Legends Of The Clans

DEDICATION

For Susi Plattner—Clanmate, friend, and Warriors expert

Special thanks to Victoria Holmes

Allegiances

THUNDERCLAN LEADER OAKSTAR—sturdy brown tom with amber eyes DEPUTY DOEFEATHER—pale fawn-and-white she-cat with amber eyes APPRENTICE, DAISYPAW MEDICINE CAT CLOUDBERRY—long-furred white she-cat with yellow eyes WARRIORS (toms and she-cats without kits) MISTPELT—thick-furred gray she-cat with green eyes APPRENTICE, PINEPAW NETTLEBREEZE—ginger tom APPRENTICE, FLASHPAW SWEETBRIAR—light brown tabby she-cat with white paws MUMBLEFOOT—brown tom with amber eyes FLAMENOSE—ginger tom with amber eyes LARKSONG—tortoiseshell she-cat, pale green eyes ROOKTAIL—black tom with blue eyes WINDFLIGHT—gray tabby tom with pale green eyes HAREPOUNCE—light brown she-cat with yellow eyes SQUIRRELWHISKER—brown tabby she-cat with amber eyes APPRENTICE, LITTLEPAW HOLLYPELT—black she-cat with green eyes RAINFUR—speckled ginger-and-white she-cat with amber eyes STAGLEAP—gray tabby tom with amber eyes FALLOWSONG—light brown she-cat DAPPLETAIL—tortoiseshell she-cat with a lovely dappled coat APPRENTICES (more than six moons old, in training to become warriors) FLASHPAW—dark ginger she-cat with a white muzzle DAISYPAW—gray-and-white she-cat with yellow eyes PINEPAW—red-brown tom with green eyes LITTLEPAW—black-and-white tom with blue eyes ELDERS (former warriors and queens, now retired) DEERDAPPLE—silver-and-black tabby she-cat SEEDPELT—gray she-cat BLOOMHEART—gray tabby tom THRUSHTALON—light brown tabby tom

Maps

Chapter One

“And this, young Pinepaw, is Twolegplace!” Mistpelt pointed with her tail to the tall wooden fence that ran along the edge of the trees.

Pinepaw tipped back his head to look at the top of the fence. It stretched away on either side of him, all the way to the ends of the forest. “Did the Twolegs build the fence to keep us out?” he asked.

Mistpelt purred with amusement. “We’re not that scary! I think they wanted to mark their border, just as we mark ours, but they’re too lazy to send out patrols. Just like any other Clan border, you must remember that we are not welcome on the other side.” The warrior’s eyes gleamed, startlingly green against her pale gray fur. “That’s not to say we can’t have a poke around over there when we wish, though. It’s nothing like the forest, that’s for sure!”

She started to pad away along the edge of the trees, her belly fur brushing the long grass. The scents of greenleaf hung heavy in the air and the breeze tasted of pollen and sap.

Pinepaw stayed where he was, trying to imagine what could be so different on the other side of the fence. Were the trees a different color? What sort of dens did Twolegs live in? He spotted a small hole in the fence, just at the level of his ears. He crept up to it and peered through.

A huge yellow eye glared back at him. Pinepaw squealed and leaped backward. There was a mad scrabble of claws and a deafening rattle of wood as Mistpelt hurtled up the fence and balanced on the top, arching her back and screeching.

“Leave my apprentice alone, you mangy furball! Too frightened to come over here and face us, aren’t you? Go back to your Twolegs, fox-brain!”

She jumped down again and nodded to Pinepaw. “Nothing but a fat old kittypet,” she meowed, sounding rather out of breath. She dipped her head to lick the fur on her chest. “You’ll chase them off yourself next time.”

Pinepaw glanced nervously back at the hole. Was the kittypet still watching him? He was sure he’d have bad dreams about monstrous eyes peering through holes for the rest of his life. He kept close to Mistpelt’s flank as she padded away, resisting the urge to glance back and see if they were being tracked.

“I don’t mind if I never see a kittypet again,” he muttered.

Mistpelt purred. “Oh you will, but they won’t frighten you. Their teeth and claws are as blunt as stones, and they’re all scared of their own shadow!” She nodded toward a thick swath of brambles that blocked their path. “Beyond that is the Thunderpath. Can you hear it?”

Pinepaw paused to listen to the steady growl of monsters rumbling past. They didn’t seem as alarming as the kittypet because he knew they never left the hard black stone. The biggest danger here was encountering trespassing warriors from ShadowClan, who lived on the other side. Mistpelt led him into the prickly brambles and Pinepaw peeked out at the blurred shapes of monsters rushing past. A stench-filled, warm wind buffeted his fur and he shrank back, trying not to gag.

“We won’t go any closer than this,” Mistpelt warned. “You’ll learn how to cross the Thunderpath when you go to the Moonstone, but that won’t be for a while.”

Pinepaw felt a prickle of excitement beneath his fur. His whole life seemed to be rolling out before him, as clearly as if he were gazing down at it from the top of a tree. This was only his first day as an apprentice, and already he had encountered kittypets and monsters! He wondered if they would come across the other apprentices, who were all out training with their mentors. Pinepaw was used to being alone, as he didn’t have any littermates, but he was looking forward to training with the others, and trying out for real the battle moves he had attempted as a kit.

He followed his mentor along the territory border, a few tail-lengths from the rumbling Thunderpath. The gritty scent of the monsters clung to every leaf and blade of grass, and Pinepaw wasn’t looking forward to cleaning it off his fur later. Ahead of him, Mistpelt halted abruptly, her ears pricked. Pinepaw could see flashes of bright orange between the trees, and throaty Twoleg bellows cut through the growl of monsters.

“We’ll have to go around them,” Mistpelt whispered. “I don’t think they’d be interested in us, but let’s not take any risks.” She crouched down and crawled into the bracken, away from the Thunderpath and the cluster of Twolegs who stood at the edge. Pinepaw hung back, trying to peer through the trunks to see what they were doing. They all had shiny orange pelts and hard white heads that reflected the sun. Two of them were standing in a muddy hole at the edge of the Thunderpath, and another was prodding the ground with a stick.

“Come on!” Mistpelt hissed in Pinepaw’s ear, making him jump. He’d been so busy watching the Twolegs, he hadn’t heard his mentor return. “What are you waiting for?”

“I was trying to see what they’re up to,” Pinepaw whispered back.

“Curious apprentices get their noses bitten,” Mistpelt teased. “Oakstar sent a patrol out here last night. It looks like the Twolegs are digging a tunnel under the Thunderpath, where it gets very boggy.”

“Cool!” breathed Pinepaw.

His mentor looked at him. “Hardly. We don’t want to make it easy for ShadowClan to wander into our territory, do we?” Her tone was dry, and Pinepaw ducked his head, feeling foolish.

They pushed through the bracken and headed away from the Thunderpath. Pinepaw’s legs were aching and his pads were stinging from thorns and stones. He had never walked so far in his life! He didn’t know how patrols managed to go all around the territory every single day. The noise of the Thunderpath faded away, and soon Pinepaw could hear the gentle splash of running water.

The river! He had heard so much about it and tried so hard to picture it. He burst out of the ferns and stood on the shore. It’s like a watery Thunderpath, he thought, feeling slightly disappointed. From the way the elders talked about it, the river seemed like a terrible place, waiting to suck young cats under the surface. The fact that RiverClan warriors liked to swim just made them more sinister and terrifying.

Mistpelt padded past him over the crunchy stones. “Come dip your paws!” she called as she stepped delicately into the water.

Pinepaw backed away, imagining the water lapping hungrily at his belly, dragging him off his feet. “I’m okay, thanks,” he mewed. He stared across the river to the willow trees on the other side. Their leaves shimmered gray and silver in the breeze, and the reeds beneath them whispered. Were they being watched by RiverClan cats? Pinepaw shuddered. He didn’t want to meet any of those fish-breaths today. Not before he’d learned how to fight properly.

