to get better real soon!”

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“We’re going to jump into the gorge on the full moon, remember?”

“Yeah, I dared you, so if you don’t do it, I win!” That was Nettlepad, his voice rising with excitement.

“Hush!” Lightningpelt hissed. “Don’t let every cat hear you!

You know what the old ones are like—they never want us to have fun.”

“They just wish they were young enough to jump into the gorge. But I bet they were never brave enough to try. Not like us!”

Molewhisker sounded as if he thought he could grow wings and glide safely into the river as it thundered and foamed through the steep-sided canyon at the edge of their territory.

“Look, he’s gone to sleep,” whispered Lightningpelt. “Come on, let’s leave him.”

Meadowpelt listened to them padding away, bristling at their foolishness. His mind filled with shadows, and sleep was a long time coming.

“Troutstar? May I speak with you?” It was the following day, with hot, merciless sunshine bouncing off the reeds and the surface of the river.

The RiverClan leader opened his eyes from his doze. He was curled on a flat stone by the shore, his gray fur blending into the sun-bleached rock. “Is Snaketooth all right?” he asked anxiously.

Meadowpelt grunted. “You mean apart from having no sense at all? He’ll live. But whether he’ll be able to hunt and fight again, I’m not sure.”

Troutstar shook his head. “I don’t know why those warriors keep doing such ridiculous things.”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I want to go to the Moonstone to ask StarClan for advice.”

The gray cat looked at him in surprise. “Do you really think

StarClan needs to be involved?”

Meadowpelt nodded. “Yes, I do. We have raised a whole generation of warriors who only want to amuse themselves. There aren’t enough apprentices for them all to be mentors, so they’re wasting time making up stupid, dangerous games. They’ve all been hurt, but it hasn’t stopped them. Did you know they’re planning to jump into the gorge on the full moon?”

Troutstar’s tail bristled. “No, I didn’t know that. Meadowpelt, if you think StarClan can help, then you must go. May StarClan be waiting for you with answers.”

It was past nightfall by the time Meadowpelt reached the entrance to Mothermouth. The Highstones jabbed angrily into the sky, black against dove-gray. Meadowpelt let his mind empty as he felt his way down the long, dark tunnel. At the bottom, the flattened-egg moon made the Moonstone glow brightly enough to light up the chamber. Meadowpelt lay down at the foot of the Moonstone and pressed his muzzle against the sharp, cold rock.

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“StarClan, please show me how to make my Clanmates understand that the Clan depends on them for its survival, and that they can’t play like kits now that they are warriors.”

He closed his eyes, and at once the scents of the riverbank brushed against his fur. He could hear the water rolling past, whispering against the stones, and the reeds rattling together as they were bent over by the breeze. When he opened his eyes, he found that he was lying in the center of the RiverClan camp with cats stirring softly around him, preparing for the night. With a shock, Meadowpelt realized that he didn’t recognize any of them—no, it was more that he couldn’t see them clearly enough, as if their faces were always in shadow and their scents too mixed by the breeze to distinguish one cat from another. Even their voices sounded muffled, almost familiar but not quite. He lay still with his chin on his paws and listened.

“We tracked that fox to the border, so hopefully it will stay away,” one voice reported.

“I’m on dawn patrol tomorrow, so I’ll look out for any new scents,” came the reply.

“The elders are convinced it will come back once more,” meowed another voice. “They said that foxes will check out a place twice before deciding whether or not to settle. I think we should take their advice and be prepared to chase it out again.”

“I promised I’d take all the apprentices for a fishing lesson tomorrow. Could you do a hunting patrol in my place?”

“Sure. With those kits due any day, we’re going to need a full fresh-kill pile. Have you seen how much the queens eat when they’re nursing?”

There was a mrrow of amusement from the other cats, and Meadowpelt purred, too. Whoever these cats were, they were the kind of warriors RiverClan could be proud of: brave, loyal, hardworking, and aware of how much the whole Clan depended on them, from the frailest elder to the tiniest kit.

Warm dawn light roused Meadowpelt and he sat up, blinking, in the sunlit cavern. Was that it? He’d spent a night in his own

Clan, listening to unidentified cats talk about their lives? How is that supposed to help?

There was the faintest echo inside his head: A night in his own Clan, listening… But how does that provide me with answers for our mouse-brained warriors?

Silence pressed on his ears. What was he going to tell Troutstar?

A night of listening…

To cats who cared about their Clan, who understood their duties and took pride in doing them well.

Is that what the warriors need?

Meadowpelt burst into the dazzling air and started to run down the rock-strewn hill. StarClan had given him the answer!

“One night? To think about being a warrior?” Troutstar sounded unconvinced, and Meadowpelt was starting to wonder if this wasn’t such a great idea after all. Knowing the current RiverClan cats, they’d just come up with a bunch of games to play in the dark.

But Meadowpelt kept his doubts to himself. The full moon was only a day away, and with any luck a sleepless night would at least make the warriors too tired to carry out their mouse-brained scheme of jumping into the gorge.

The young cats looked startled when Troutstar explained what they had to do: spend one night in silent vigil, watching over the camp while their Clanmates slept. “And make sure you listen, as well!” he added sternly.

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The sun was already sliding behind the outline of the Twoleg barns beyond the willow trees, so the Clan started to prepare for the night. Molewhisker, Lightningpelt, and Nettlepad stayed in the middle of the clearing, looking uncertain about what they were supposed to be doing. Meadowpelt couldn’t blame them; he wasn’t sure anymore that he’d understood StarClan.

