Dark River

Chapter 8

“I name you Lionclaw, warrior of DarkClan!”

Lionpaw flexed his claws as Heatherpaw called down to him from the highest ledge in the cave. Moonlight, streaming through the gap in the roof, fell silver on her pelt.

She leaped down and touched her nose to his. “Congratulations.”

Lionpaw’s fur tingled.

“But first”—Heatherpaw’s blue eyes flashed in the half-light—“you have to prove yourself a warrior by outrunning me.”

“That’s not fair!” Lionpaw flicked his tail. “WindClan cats are really fast; everyone knows that.”

“If you want to be a DarkClan warrior, you’ve got to be as fast as me.”

“In that case”—Lionpaw launched himself at her, stretching his paws around her to soften her fall, but pinning her to the ground—“you’ve got to prove you’re as strong as me!”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You didn’t warn me!” she mewed.

“The leader of DarkClan must be prepared for anything.”

“Like this?” She slithered from his grasp, darted behind him as fast as a blink, and grabbed his tail gently but firmly between her teeth.

“Hey!” he yelped, trying to reach around and swipe her away. She dodged and he found himself swiping at thin air, his tail still held firm. He twisted the other way, trying to reach her, but she dodged again. He could hear a rumbling in her throat and her whiskers were twitching.

She let go. “You looked so funny flapping your paws around! Like a fledgling just out of the nest!”

Lionpaw stared at her, happiness welling in his chest. Just the sight of her blue eyes and soft fur made warmth surge beneath his pelt. “I wish you were in ThunderClan.”

She shuddered. “Under all those trees and closed in by stone walls? No, thanks! Besides,” she went on, “we don’t need to live in the same Clan when we’ve got this cave all to ourselves.” She reached out a paw and batted something from the fur behind his ear. “Just a burr.” She flicked it onto the ground.

“Thanks.”

Heatherpaw was right about the cave. Lionpaw knew he wouldn’t want to live on the moorland any more than she’d want to live in the forest. This cave was the perfect solution.

They’d been meeting here for half a moon now, and none of his Clanmates suspected a thing. Not even his nosy sister.

“I wonder where some of these other tunnels lead?”

Heatherpaw leaped over the river and began to sniff at one of the openings.

Lionpaw jumped after her. Dank, stale air seeped from the tunnel and he shivered.

“Do you think one leads into ShadowClan territory?”

Heatherpaw wondered.

The fur along Lionpaw’s spine lifted. “I hope not.”

“We could explore.”

Lionpaw backed away. “There’s no hurry. We have enough fun here.” He glanced around the cave. Getting here still made his paws quiver. There was something spooky about the tunnels and he was always relieved to find Heatherpaw waiting for him in the moonlit cave.

Heatherpaw’s eyes sparkled. “There might be all sorts of terrible creatures down there with big teeth and sharp claws—”

Lionpaw nudged her. “Shut up!”

She darted away. “Come on!” she called. “You still have to prove you’re a warrior!” She crossed the river with a graceful leap.

Lionpaw dived after her. As he landed, his hind paws slipped backward into the dark water. The splash echoed around the cave. Lionpaw’s heart lurched as he felt the strong tug of the current and he scrambled forward, shaking droplets from his paws.

“Careful,” Heatherpaw warned. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Lionpaw gulped at the thought of being dragged away into the tunnels by the river. Seeking comfort in Silverpelt, he glanced up at the gap in the roof. The sky outside was lightening. “We have to go.”

Heatherpaw sighed.

“Tomorrow night?” Lionpaw mewed hopefully.

“Can’t.” Heatherpaw wove around him, brushing her light tabby pelt against his. “I have a training assessment the day after. I don’t want to be too tired.”

“Okay.” Lionpaw shrugged; he understood. She had to put her Clan first. But he would still miss her.

“Bye.”

They hurried away, each to their separate tunnel. Lionpaw was relieved that he knew the path well enough now to be able to run all the way. Jaypaw would be surprised to know how fast his brother could race through the blackness, using only his whiskers to guide him. He burst from the entrance, relieved to smell fresh air once more.

This is my part of the forest! He wriggled happily under the brambles and pulled himself out the other side. The older warriors acted like they had created ThunderClan territory because they had brought the Clans to the lake, but Lionpaw knew that they hadn’t explored every paw step of it yet. The fact that he knew about the cave proved that there were still places left to find. It would be the young cats who would do that, who would make this land their own.

Through the leaves he could see that the star-studded sky was growing pale. He began to race through the forest. He had to get home before the camp woke.

“Greetings, Lionpaw.” A deep mew sounded in his ear and fur brushed his flank.

Lionpaw bristled with alarm. He glanced sideways and saw the faint outline of a cat keeping pace with him. Am I dreaming?