Mistpelt returned, shaking droplets from each paw in turn. “Let’s head back,” she meowed.

“Really? I’ve seen the whole territory?” Pinepaw asked.

Mistpelt purred. “Well, most of the borders. We’ll leave everywhere else for another day.” She ducked into the ferns and picked up a tiny path, strongly scented with rabbit and something else, sharp and bitter. “That’s fox,” Mistpelt commented, noticing Pinepaw wrinkle his nose.

Pinepaw blinked. “Is it near?” he squeaked.

“No, this is an old scent.” Mistpelt picked up speed as the path widened, and suddenly Pinepaw realized he had seen these trees before, and smelled these exact scents… and there was the path at the top of the ravine that led down into ThunderClan’s camp. Home!

He followed his mentor down the stony path and pushed his way through the gorse into the clearing. Before he could catch his breath, a brown tabby she-cat with green eyes was nuzzling him, licking the fur on his back and purring.

“Well, what do you think?” Sweetbriar demanded. Before Pinepaw could reply, she turned to Mistpelt. “Was he good? Did he listen to you?”

Pinepaw wriggled free. “Of course I did!” he mewed. His mother was so embarrassing.

Mistpelt nodded. “He was a perfect apprentice.”

“Of course he was,” rumbled Oakstar, coming to join them. His dark brown fur gleamed in the sun, and his eyes were warm as he gazed at Pinepaw. “My son is going to be the finest warrior this Clan has ever known!”

Pinepaw straightened up. “I’ll try!” he promised.

“You must listen to everything Mistpelt tells you about training for battle. I want you to be ready to fight those mangy RiverClan cats!” Oakstar meowed. “They will not take another son from me!”

Pinepaw watched his father’s eyes cloud with sorrow. He had never known his half brother Birchface; he just knew that Birchface had died in a battle with RiverClan.

A cream-and-white she-cat joined them. “He might fight ShadowClan warriors before then,” she warned. “Those Twolegs will finish the tunnel soon, and ShadowClan will have direct access to our territory.”

Oakstar nodded. “You’re right, Doefeather, but I think they’ll turn back if we renew the scent markers there every day. Can you make sure the dawn patrols do that, please?”

Doefeather nodded. “Of course.”

There was a crackle of gorse and Flashpaw, Daisypaw, and Littlepaw burst into the camp, closely followed by their mentors.

“We just had a great battle practice!” Daisypaw mewed. Her gray-and-white fur was sticking up along her spine and there was a piece of bracken hanging from one ear.

Doefeather studied her. “You look as if you lost,” she pointed out.

“She did,” Daisypaw’s sister, Flashpaw, declared. “Littlepaw and me nearly squashed her!”

“Not necessarily a move to take into battle,” commented Littlepaw’s mentor, Squirrelwhisker. She nodded to Doefeather. “Your apprentice fought well, though. Very brave, even when the other two joined against her.”

Doefeather purred. “I’m glad to hear it. Thanks for taking her.”

Flashpaw’s mentor, Nettlebreeze, was drinking water from some soaked moss at the side of the clearing. Swallowing, he turned to Pinepaw. “How was your first walk around the territory?”

“Amazing!” Pinepaw mewed. “I saw a kittypet and some Twolegs!”

“Ooh, scary,” teased Daisypaw.

“He did very well,” Mistpelt meowed. “In fact, I think he can join your practice tomorrow to help Daisypaw out. What do you think, Squirrelwhisker?”

The brown tabby warrior dipped her head. “We’d be honored to have you with us, Pinepaw and Mistpelt.”

Pinepaw bounced on his toes. Being an apprentice was the best thing ever!

Crack! A twig snapped beneath Pinepaw’s foot and he stopped dead, holding his breath. Ahead of him, the blackbird was still pecking in the leaf mulch. He let out a sigh of relief. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Flashpaw mouth, Lucky! at him, and Pinepaw nodded. Just a few more steps and he’d be within pouncing range.

He had been an apprentice for almost one moon, and this was his fourth hunting patrol. He had caught something on every single patrol so far, and he wasn’t going to let that change now! He eased his weight onto his front paws and gathered his haunches beneath him in the hunter’s crouch.

“Sssshhhh!”

Pinepaw looked around. Who said that? Flashpaw had vanished and he seemed to be alone among the ferns.

“Get off my tail!” hissed a different voice. “Do you want to let the whole of ThunderClan know we’re here?”

Pinepaw froze. That wasn’t one of his Clanmates. Were they being invaded? He sniffed the air. This close to the Thunderpath, the scent of leaves and prey was mostly smothered by the stench of monsters, but today there was something else, the faintest hint of a cat scent that he hadn’t smelled before…

His pelt bristling along his spine, he prowled toward the bush where he had heard the voices. He had forgotten about the blackbird. It flew up with a squawk, and there was a flurry of movement among the brambles. Pinepaw glimpsed flashes of brown, gray, and orange fur, and the glint of unsheathed claws. He had lost his chance to creep up on them now.

“Intruders!” he yowled, spinning around and racing toward where he had left the rest of his patrol. “Come quick!”

Doefeather leaped out in front of him, her fur standing on end. A splash of blood on her muzzle showed she had just made a successful catch. “Where?” she demanded.

Pinepaw nodded over his shoulder. “In those brambles,” he panted.

“Wait here,” the deputy told him. She bounded toward the bush, letting out a screech. “ThunderClan warriors, to me!”

The undergrowth around Pinepaw came alive as Mistpelt, Squirrelwhisker, Daisypaw, and Littlepaw burst out. Mistpelt paused beside Pinepaw. “What’s going on?”

“We’re being invaded!” Pinepaw told her.

Squirrelwhisker sniffed the air and bared her teeth. “A ShadowClan patrol has come through that wretched tunnel! Come on, let’s chase them back where they came from!”

As she raced away with Littlepaw at her heels, Mistpelt mewed, “Pinepaw, go to the camp for more warriors!” Then she disappeared after her Clanmates.

Pinepaw was about to plunge into the bracken toward the camp when something struck him. He was sure he had only seen three or four cats among the brambles. That meant they were already outnumbered by the ThunderClan patrol. Rather than waste time by fetching more cats, why didn’t he join the others and give chase now, before the intruders got too far into the forest?

Whirling around, he set off after his mentor. A volley of yowls and hisses told him that the invaders had been confronted. Pinepaw launched himself through a dense thicket of elder and scrambled out on the other side. In a small clearing, the rest of his patrol faced four ShadowClan warriors. Their heads were lowered and their tails lashed from side to side. Pinepaw gaped at the moment, struck by how lean and strong the ShadowClan cats looked, how calm and ready for battle.

Then he looked at his own Clanmates, standing their ground with their fur bristling. He knew which side he wanted to fight on! He bounded over to stand beside Mistpelt, who hissed, “I told you to fetch help!”

“That would take too long. I can be of more use here!” Pinepaw whispered back. He sank his claws into the damp earth and ran through every battle move in his head.

Littlepaw touched him with the tip of his tail. “Fight alongside me,” he murmured. “We’ll cause more trouble if we stick together!”

Pinepaw nodded and shifted closer to the black-and-white tom.

“You want us to leave?” sneered one of the ShadowClan warriors, an orange-and-gray she-cat with mean amber eyes. “You’ll have to make us!”

“We will!” Doefeather retorted. She sprang at the intruder, clearing the gap with a single stride. At once the other ShadowClan cats rushed forward and the ThunderClan cats leaped to meet them.

Pinepaw and Littlepaw threw themselves at a light brown tom with a distinctive snaggletooth. Pinepaw clung onto the warrior’s neck while Littlepaw nipped his ears. The cat flung himself to the ground, dislodging Littlepaw, but Pinepaw held on, sinking his claws into the warrior’s fur. When the cat tried to roll over and crush him, Pinepaw sprang sideways, then jumped back onto the warrior’s shoulders as he scrambled to his paws.