Meadowpelt slid into his nest and gave in to a wave of black sleep.

“Fox! Wake up! Fox attack!”

Meadowpelt was on his feet and racing into the clearing before he had fully opened his eyes. The camp was bathed in cold white light and cats were plunging out of the reeds, hissing in alarm. Nettlepad stood in the middle of the clearing with his fur bristling.

“We heard a fox!” he gasped. “Creeping up on the nursery.

Molewhisker and Lightningpelt have chased it away.”

Troutstar nodded to a couple of senior warriors. “Go after them. Make sure they don’t try to confront the fox. We just need it to leave the territory.”

A white she-cat with splashes of ginger on her fur padded up to Nettlepad. A pair of tiny kits bundled along beside her. “You saved our lives!” she exclaimed. “Thank you!”

“I didn’t even hear that mangy ol’ fox creeping up on us!”

squeaked one of the kits.

“Yeah, even though you’ve got really big ears!” taunted his littermate.

“Have not!”

“Have so! You look like a rabbit!”

Meadowpelt padded over to Nettlepad, who was looking rather uncomfortable at being the center of attention. “Sunspots is right; you saved her life and her kits’. You should be very proud.”

Nettlepad shuffled his paws. “It’s because we were being quiet, like you said. We’d never have heard that fox if we’d been in our dens.”

Meadowpelt narrowed his eyes. “Or jumping into the gorge.

Or climbing the Great Oaks at Fourtrees. Or chasing one another through the reeds, scaring off prey.”

Nettlepad hung his head. “Yeah, I guess that was pretty mouse-brained.”

Just then, Lightningpelt and Molewhisker hurtled back into the clearing, followed by the senior warriors. “We chased that fox all the way to the border!” Molewhisker panted, his eyes shining with triumph.

“It won’t come back here in a hurry!” Lightningpelt declared.

“Don’t be so sure,” rasped Fernleaf, one of the elders. “Foxes have a habit of coming back once more before they decide whether or not to settle. You need to be ready to chase it off again.”

Molewhisker straightened up. “No problem,” he promised.

Lightningpelt spotted a row of apprentices peering out of their den. “Hey there! I know some great fishing techniques! Would you like me to show you them today?”

Nettlepad nodded. “She’s really good, honestly. I’ll do your hunting patrol for you, Lightningpelt.”

“Thanks, that would be really helpful.”

Meadowpelt stared. His vision was unfolding around him, faces and scents falling into place like raindrops. A night of listening had turned these cats into warriors that RiverClan could be proud of.

“Thank you, Meadowpelt,” murmured a voice beside him. It was Troutstar.

Meadowpelt shrugged. “Thank StarClan,” he mewed gruffly.

“At the Gathering tomorrow night, I’ll suggest we add a new part to the warrior code: that all new warriors must spend one night in silent vigil so they understand how much their Clan needs them now,” Troutstar went on.

Meadowpelt nodded, and inside a small worm of pride stretched and swelled satisfyingly. Yes, make it part of the warrior code, so that all cats have a night of listening…

Squirrelflight’s Words of Wisdom

One day even you might have to sit vigil. Here are a few tips from Squirrelflight to help you pass the night—if you’re a ThunderClan warrior, that is!

A vigil is the proudest and scariest night of any warrior’s life.

It was for me! Having to spend a whole night awake guarding the Clan, trying not to doze off, jumping at every leaf fall in case it’s an enemy attack, it’s enough to send any cat running back to the nursery. So, I’m going to give you some tips on how to get through a vigil. That way you’ll be prepared when it’s your turn.

First, don’t lie near the warriors’ den; the noise of all that snoring will make you want to nod off. Or deafen you. If you feel sleepy, jump onto the Highledge—quietly, obviously, so you don’t wake Firestar. I know, I know, we’re not supposed to go up there, but it will give you a surge of energy and keep you going. When I kept my warrior’s vigil, back in the old forest, I climbed onto the Highrock in the middle of the night and it was amazing. The camp looked so tiny!

And I thought about how brilliant it would feel to summon all the cats just by calling them together… Don’t look at me like that; you know I’d never have done something like that. Honestly.

Even if you don’t go up to the Highledge, make sure you stand up and stretch every so often, otherwise you’ll feel like you’ve turned into a lump of stone. A little game of mouse-chase won’t offend the ancestors if it gets really cold. Just don’t send it flying too close to the nursery, like I did, or you’ll wake every kit. They can hear a game going on even when they’re fast asleep! Trust me, the queens won’t thank you for that.

If you hear or see anything suspicious, call out, “Who’s there?” Even if it’s just a cat coming back from the dirtplace, better to be safe than sorry. After all, tonight you’re in charge! The safety of the whole Clan depends on you! Sorry, I’m really not trying to worry you. Let’s hope nothing does happen, because after all you’re not supposed to make any noise during the vigil. Unless there is a raid, in which case you must wake Firestar first, then the warriors. Don’t investigate anything on your own; it’s too risky. Obviously you’re allowed to call for help if you need it. And you can drink if you get thirsty, but you mustn’t eat. Your old mentor will come and tell you when the vigil is over, once the sun is up.

So, does all that sound okay? I haven’t scared you, have I?

Good luck! May StarClan watch over you!

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