“We have been watching you.” The outline shimmered beside him—a huge tabby tom with amber eyes which shone in the half-light. The tom’s massive shoulders seemed strangely familiar.

Something brushed his other flank. Lionpaw turned, his heart pounding. Another shadowy cat was running beside him—a second tabby tom with ice-blue eyes, but the same massive shoulders.

“W-who are you?” he stammered.

“We are kin,” answered the amber-eyed tom.

Lionpaw glanced anxiously from one to the other. “Are you from StarClan?”

“We were warriors once,” the blue-eyed tom growled.

Lionpaw’s tail pricked. “T-Tigerstar? Hawkfrost?” Why had they come to him?

Hawkfrost stiffened, jerking his huge head around to stare away into the forest. “Someone’s coming,” he warned.

Lionpaw ducked behind a hazel tree.

Paw steps beat the forest floor—real, solid paw steps. As Lionpaw crouched, hardly daring to breathe, Spiderleg raced past, stirring the air so that it tugged at Lionpaw’s pelt. The long-limbed black tom bounded away, disappearing into a swath of ferns.

Lionpaw crept out from behind the hazel. “Tigerstar?” He glanced around. “Hawkfrost?”

The ghostly warriors had gone.

“Wait!” Lionpaw called in a whisper. “Come back.” He had to know why they had chosen to appear to him.

The ferns rustled where Spiderleg had disturbed them.

Then the forest fell silent, except for the call of the birds, heralding the dawn.

Lionpaw crept, yawning, through the dirtplace tunnel.

The camp lay in silence. Relief flooded his paws. Then guilt.

Away from Heatherpaw’s side he was suddenly aware how sneaky he was being. No cat was up. No sign of the dawn patrol preparing to leave yet. He shouldn’t feel so pleased that he’d be able to creep to his nest unnoticed and get some much-needed sleep. He scooted around the edge of the clearing, clinging to the shadows, then slipped into the apprentice den. Stepping lightly, he began to tiptoe toward his nest.

“Lionpaw?” Hollypaw lifted her head. “Is that you?”

Panic seared his paws, then irritation. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Where are you going?” she yawned.

Lionpaw hesitated. He couldn’t use the dirtplace excuse again. She’d think he was ill. “Dawn patrol,” he answered quickly.

Hazelpaw sat up groggily and blinked. “I thought I was doing that with Honeypaw?”

“I’m coming too,” Lionpaw mewed, “just for the experience.” His pelt burned. So many lies!

Hollypaw tucked her nose back under her paw. “Rather you than me,” she murmured.

“We’d better get a move on.” Hazelpaw prodded Honeypaw. “Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s time to go.”

Lionpaw glanced longingly at his nest, his paws as heavy as stones, but Hazelpaw was already brushing past him, leading the way out of the den. He padded after her, leaving Honeypaw stretching in her nest.

“You’re up early, Lionpaw.” Sandstorm, sitting by the entrance with Dustpelt, looked surprised to see him.

“I wanted to join the patrol,” Lionpaw mewed.

“Good for you.” Dustpelt looked up at the clear dawn sky.

“It’s going to be a great day for hunting. I think I’ll take Hazelpaw out again once we’ve checked the borders.”

Birds twittered noisily at the top of the ravine. Lionpaw stifled a yawn and stretched.

“Are you ready, Honeypaw?” Sandstorm asked. Her apprentice was stumbling from the den, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

Honeypaw nodded.

“Come on, then.” Sandstorm padded out of the camp.

Back out in the forest, Lionpaw gazed longingly at every patch of moss, wishing he could lie down and rest. He trotted after the patrol, trying not to trail too far behind as they followed the ShadowClan border, renewing the scent markers.

“All clear here,” Dustpelt meowed at last.

Great, now we can go home!

Sandstorm sniffed the air. “Let’s check the WindClan border.”

Lionpaw’s heart sank.

The patrol turned and headed back through the forest.

Lionpaw felt his eyes glazing with tiredness. Suddenly, a movement caught his eye. Far off through the trees, something was stirring.

Tigerstar! He scanned the forest, but it was only a fern flickering in the light breeze. Why had they come that morning?

Tigerstar had said they’d been watching him. They must know I’ve been meeting Heatherpaw. His paws tingled. Did they think he was doing something wrong? But they had warned him about Spiderleg. Perhaps they only wanted to help him. But why?

The patrol neared WindClan’s territory. A small gully marked the border, a stream trickling at the bottom between tangled ferns and brambles. Beyond it, the forest stretched farther before opening onto the moorland. Dustpelt stopped to mark a tree. Honeypaw clambered down into the gully for a drink, disappearing beneath thick brambles.

Hazelpaw stiffened. “Look!” she mewed, staring over the border.

Breezepaw and Harepaw were pelting toward the stream.