“Nice move!” Littlepaw panted, ducking around to bite the ShadowClan cat’s tail. The warrior let out a yowl and staggered. Pinepaw took the opportunity to cuff his broad head, and the cat sank to his knees.

On the other side of the clearing, Mistpelt was snarling at a dark gray tom. Blood dripped from the she-cat’s ear, but her eyes were fierce as she lashed out at the intruder. He tried to step back but was blocked by a bramble; trapped, he could only duck as Mistpelt rained blows on his head.

“Go, Mistpelt!” yowled Pinepaw.

The orange-and-gray cat rolled away from Doefeather and stood up. “ShadowClan warriors, retreat!” she growled.

The fourth intruder, a gray-and-white she-cat, snapped at Daisypaw’s ears once more, and got clouted by Squirrelwhisker in return. Pinepaw braced himself for another attack, but the orange-and-gray warrior hissed, and as one, the ShadowClan warriors turned and sprinted away. Doefeather charged after them and the rest of the patrol fell in behind. In spite of his scratches and bruised paws, Pinepaw felt himself fly over the ground. We won!

They chased the intruders all the way to the tunnel under the Thunderpath, then stopped just beyond the churned-up earth and watched them flounder back into the damp-smelling hole.

“And stay out!” Doefeather screeched.

There was a rustle of bracken on the far side of the Thunderpath as the ShadowClan cats emerged, then silence. Even the Thunderpath was empty and quiet, save for the panting of the ThunderClan warriors.

Mistpelt nudged Pinepaw, and he looked up at her. “You fought well, youngster,” she mewed. “Your father will be very proud.”

Pinepaw felt his pelt grow hot with pride.

Doefeather nodded. “Good decision to stay with us,” she grunted. “Brave, too. We’ll make a leader of you yet, Pinepaw. Just wait and see.”

Chapter Two

“But Mapleshade hadn’t finished her revenge. She wasn’t going to rest until she had tortured every cat that she blamed for the death of her kits! She came back to ThunderClan looking for one cat in particular: poor, helpless Frecklewish.” Nettlebreeze lowered his voice and Pinepaw shivered. He had heard this story many times, all the apprentices had, but that didn’t stop them from begging Nettlebreeze to tell them the tale again.

“Tell us what happened when she found her!” begged Daisypaw, her yellow eyes huge. The skirmish with ShadowClan warriors had left her with a deep bite on her foreleg, so she had been staying in the medicine cat’s den for the last few days, but she would be back in training soon.

Nettlebreeze crouched down and let the fur rise along his spine. “Mapleshade found her, all right, patrolling by Snakerocks. Mapleshade forced her into a pile of stones where snakes were hiding, and one of them spat venom right in Frecklewish’s eye!”

He paused, screwing up his own eyes to show what Frecklewish would have looked like.

“Bloomheart found her,” Nettlebreeze went on, his voice growing husky with grief. “But there was nothing he could do. ThunderClan had no medicine cat then, because Mapleshade had killed Ravenwing without an apprentice to take over. Frecklewish died a few sunrises later, when the poison took hold of her from the inside.” He shook his head. “Perhaps that was a sign of mercy from StarClan. If she had survived, she would have been blind and driven mad by the horrors she had seen. If Mapleshade is not in the Place of No Stars, there is no justice!”

“No justice!” echoed the apprentices faintly, shaking their heads.

“Nettlebreeze, are you telling them about Mapleshade again?” Fallowsong pushed her way into the apprentices’ den, shaking raindrops from her fur. “For StarClan’s sake, stop! You keep giving them bad dreams!”

“No, he doesn’t,” Littlepaw protested.

Fallowsong tipped her head on one side. “My nest is just the other side of the den wall,” she pointed out. “I can hear you! Okay, Doefeather has sent most of your mentors to renew the border marks by the tunnel, so she has asked us to take you on a hunting patrol. We’ll try not to stumble across any intruders this time, okay?”

Pinepaw scrambled to his feet and followed the others out of the den. The rain had eased to a fine drizzle that clung to his fur and tickled his eyelashes. He blinked, then broke into a run so that he didn’t have to linger under the dripping gorse.

Fallowsong and Nettlebreeze took them to the pine trees near treecutplace. It was silent and shadowy under the brittle branches, and the cats didn’t say a word as they spread out, looking for prey. Pinepaw watched the other apprentices cover the needle-strewn ground and decided to head closer to Twolegplace in the hope of finding something in the long grass at the edge of the trees. He had patrolled along the fence several times now and never stopped to peek through the hole again. He wasn’t afraid of a lazy kittypet, he told himself. He just didn’t see any need to cross their path.

As he approached the edge of the forest, he saw the sharply pointed red roofs of the Twoleg dens. There was a chatter of high-pitched Twoleg voices, abruptly cut off by a thud, then a monster began rumbling, loud at first but fainter as it rolled away. Pinepaw swerved around a dripping dock leaf, letting the scents of the forest fill his muzzle. There was definitely a hint of prey—rabbit, possibly—and something else, mustier and almost hidden beneath the scent of rain-soaked leaves.

A fallen tree lay ahead, the ground around it sandy and bare of grass where the roots had disturbed the earth. Pinepaw crept toward it, pinpointing the scents to the roots that reached into the air above a deep, sandy hole. The air began to taste warm and furry. This is going to be a great catch! Pinepaw thought gleefully.

Suddenly there was an explosion from the trees beside him and a deafening screech of barking. Pinepaw spun around to see a fox snarling at the edge of the grass. Her russet-colored hackles were raised and drool dripped from her teeth. Behind him, he heard the faintest of yaps from beneath the roots of the tree, and his heart sank. He hadn’t been following the scent of prey. He had picked up the trail of some fox cubs!

The mother fox took a step closer, and now Pinepaw could smell her breath, meaty and hot and foul. Her eyes gleamed with fury and hunger. Pinepaw scanned the gap between the fox and the tree trunk. Could he make a run for it before she caught him? His heart pounded so hard that he couldn’t think clearly, and his legs trembled until it was an effort to stand upright.

The fox leaned forward, ready to strike. Pinepaw closed his eyes and braced himself. He knew he wasn’t fast enough to run away. He would have to hope that he could somehow fight his way out.

Just as the fox was about to leap, there was a thunder of paws along the fallen tree. A ginger-and-white shape flew down to land in front of Pinepaw. It was a cat, her fur fluffed up and her tail bristling.

“Get away from him!” the cat hissed. She lashed out with one forepaw, and sharp claws glinted briefly in the air. “Leave him alone!”

To Pinepaw’s astonishment, the fox lowered its muzzle and took a step back. Its ears flicked as if it was trying to work out what this fierce cat was saying.

“Get onto the fence,” the cat muttered to Pinepaw out of the side of her mouth. “Go on, now!”

Pinepaw turned and jumped onto the fallen tree. Without looking back, he raced along the trunk and leaped from there onto the Twoleg fence. It wobbled under his weight and for a moment he thought he would fall down into the grass to be snapped up by the fox… but then he dug in with his claws and found his balance and stood triumphantly on top of the fence. The ginger-and-white cat joined while the fox barked in frustration below.

“Ha!” jeered Pinepaw. “Can’t catch me!”

The ginger-and-white cat looked at him with cool blue eyes. “And you did what, exactly, to save yourself?” she meowed. “You would have been fed to those cubs if I hadn’t turned up in time.”

“You don’t know that,” Pinepaw argued, feeling his fur grow hot. “I’m a ThunderClan warrior! I know how to fight!”

“You should also know not to come between a fox and her cubs,” mewed the she-cat. “Clearly they aren’t training warriors properly these days.”

“Are you from another Clan?” Pinepaw asked, staring at her glossy fur.

The she-cat rolled her eyes. “What, and chase prey all over the place to catch my dinner every day? Don’t be ridiculous. I live here.” She nodded to the Twoleg den behind them.

Pinepaw gaped. “You’re… you’re a kittypet! But kittypets don’t know how to fight!”

The she-cat blinked. “You might have noticed that I didn’t fight that fox. I just scared it long enough to let you get away. We’re not all cowards, you know.” She stood up and kinked her tail over her back. “Especially if we have kits. Like that fox, we’d do anything to protect our young.” She padded lightly along the top of the fence. “Now, go back to your territory, and stay away from foxes! I won’t always be here to save you.”

She jumped down onto the bright green square of grass below the fence. Without looking back, she trotted to the Twoleg den and vanished through a little gap in the wall. Pinepaw studied the stretch of ground between the fence and the trees. There was no sign of the mother fox; he guessed it had gone into its den under the fallen tree. He leaped down, holding his breath when the fence rattled under his hind paws. He crouched in the long grass for a moment, but there was no movement, no fresh fox scent carried to him on the breeze, so he darted across the open ground to the safety of the pine trees.

His second encounter with a kittypet had been even more startling than the first. And much as he hated to admit it—and he certainly wasn’t going to tell Mistpelt or his denmates what had happened—he owed his life to that bold she-cat. Too late, he realized he hadn’t thanked her. And I’ll probably never see her again, he thought as he trotted through the trees toward the sound of his patrol.

Chapter Three

Pinepaw clenched his teeth and tried not to gag as he dabbed the moss soaked in mouse bile onto Seedpelt’s gray pelt. The stench made Pinepaw’s eyes water, but the elder didn’t seem to notice. Seedpelt grunted as the bile sank into the skin around the fat tick on her belly, and wriggled farther onto her back so that Pinepaw could apply the moss again.

Pinepaw wondered how long he could hold his breath before he keeled over. He couldn’t believe he had been an apprentice for nearly six moons, yet he still had to do the most disgusting jobs. If only there were younger apprentices to take over tick duties! He pressed down a little harder, and with the faintest pop, the tick jerked free from Seedpelt’s skin. Pinepaw knocked it to the ground and squashed it firmly.

“Thanks,” Seedpelt mewed, sitting up and licking the speck of blood left behind on her belly. “That feels much better.”

Pinepaw scooped up the moss with the dead tick inside it and headed toward the dirtplace tunnel. He was almost among the brambles when there was a thud of paws behind him as several cats burst into the clearing. Pinepaw dropped the bundle of moss and whirled around.

Mumblefoot stood in the center of the camp, his thick-furred brown flanks heaving. The rest of the border patrol crowded behind him, all breathless. “Kittypets!” Mumblefoot burst out.

Several cats around the clearing jumped to their paws. “Where? Here? Are we being attacked?”

Oakstar and Doefeather emerged from the leader’s den beneath Highrock. “What’s going on?” Oakstar demanded.

“Not here,” Mumblefoot panted. “But inside our territory, on this side of the fence.”

“I picked up their scent under the pine trees,” Windflight put in. “Farther in than they’ve ever come before.”

“They could be planning an invasion!” Hollypelt meowed, her black fur fluffed up and speckled with bits of fern from her race through the forest.

Littlepaw and Daisypaw joined Pinepaw. “Do you think kittypets would really be dumb enough to attack us?” whispered Littlepaw.

“I wish they would!” mewed Daisypaw, unsheathing her front claws. “I’d love to show them just how hard we fight!”

“I don’t think we’re in any great danger,” Oakstar meowed. “But we do need to remind those furballs that they aren’t welcome in our territory. It’s a sign that they’re getting much too bold if they’re coming all the way into treecutplace.” He looked around the clearing. “I think we should send a patrol into Twolegplace tonight to show them that we won’t tolerate this. What do you think, Doefeather?”

The Clan deputy nodded. “That’s an excellent idea.” She gestured with her tail to warriors dotted around the clearing. “I’ll lead it, and I want Rooktail, Harepounce, Mistpelt, and Squirrelwhisker to join me. We’ll take our apprentices, too.”

“What about me?” called Flashpaw. “You didn’t choose Nettlebreeze.”

“I think my days of chasing around Twolegplace are over,” grunted his mentor. “But you can join the patrol if you wish.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Rooktail offered, and Nettlebreeze nodded his thanks.

“We’ll leave at sunset,” Doefeather decided. “Warriors, take something from the fresh-kill pile and get some rest. Those of you who won’t be coming with me, please take over hunting duties for the rest of the day.”

There were quiet murmurs as the cats dispersed around the camp. Pinepaw joined the other apprentices at the end of the queue for the fresh-kill pile, behind the warriors.

“I’m too excited to eat!” Daisypaw confessed.

“But we’ll need our strength,” Littlepaw pointed out solemnly.

Pinepaw said nothing. He was eager to go over the fence and explore Twolegplace, but he wasn’t convinced that the kittypets were such a terrible threat. If they were really as lazy and well fed as his Clanmates said, surely they weren’t interested in stealing ThunderClan’s prey? And he couldn’t believe they’d find their way right to the camp, hidden in the ravine among bushes and trees.

Then he thought of the fierce kittypet who had chased away the fox all those moons ago, and he reminded himself that he shouldn’t underestimate any cat, not even those who lived with Twolegs.

The patrol set out toward Sunningrocks as the last rays of sun glowed above the trees. A three-quarter moon was already high in the pale sky, ready to cast enough silver light for the warriors to see clearly once they were outside familiar territory. Pinepaw felt his heart race as he pushed through the gorse with his denmates and scampered up to the top of the ravine. What would be waiting for them in Twolegplace?

“We’re not out to cause damage,” Doefeather warned over her shoulder as she led them at a brisk walk through the ferns. “Our plan is to find as many kittypets as we can and give them a good scare—claw their fur if they fight back, but there’s no need to shed blood unnecessarily. They just need to learn to respect the Clan cats, and stay out of our territory!”

The warriors around her nodded. “I’m happy to teach them a lesson they won’t forget,” muttered Harepounce, her light brown fur turning pale gray in the dusk.

Pinepaw had been out of the camp at night before—his journey to see the Moonstone had begun long before dawn, and they had been halfway across WindClan’s territory before the sun rose—but this was the first time he had set out to defend his Clan from enemies. He was surprised it was quiet even with so many cats walking together; hardly a pine needle cracked underpaw, and even the whispers stopped as they approached the edge of the trees.

Doefeather stopped below the fence and the warriors circled her. “I’ll take the lead,” the deputy whispered, her voice hardly louder than the breeze. “If I spot a kittypet, I’ll let you know. We’ll separate into groups to issue each warning. No need for all of us to terrorize one cat!”

There was a purr of amusement through the patrol, but Pinepaw was aware of tension crackling through the air like lightning. He flexed his legs in turn, preparing his muscles for battle moves, if only to strike fear into the too-bold kittypets.

Suddenly Doefeather was vanishing over the fence, her paws hardly seeming to touch the wood as she leaped to the top and disappeared down the other side. The patrol streamed after her and the fence creaked ominously under the weight of so many cats. Pinepaw jumped down to the short, soft grass and felt the others land around him, hardly visible in the shadows beneath a heavily scented tree. Doefeather trotted into the moonlight cast on the grass and the rest of the cats followed in silence, ears pricked and muzzles open to taste the air. They rounded the edge of the silent Twoleg den and entered a narrow gap between red stone walls, too high to jump up on. Doefeather picked up speed and they burst out onto a little Thunderpath, lined with sleeping monsters.

A pair of yellow eyes gleamed on the far side of the Thunderpath. Doefeather jerked her muzzle. “Rooktail, Harepounce, Flashpaw, off you go.”

The three cats bounded across the hard black stone and Pinepaw heard a thrum of paws as the kittypet tried to run away. Rooktail let out a screech and the warriors sped up, hurtling around a corner with the kittypet yowling just ahead of them.

Doefeather nodded in satisfaction. “Come on,” she ordered the rest of the patrol. They followed the Thunderpath between the Twoleg dens, keeping to the shadows cast by the motionless monsters. Pinepaw felt his pelt crawl at being so close to the stinking silver beasts, and he prayed to StarClan that none of them suddenly woke up.