Ahead of them raced a squirrel, its tail bobbing. The WindClan apprentices weaved skillfully through the thick undergrowth; it was strange to see them hunting in woodland.

Dustpelt padded to Sandstorm’s side. “Why are they hunting here?”

“It is their territory,” Sandstorm pointed out

“But WindClan don’t eat squirrels!” Honeypaw had scrabbled up from the stream, alerted by Hazelpaw’s warning.

Dustpelt narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I thought they only hunted rabbits.”

Two more WindClan pelts appeared. Tornear and Whitetail were watching their apprentices from the edge of the moor.

“A hunting party so near to our border?” Dustpelt’s mew was sharp with suspicion.

“They’re still heading for us,” Hazelpaw warned.

Breezepaw and Harepaw pelted after the squirrel; their eyes were fixed on their quarry.

“They’re not slowing down,” Dustpelt warned.

“They won’t cross the border on purpose,” Sandstorm reassured him.

“But they might do it accidentally,” Dustpelt replied. “The stream’s hardly visible here.” He dropped into a crouch and crept to the edge of the gully, ducking behind the brambles that covered it.

Breezepaw’s and Harepaw’s pads thumped the ground as they hurtled nearer. They still weren’t slowing.

“Stop!” Dustpelt reared up and yowled across the stream at the WindClan apprentices.

Breezepaw and Harepaw skidded to a halt, their eyes wide with alarm. The squirrel leaped the gully and disappeared up a tall birch.

“What in StarClan’s name are you doing?” Tornear’s angry mew rang through the trees. The WindClan warrior broke into a run, racing down to the border with Whitetail on his heels.

“How dare you frighten our apprentices?” Tornear halted at the edge of the gully and glared at Dustpelt.

“They were about to cross the border!” Dustpelt arched his back aggressively.

“How do you know?” hissed Breezepaw.

“You weren’t even slowing down!” Dustpelt accused him.

“I’d have caught the squirrel in one more stride!”

Lionpaw curled his lip. “You were nowhere near it!”

Breezepaw bristled. “Was too!”

“Everyone knows WindClan can only catch rabbits!”

Lionpaw spat back. “ThunderClan are the best squirrel hunters.”

“Not anymore!” Harepaw squared his shoulders beside his denmate. “Every WindClan apprentice has special training in the woods so we don’t have to rely on rabbits anymore.”

Sandstorm’s eyes grew round. “Really? Why?”

Tornear turned his glittering gaze on her. “It’s none of your business!”

“Is it so you can invade our territory?” Dustpelt paced the borderline, lashing his tail.

Whitetail stepped forward, her ruffled fur smoothing.

“We have woodland in our territory,” she meowed evenly. “It makes sense to use it. And we don’t want to be dependent on one sort of prey anymore. The elders still speak of the hunger WindClan suffered when Twolegs started poisoning the rabbits before the Great Journey.”

That made sense. Lionpaw let his claws curve back into their sheaths. But it still felt odd to think of WindClan hunting ThunderClan prey.

Harepaw was nodding. “And there are sheep on the moorland now, with Twolegs and their dogs—”

Tornear silenced his apprentice by flicking his tail across his mouth. “That’s none of ThunderClan’s business either,” he snapped. “So long as we stay on our side of the border, we can hunt what we like.”

“But squirrels don’t know about the border. They cross over it. You’d be eating our prey.”

“If it’s on WindClan territory it becomes our prey!”

Tornear snapped.

“Squirrels have always been ThunderClan prey!” Dustpelt stopped pacing and let the fur stand up on his neck.

“Is that part of the warrior code?” sneered Tornear. He took a step forward, his eyes glittering.

Dustpelt dropped into a crouch, ready to spring. Blood pounded in Lionpaw’s ears. He unsheathed his claws again; his tiredness forgotten, he was more than ready to show these pushy WindClan cats what happened to warriors who dare invade ThunderClan’s hunting grounds.

“Leave it,” Whitetail murmured to her Clanmate. “This isn’t worth losing fur over.”

Tornear dragged his gaze from Dustpelt and looked at Whitetail. Lionpaw held his breath, then Tornear nodded.

“Okay. For now.”

Dustpelt watched through narrowed eyes as the WindClan cats turned and padded away along the border, deliberately not hurrying.

“Come on.” Sandstorm flicked her tail toward home.

Dustpelt didn’t move. “Not until they’ve left the trees.”

Sandstorm sat down and began to wash her face. “You three may as well see if you can find any prey to take back while we’re waiting.”

Lionpaw reluctantly stopped watching the dawdling WindClan patrol and followed Honeypaw and Hazelpaw over to a patch of brambles.

“Do you think WindClan are planning to invade?” Hazelpaw whispered.

Honeypaw’s eyes stretched wide. “What makes you think that?”