The soft rumble of a mew drifted on the warm air, and Doefeather froze, her tail up in warning. Pinepaw strained his ears and picked up the sounds of two cats talking quietly beyond a low gray wall. Doefeather pointed to him and Mistpelt. “You can take those. Squirrelwhisker, you go with them. Daisypaw and Littlepaw, stay with me.”

Mistpelt nodded and set off toward the wall at a run. Pinepaw followed with Squirrelwhisker at his heels. Watch out, kittypets! Here comes ThunderClan!

They bounded over the wall and crouched down among the shadows. Two shapes were outlined in moonlight on the far side of a stretch of pale stones. “We’ll make too much noise if we approach them directly,” Mistpelt whispered. “Get back on the wall and see if we can follow it around.”

They jumped onto the wall and padded along it, crouching low to avoid making too large a silhouette. Pinepaw concentrated on keeping his balance low and steady, even though his heart was pounding hard enough to make him out of breath. They passed a deep shadow between the wall and a much smaller den made of wood. Mistpelt hesitated, pricking her ears.

“I think I hear something down here. Pinepaw, check it out.”

Pinepaw gulped. On my own? Then he told himself that he was very nearly a warrior, and if Mistpelt trusted him, he wasn’t going to argue. As the others continued along the wall, he sprang down into the shadow. It was almost pitch black down here, and he blinked hard to force his eyes to adjust. A pair of eyes shone out of the darkness and the scent of several cats reached Pinepaw, making his fur stand on end. He crouched down, ready to leap at the kittypets and give them a demonstration of how ThunderClan warriors were brave and ready to fight.

Before he could move, a paw lashed out at him, almost taking off his whiskers. Pinepaw found himself face-to-face with a furious she-cat, her teeth bared and her claws glinting in the moonlight.

“It’s you!” he gasped. This was the cat who had faced down the mother fox. In all of Twolegplace, Pinepaw had found her—this time as an enemy.

“Get away from here!” the she-cat snarled.

Pinepaw bristled. “Don’t tell me what to do, kittypet! I’m a ThunderClan cat!”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” hissed the she-cat.

Pinepaw braced himself for a full strike with his front paws. Then he caught a different scent, one that he had smelled a long time ago, soft and milky and filled with tender memories. There are kits here!

He looked at the she-cat and saw the same fury that had been in the eyes of the fox. This cat was frightened of nothing, not when she had her kits to protect. And did she really deserve to be attacked, after she had saved his life? Pinepaw took a step back and forced his fur to lie down.

“It’s okay,” he mewed. “Your babies are safe. I’m not going to hurt them.”

“I wasn’t going to let you,” growled the she-cat.

“I know you weren’t,” Pinepaw mewed hastily. He didn’t want this cat to think she needed to prove a point.

Beyond the walls that sheltered them, the air was split with yowls and screeches and thudding paws as the ThunderClan cats rousted and startled kittypets.

The she-cat’s eyes grew huge. “What’s going on?”

Pinepaw glanced over his shoulder. “I… er… we came to teach a lesson to the kittypets who’ve been straying into our territory.”

“A lesson in what? That we aren’t safe in our own homes?”

“No, that you’re not welcome in ours.”

The she-cat harrumphed. “Well, it wasn’t me. I’ve got more than enough to deal with here.”

As she spoke, three tiny faces peeked out from behind her. Above them, a sharp white light flicked on, and Pinepaw found himself staring at a ginger tom with the greenest eyes he had ever seen. He flinched at the sudden brightness. “What’s that?”

The she-cat shrugged. “My housefolk put a light on so I can find my way back at night.” She curled her tail around the kits. “Come on, little ones. It’s time for bed.” She started to usher the kits past Pinepaw. “Are you going to chase me into my house?” she teased.

Pinepaw shook his head. Suddenly there was a yowl above him, and a scrabble of paws.

“Pinepaw? Are you down there?” Mistpelt was standing on top of the wall, unable to see Pinepaw and the kittypets in the tiny gap.

The she-cat’s eyes stretched wide and her tail folded more closely around her kits. Pinepaw gave a tiny shake of his head. I won’t bring them to you, he promised silently.

“Just coming!” he called up to his mentor. “There’s nothing down here.” He stepped back and let the she-cat move into the shadow with her kits. She broke into a trot, her babies scampering behind her. Just before they vanished around the corner of their den, the ginger tom looked back at Pinepaw.

“Thank you!” mewed the tiny cat, and Pinepaw nodded.

“Are you stuck in something?” Mistpelt bellowed. “Where are you?”

Pinepaw whisked around and jumped up onto the wall. “I’m here, everything’s fine,” he panted.

Mistpelt twitched the tip of her tail. “While you’ve been hiding down there, the rest of us have chased off that pair of chattering kittypets. Doefeather is waiting for us on the Thunderpath, come on.”

Pinepaw followed his mentor at a run along the wall and joined the rest of the patrol in a patch of shadow cast by a huge, straight-backed monster. Doefeather looked around at her Clanmates and nodded. “A highly successful mission,” she declared with a purr. “Those kittypets have learned we won’t stand for trespassing!” She set off along the side of the den, following the path that led back to the fence. “Come on, let’s go tell Oakstar that our boundary is safe once more!”

The sun scorched Pinepaw’s red-brown pelt as he stood beneath Highrock with his head bowed. Oakstar stood over him, less than a mouse-length taller than Pinepaw at his shoulder. Pinepaw thought back to the days when his father had seemed to loom over him, bigger than a badger. I’m becoming more like him all the time, he thought. Perhaps I will follow in his paw steps one day and lead our Clan.

“The raid on Twolegplace was a success,” Oakstar declared, purrs rumbling in his chest. “It is easy to dismiss our kittypet neighbors as a flea-bite nuisance, rather than a real threat. But they are as capable of stealing our prey as any cat, and if we do not tolerate other Clans setting foot across our borders, we should not allow kittypets to trespass either.” He looked down at Pinepaw. “I am especially proud of the way my son acted during the raid. Mistpelt told me he worked alone, with all the bravery of a full warrior.”

Pinepaw tried not to squirm. How could he explain that he didn’t actually fight any kittypets; rather, he let them know he would leave them in peace as long as they didn’t try to interfere with the invasion.

Oakstar bent his head and touched his muzzle lightly to Pinepaw’s ear. “From this moment, you will be known as Pineheart,” he announced. “ThunderClan honors your courage in the invasion of Twolegplace, and your sense of strategy when under attack. May StarClan light your path, always.” He touched his muzzle to the top of Pineheart’s head and murmured, “I am so proud of you, my son.”

“Pineheart! Pineheart!”

Pineheart lifted his head to listen to his Clanmates as they cheered his new name. His future unrolled before him like a shining sunlit path. He had never felt more fortunate than at this moment, knowing how lucky he was to have been born in the forest, the son of a great leader, with the life of a warrior stretching ahead. No cat was more committed to his Clan, more grateful to StarClan, or more certain that his dying breath would be dedicated to keeping his territory and his Clanmates safe.

Chapter Four

Pineheart strode through the gorse tunnel and carried the dead squirrel across the clearing. Around him, the trees clattered their empty leaf-bare branches, and a cold wind lifted the fur along his spine. But there were tiny green buds appearing on the trees, and the mornings no longer dawned with frost that made clouds of the cats’ breath as they set out on patrol.

Pineheart thought he would never be happier to see the end of leaf-bare. He had been forced to watch his Clanmates starve around him as first floods then snow destroyed what little prey there was. Goosefeather’s idea of burying fresh-kill to preserve it had failed dismally when rain turned the clearing to mud and rotted the food before the cats could take a single mouthful. As the deputy of ThunderClan, Pineheart had felt painfully helpless, and as terrified as a kit.

Now Pineheart was aware of cats watching him and murmuring, the voices growing louder as the rest of his patrol entered the camp laden with prey. Look! Feast your eyes, then your bellies! Pineheart thought, unable to speak with his jaws full of fresh-kill. The hungry moons have passed!

He heard Larksong warning her kits to take tiny mouthfuls. “Don’t rush, or you’ll give yourself bellyache. Flamenose caught this squirrel just for you! You must thank your father when you have finished eating.”

Cloudberry took a piece of prey over to Mistpelt. “Your belly has been empty for so long, too much food will make you ill,” the medicine cat told the only surviving elder. “Why don’t we share this mouse that Mumblefoot brought?”

Mistpelt grunted in agreement, and Pineheart felt a pang of sorrow for his former mentor. She had watched her denmate Nettlebreeze starve to death, along with many others in the long, harsh leaf-bare. Pineheart knew his bones stuck out as much as his Clanmates’, and all the cats had added more moss to their nests because lying down was so uncomfortable.

But the weather had turned at last. The snow was melting so fast that every tree in the forest dripped like rainclouds. The air felt warmer, and there was a faint scent of greenness in the brittle undergrowth. Today was the first properly successful hunting patrol Pineheart had led since the previous leaf-fall, with every cat making a catch. The fresh-kill pile had returned, and he listened to his Clanmates’ paws squelching in the mud as they crowded around to take their share.

Pineheart didn’t add his squirrel to the pile. Instead he carried it straight to Highrock and brushed past the brambles to duck inside the leader’s den. He may have grown scrawny, but he was still one of the tallest cats in ThunderClan, and his ears brushed the roof of Doestar’s cave.

“Fresh squirrel, just for you!” he declared, setting it down in front of the cream-and-white she-cat. Curled in her nest, she blinked at him with clouded, unfocused eyes.

Cloudberry’s apprentice, Goosefeather, stood up. “Look what Pineheart brought!” he meowed. He nudged Doestar with one paw. “Come on, don’t you want to try it?”

Doestar turned her head away. “Put it on the fresh-kill pile,” she rasped.

Pineheart crouched beside her. “There is plenty of food to feed the Clan,” he told her. “I caught this for you.”

The leader shifted so that she was looking up at Pineheart. “The fresh-kill pile is full?”

Pineheart nodded. “Every cat on my patrol caught something. New-leaf is here, Doestar! Everything is going to be okay.” He pushed the squirrel closer and Doestar bent to take a bite. Goosefeather met Pineheart’s gaze over the leader’s head, and nodded in satisfaction.

Pineheart left Doestar eating and backed out of the cave. In the clearing, his Clanmates had gathered in little groups to share the fresh-kill. The pile had vanished, but Pineheart forced down the jolt of alarm in his belly. We will catch more tomorrow, he told himself. And the day after, and the day after that. ThunderClan does not have to starve anymore.

Mumblefoot padded alongside him and brushed his tail against Pineheart’s flank. “We did well today,” the old warrior murmured. “Thank StarClan that they have spared us.”

“Not all of us,” Pineheart mewed, looking through the leafless branches to the mounds of earth halfway up the ravine, beyond the walls of the camp. As well as Nettlebreeze, they had lost Harepounce, Stagleap, Hollypelt, and Flashnose; all starved to death in the bitter rains and endless, preyless leaf-bare moons.

A scuffle beside the apprentices’ den dragged Pineheart back to the present. Rabbitpaw and Moonpaw were squabbling over the ears of a rabbit. Pineheart trotted over and placed his paw on the contested scraps. Before the great hunger, prey ears would have been buried in the dirtplace or used as playthings for kits. Long moons of starvation had turned them into highly prized treats.

“Two ears, two of you,” he declared, pushing a scrap of skin and fur toward each apprentice. “And we are not starving anymore. There is plenty for every cat!”

The young cats blinked up at him, a faint spark of hope in their eyes. Moonpaw’s silver-gray pelt hung loosely over her ribs, and her tail was dirty and matted.

“No chores for the rest of the day,” Pineheart announced. “Stay here and clean yourselves up. We are warriors of ThunderClan, not homeless rogues.”

As he turned away, he saw Cloudberry watching him. The medicine cat was so frail that Pineheart could hardly believe she had survived the hunger. Somehow she had clung to life, eating bark and dry leaves with the rest of the Clan when prey had vanished altogether. And here she was, still caring for them all, still fussing over her Clanmates as if they were her kits.

Pineheart stopped alongside the medicine cat. “Is Doestar all right?” he asked quietly.

Cloudberry blinked. “She is weak, like all of us.”

“That’s not an answer,” Pineheart meowed. “I’m her deputy. I need to know if she is going to lose a life.”

Cloudberry sighed. “This is her last life, and she knows it. She refuses to tell me how she is feeling, but I think she is more ill than any cat realizes. Prepare to say good-bye, Pineheart. StarClan will gather her to them soon.”

Pineheart stared at the cat in alarm. “Her last life already? I… I had lost count.” He shook his head miserably. “She can’t leave us! I still have so much to learn before I become leader.”

“You’ll be fine,” Cloudberry meowed. “You are a brave and skillful warrior, just like your father was. ThunderClan deserves to be led by a cat like you.” She touched Pineheart’s flank with the tip of her tail. “Have faith.”

She limped away, her tail dragging in the mud. Pineheart headed back to the den below Highrock. Grief weighed in his belly like a stone, and he fought down the wave of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t become leader yet! It was too soon!

Doestar was dozing, but she stirred when Pineheart settled down beside her. “Pineheart?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” Pineheart replied. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Ah, no,” sighed Doestar. She wriggled deeper into her nest, which was lined with glossy black rook feathers. “Deerpaw was here just now. Did you see her?”

Pineheart froze. Deerpaw was Doestar’s littermate, who had died during her apprenticeship. Had she come to take her sister to StarClan? “I don’t see her now,” he mewed carefully.

“Good,” Doestar grunted. “She was bugging me to go somewhere, but I don’t feel like leaving my nest today. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go with her.”

Please don’t! Pineheart thought. I’m not ready to become leader! Stay until the Clan is fit and strong again!

“The apprentices hunted well today,” he meowed, changing the subject. “Heronpaw caught a pigeon all by himself.”

Doestar let out a creaky purr. “He was always fast, even as a kit.”

Pineheart felt a flash of relief that his leader had returned to the present.

“I shall make them all warriors tomorrow,” Doestar announced abruptly. “They have served their Clan well through the hungry moons, and we all deserve to celebrate our survival.” She sat up, her eyes clearer now, looking more like her old self.

Pineheart dipped his head. “That’s an excellent idea,” he purred.

The she-cat reached out and rested her paw on Pineheart’s foreleg. “I am so pleased that you will take care of ThunderClan after me,” she mewed. “It was an honor to serve your father, and I am only sorry that I won’t be here to watch you lead the Clan as well.”

“But that won’t be for a long time…” Pineheart started to object, but Doestar silenced him by gently pricking his leg with her claws.

“We’ve known each other too long to tell lies now,” she meowed. “I have reached my ninth life sooner than I expected, but ThunderClan will be safe with you. All of the Clans suffered this leaf-bare, but this only means they will want to prove their strength as soon as the warm weather returns. You must guard the borders fiercely, do you understand? Especially Sunningrocks. Your father never trusted RiverClan, remember.” Her eyes blazed in the dusky light.

“I promise we will not lose Sunningrocks,” Pineheart told her. “ThunderClan will be as strong as it ever was, even if we have to fight all of our enemies in turn to prove it.” His heart started to pound and he unsheathed his claws into the hard earth floor of the den as he imagined leading his Clanmates into battle to defend their territory and their honor.

Suddenly he realized that Doestar had slumped down into her nest, and her breath was coming in ragged gasps. “Doestar? Doestar, are you okay?” The she-cat stirred but didn’t sit up.