“Chasing squirrels is what forest cats do. But they’re moorland cats,” Hazelpaw mewed. “It’s a bit suspicious.”

“Well, Dustpelt’s acting like they are,” Lionpaw commented.

Honeypaw glanced back over her shoulder. “But why would they want to take our territory?”

“Perhaps the Twolegs and their dogs are more of a problem for WindClan than we realized,” Lionpaw suggested.

“They coped with it last newleaf,” Hazelpaw pointed out.

Foreboding clawed at Lionpaw’s belly. “It might be worse this time.”

“Anything to report?” Firestar called down from Highledge as the dawn patrol padded into camp.

“WindClan are hunting in the forest,” Dustpelt answered.

“In our forest?” Firestar leaped down from the ledge.

Lionpaw padded quickly to the fresh-kill pile and dropped the mouse he had caught, then hurried back to join Dustpelt. He was ready to defend his Clan’s prey from any marauding WindClan cats, but what if one of those cats was Heatherpaw?

“Lionpaw!” Hollypaw stopped him halfway. “What’s going on?”

Jaypaw was with her; his ears pricked with interest.

“WindClan were at the border,” Lionpaw explained. He glanced at the patrol.

The ThunderClan leader had reached Dustpelt and Sandstorm. He was lashing his tail, clearly disturbed by Dustpelt’s news.

“They haven’t crossed the border,” Sandstorm explained.

The tip of Dustpelt’s tail twitched. “They almost did.”

Brambleclaw emerged from the warriors’ den. “What’s going on?”

“Two WindClan apprentices near our border,” Sandstorm meowed. “They were chasing a squirrel and nearly crossed the stream by mistake.”

Hollypaw bristled. “A squirrel!”

“They should have known better,” Dustpelt growled.

“Unless they’re so used to crossing the stream by mistake they don’t notice anymore.”

“There was no scent of WindClan in our territory,” Sandstorm reminded him.

“But why is WindClan chasing squirrels?” Brambleclaw demanded. “They hunt rabbit.”

Hollypaw hissed into Lionpaw’s ear, “Exactly!”

“Not anymore.” Hazelpaw kneaded the ground.

“Breezepaw said that all the WindClan apprentices are being trained to hunt in woodland now.”

Brambleclaw stiffened. “We must re-mark the borders!” he meowed.

“We’ve already done that,” Dustpelt told him.

Sandstorm sat down. “Let’s not make a big thing about this. It was just two young cats—”

Dustpelt cut her off. “Hunting our prey!”

“We should be on our guard,” Brambleclaw advised. “It needs to be reported at the next Gathering.”

Firestar plucked at the ground. “Did any WindClan cats cross the border?”

“No,” Sandstorm replied.

“And there was definitely no scent of WindClan cats on our side of the stream?” Firestar pressed.

“None.”

Dustpelt snorted. “The rain might have washed it clean.”

“Or they’ve never crossed the border,” Firestar pointed out. “I can’t tell WindClan what to hunt on their own territory.” He turned away. “We’ll leave it for now and see what happens.”

Jaypaw narrowed his eyes. “Not again!” he muttered.

Lionpaw glanced at his brother. “What do you mean?”

“Firestar didn’t want to help RiverClan either,” Hollypaw explained. “Even though Jaypaw dreamed they were in trouble.”

“How are the Clans going to respect us if we never do anything?” Jaypaw complained.

Lionpaw frowned. “Does it matter? So long as none of them cross our borders.”

“But there must be balance,” Hollypaw protested. “If one Clan is too weak, we should help them; if one is too strong, we must react so we look strong as well.”

Jaypaw scowled. “I don’t know about balance,” he mewed.

“It just seems like Firestar’s wasted another chance to make ThunderClan look as if we can take care of ourselves.”

Flicking his tail, he padded away.

Hollypaw stared after him. “What do you think, Lionpaw?”

Lionpaw stiffened, suddenly picturing Heatherpaw chasing a squirrel toward the ThunderClan border. Was Hollypaw wondering the same? “What do I think about what?” he stalled.

“Should Firestar challenge WindClan at the next Gathering?” Hollypaw tipped her head to one side. Her clear green gaze was curious. Lionpaw shifted his paws, uncertain what to think about his leader’s decision. If Firestar ignored every problem, ThunderClan might look weak. But the thought of fighting WindClan made his stomach churn. How could he go on meeting Heatherpaw if their Clans were at war?

Suddenly, a breeze ruffled his fur and a voice murmured in his ear. Be honest, Lionpaw. Don’t be afraid of the things you desire. You know what you think.

Lionpaw’s belly twisted with guilt, but Tigerstar was right.

He knew exactly what he thought. A battle with WindClan was the last thing he wanted.

“We should leave WindClan alone,” he mewed.