Cloudberry entered the den behind Pineheart. She was carrying a bundle of soaked moss, which she set down beside the leader’s nest. “She’s okay, just tired,” the medicine cat mewed. “Leave her be, now.”

Pineheart backed out of the den, unable to take his eyes from Doestar. Please don’t leave me yet! ThunderClan still needs you!

Chapter Five

Pineheart stared at Doestar’s body, slumped in the middle of the clearing. Cloudberry lay beside her, almost as still and silent as the dead leader. She had forbidden any other cat to come close, frightened that the sickness that had taken Doestar so swiftly at the end might be infectious. Pineheart thought back to the last conversation he had had with Doestar, two sunrises ago. Had she known Deerpaw would come for her again so soon? At least she had been strong enough to hold naming ceremonies for Moonflower, Poppydawn, Heronwing, and Rabbitleap yesterday. ThunderClan’s newest warriors crouched at the edge of the clearing now, their heads bowed in sorrow.

Cloudberry was speaking quietly to Goosefeather. Pineheart padded over to them, his paws feeling like stone. It was clear from Cloudberry’s hunched shoulders and dull, glazed expression that Goosefeather would be taking him to the Moonstone. “Shall we go?” Pineheart mewed. He looked back at Doestar again. “I never thought this would happen so soon. I don’t know if I’ll be half the leader she was.”

“Doestar will watch over you from StarClan,” meowed Goosefeather. “You’ll be fine.”

Pineheart felt a flare of hope in his chest. He had had little to do with Goosefeather, never imagining they would be leading the Clan together so soon. “Really? Have you had a vision?”

Goosefeather nodded, but didn’t say anything more. “Come, we have a long journey ahead of us,” he meowed, and headed for the gorse tunnel.

Pineheart had traveled to the Moonstone before, but this time it felt very different. The cavern beneath the ground was as cold as ice, and the Moonstone glittered so brightly that it hurt his eyes. He screwed them up, and when he opened them he was standing in a sunlit forest, his fur lifted by a prey-scented breeze and the sound of birdsong in his ears. Goosefeather stood a little way off, his gray pelt dappled with shade.

“You came!” cried Doestar, trotting over the grass to meet him. The white patches on her pelt gleamed, and she looked strong and full-fed once more.

Pineheart dipped his head. “Of course,” he murmured. Hardly daring to move, he looked out of the corner of his eye and saw more cats stepping from the trees. This is it! he thought. I am becoming the leader of ThunderClan!

“I give you a life for survival, for rebuilding your strength after great hardship,” Doestar announced, resting her chin on his bowed head. A great force flowed through him, dazzled with sunlight, bursting with green leaves and rustling prey and the deafening noise of forest life.

Then Doestar stepped back, and another cat approached. Pineheart felt his heart lift with joy at the sight of the broad-shouldered, glossy brown tom. Oakstar purred loudly. “I always knew you would be leader one day,” he meowed. “I give you a life for judgment, for knowing which path to follow, however hard it seems.” This time the force was sharper, more painful, stiffening Pineheart’s limbs and making him yelp. Then it passed, and his legs stopped trembling.

He was overjoyed to see his former Clanmates Hollypelt, Harepounce, and Stagleap once more. “We miss you so much!” he blurted out.

The StarClan cats nodded, their eyes filled with stars. They gave him lives for courage and loyalty, for knowing when to fight and when to choose peace.

Next came Pearnose, an ancient ThunderClan medicine cat. His life was dedicated to trusting the wisdom of the leader’s closest companion in protecting his Clanmates; Pineheart glanced at Goosefeather, watching from the trees, and nodded.

Two more lives came from cats so old that they were almost invisible against the soft green grass. A dark brown she-cat, Hawkfoot of WindClan, gave Pineheart the strength of a nursing queen when defending her young. As this life burned through his limbs, Pineheart thought of the kittypet in Twolegplace who had been ready to face all the warriors from the forest to protect her babies. Then an orange cat with huge paws and amber eyes approached.

“I am Thunderstar,” he murmured, so quietly that Pineheart could hardly hear. “Every leader faces difficult choices. And yours will be the most difficult of all. Know that whatever decision you make, you will have to carry it for the rest of your life. If you can do that, then it will be the right one.”

This life was different from the others, churning, toppling, dizzying, so that Pineheart felt as if he was being tumbled over and over, suspended in the air. When he felt his paws firmly on the ground again, he opened his eyes.

A long-legged gray tom with pale blue eyes stood in front of him. “My name is Morningstar,” he rasped. “I give you a life for compassion for weaker cats, in your own Clan and others. Now go back to your Clan, Pinestar. Lead them well.”

The ninth life blazed through Pinestar like icy fire, leaving him clearheaded and strangely calm. He looked around. The clearing was empty apart from Goosefeather, who was watching him closely.

“I received my nine lives!” Pinestar whispered.

The medicine cat said nothing. Pinestar felt a sudden longing to ask Goosefeather what his vision had been: Was ThunderClan going to rule the forest once more after the great hunger? What battles lay ahead, and which could be avoided? But Goosefeather was already walking away into the shadows beneath the trees, and Pinestar could do nothing more but hurry to catch up.

“You don’t have to go out on patrol now that you’re our leader,” teased a soft voice.

Pinestar paused just before entering the tunnel of gorse. Squirrelwhisker was lying outside the elders’ den, warming her belly fur in the sun.

“Mumblefoot sent out two hunting patrols, and the border patrol has only just returned,” she went on. “Do you think they might have missed something?”

Pinestar shook his head. “I just felt like stretching my legs, that’s all.” He had been leader for less than a quarter-moon and already he was feeling restless. He had less to do now than when he had been a warrior! Mumblefoot was proving an excellent choice as deputy, in spite of a few muttered comments about his age. Pinestar trusted him completely to organize the different patrols and duties, and he was well respected by the other cats. Pinestar knew he could join in with a patrol if he wanted, but he didn’t want his warriors to think he was interfering or trying to take on too many responsibilities at once.

“You’re welcome to come with me, Squirrelwhisker,” he meowed, but the elder shook her head.

“I was a warrior only a few sunrises ago,” she pointed out. “Let me enjoy the chance to lie in the sun, knowing that some other cat will catch my food!”

Pinestar purred with amusement and ducked into the gorse. He leaped up the ravine and plunged into the forest, losing himself to the scents of new growth and prey and soft, damp earth. New-leaf had fallen upon the forest almost overnight, and it was becoming hard to remember the empty, hungry days.

The sound of a patrol by Snakerocks prompted Pinestar to swerve toward the treecutplace. He didn’t want to be disturbed, not yet. He trotted over the needle-strewn earth below the pine trees and emerged from the trees into slanting rays of sunlight. The long wooden fence that edged Twolegplace felt warm as Pinestar settled himself against it, ready for a doze in blissful quiet before heading back to the camp.

He was just drifting off when the fence behind him rattled, and there was a sound of scrabbling paws above his head. He opened one eye and looked up to see a ginger cat staring down at him.

“What are you doing down there?” mewed the tom.

“Trying to sleep,” grunted Pinestar.

The fence creaked against his back as the cat jumped down into the long grass. Pinestar sat up.

“Are you one of the wild cats?” asked the tom. His fur was thick and shiny, striped in several shades of orange, and his eyes were a startling light green. In fact, there was something about them that stirred one of Pinestar’s long-forgotten memories.

“I’m from ThunderClan, yes,” mewed Pinestar. He decided not to mention that he was the leader of the Clan. He had a feeling this kittypet wouldn’t be impressed. Though his mother might be…

The tom was studying him closely with his head tilted to one side. “I think I’ve seen you before,” he announced at last.

“You’re right.” Pinestar was astonished that the cat remembered him, since he couldn’t have been more than a half-moon old when they met. “You were with your mother when ThunderClan came into Twolegplace.”

The kittypet wrinkled his nose. “What’s Twolegplace?”

Pinestar nodded toward the fence. “Over there, where you live.”

“That’s weird.” The tom rubbed his nose with a paw where a long strand of grass had tickled him. Then he looked at Pinestar, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “How come you’re talking to me? Are you supposed to chase me back over the fence and claw my ears to frighten me? That’s what the other cats say you do.”

Pinestar couldn’t help feeling a glow of pride at his Clanmates’ fearsome reputation. “I don’t think you are a threat to ThunderClan,” he meowed.

The young cat looked indignant. “I could be! You don’t know how good I am at catching mice and birds and squirrels!”

“Well, are you? Good at catching mice?”

The kittypet sat down with a thump. “Not really. But I did scare some rabbits once! They were inside a cage, and I sat on top of it all day until I got hungry. Then I had to go home.”

Pinestar tried to hide his amused purr at the thought of getting hungry within paw’s reach of some rabbits.

“My name’s Jake,” the kittypet mewed. He stood up and bobbed his head.

“I’m Pinestar,” replied Pinestar.

“Cool name,” purred Jake. “My mother is named Crystal, and my littermates are Ferris and Whiskers, but I don’t know where they live now.”

“I remember your mother well,” meowed Pinestar. “She saved my life once, did you know that?”

“Really? How?” Jake’s eyes stretched wide.

“I got between a mother fox and her cubs when I was just an apprentice. Your mother scared the fox just enough for me to get away.”

“She’s really brave,” Jake mewed proudly. “She doesn’t see so well now, and she has to eat special food which tastes disgusting. But she still scratches the dog if it gets too close!”

Pinestar purred. “I can imagine her doing that.” He stood up and flexed each leg in turn. “I must go back to the camp. Nice meeting you, Jake.”

“And you!” meowed the kittypet. “I’ll tell my friends that wild cats aren’t nearly as fierce as they think!”

“Some of us are,” Pinestar warned. “You certainly shouldn’t wander into the forest. You keep to your territory, and we’ll keep to ours, okay?”

“We’ll see about that!” called Jake as he scrambled back up the fence. “See you again, Pinestar!” He vanished over the top with a whisk of his ginger tail.

Pinestar shook his head. Kittypets were such strange creatures! All the strengths and skills of a Clan cat, but not remotely aware of what they could do. How could they lead such boring lives? What did they even do all day?

But he had enjoyed talking to Jake. It made a change from discussing patrols or borders or where to find the best source of prey. Perhaps he would see him again, just to pass the time. Shaking a loose blade of grass from his pelt, Pinestar turned away from the fence and trotted into the trees.

Chapter Six

Pinestar wrenched himself free from the WindClan warrior and felt his pelt rip. The black WindClan tom staggered sideways on his twisted paw but quickly recovered his balance and sprang at Pinestar again, teeth bared. Pinestar whirled to face him and reared up on his hind legs to strike at the cat with his front paws. He rained down blows, screwing up his eyes against the blood that spattered his muzzle and belly. The WindClan tom—Pinestar thought it was Deadfoot but in the scrum he could barely distinguish his own Clanmates—let out a yowl and streaked away, ears flattened.

Pinestar paused and looked around. He was halfway up the side of the hollow that sheltered WindClan’s camp. The shallow dip was alive with writhing cats and the air echoed with screeching. Just below him, Stormtail and Dappletail were fighting side by side against three WindClan cats, bravely holding their ground. On the far side of the camp, Swiftbreeze was dragging Leopardpaw to safety. The apprentice had a deep wound along her flank, and Pinestar could see Featherwhisker waiting for her just behind a boulder on the edge of the hollow.

This was not supposed to happen! Goosefeather said we could destroy WindClan’s supply of herbs to weaken them, but that no blood would be shed. How did I ever imagine that WindClan would allow us to attack their medicine stores?

There was a flash of movement outside the WindClan medicine den and Pinestar watched Moonflower and Stonepelt slip inside.

We’ve done it! Pinestar thought with relief. I will call my Clan to retreat.

But before he could open his mouth, two WindClan cats followed the ThunderClan warriors into the den. A heartbeat later, the WindClan medicine cat, Hawkheart, streaked across the blood-soaked clearing and crouched at the entrance, his tail lashing as if he was waiting for prey.

“Oh StarClan, no,” Pinestar whispered.

There was a terrible howl from inside the medicine cat’s den and Stonepelt scrambled out, blood pouring from a fresh wound on his shoulder. A WindClan warrior snarled at his heels. Then came Moonflower, her blue-gray fur stained green with herb juice. The second WindClan cat was chasing her, but he fell back as Hawkheart lunged at Moonflower, hurling the she-cat off her paws.

Pinestar bunched his hindquarters beneath him, ready to spring down and help his Clanmate, but Hawkheart was already springing onto Moonflower and sinking his teeth into her neck. Moonflower struggled free and clouted Hawkheart’s muzzle with her paw. Hawkheart shrugged her off as if she were nothing more than a fly. He snatched the ThunderClan she-cat by the throat and threw her across the grass. She landed with a wet thud, and lay still.

“Noooooooo!” A tiny wail pierced the air, and with a sinking heart, Pinestar stared across the camp to Bluepaw, Moonflower’s daughter, who was watching in horror from the top of the hollow. She had only been made an apprentice two sunrises ago. And now she is in the thick of battle, with her mother dying in front of her. Is this what StarClan had wanted when they spoke to Goosefeather about the WindClan herbs?

“ThunderClan, retreat!” Pinestar tipped back his head and yowled the order to the vast empty sky.

The clearing below fell silent, with only the howling rain and wind to remind Pinestar that he was still alive, still in this terrible place filled with blood and pain… and now death. Heatherstar padded up the slope to meet him. Her blue eyes were filled with rage.

“This attack was unjust,” she growled. “StarClan would never have let you win. Take your wounded and leave.”

I am so, so sorry. Pinestar knew there was nothing he could say. He dipped his head and turned away to join his Clanmates, who were gathering at the entrance to the camp. Each warrior stood with glazed eyes and drooping tail, blood staining their battered pelts. Behind them, the WindClan cats melted away, vanishing into their dens. One shape remained in the clearing, her fur flattened by the pelting rain. Pinestar watched numbly as Bluepaw stumbled over to her mother’s body and crouched beside it.

“Moonflower! Moonflower! It’s me, Bluepaw!”

But Moonflower didn’t respond. Pinestar couldn’t bear it any longer. He padded across the muddy, scarlet-streaked grass and looked down at the apprentice. “Bluepaw,” he prompted gently.

The little she-cat stared at him. “Why won’t she get up?”

“She’s dead, Bluepaw.”

“She can’t be.” Bluepaw put her tiny paws on Moonflower’s sodden flank and shook her. “She can’t be dead. We were fighting warriors, not rogues or loners. Warriors don’t kill without reason!”

How can I tell her that she is right? That the warrior code has been broken, and her mother is gone? We started this battle. This is all my fault.

“She tried to destroy our medicine supply,” came a low growl. Hawkheart had left his den and was crouched a fox-length away. “That was reason enough.”

“But StarClan told us to do it!” Bluepaw mewed. Her huge blue eyes burned into Pinestar’s. “We had no choice. They told us to, didn’t they? Goosefeather said so.”

Hawkheart let out a harsh huffing sound. “You risked so much on the word of Goosefeather?” He lashed his tail and stalked away, hunched against the rain.

“What does he mean?” Bluepaw whispered. She turned back to Moonflower and shoved her with her muzzle. The dead cat rocked limply in the shallow puddle that had formed around her. “Wake up!” Bluepaw pleaded. “It was all a mistake. You don’t have to be dead.”

Swiftbreeze stepped forward and pulled Bluepaw gently away. Pinestar bent down and picked up Moonflower by her scruff. He winced as her weight dragged on muscles already sore from fighting, but he forced himself to lift her clear of the puddle and carry her across the clearing to the rest of the ThunderClan warriors. He would take her all the way home for a warrior’s burial, then face the fury of his Clanmates as they realized he had led them into a terrible defeat.

“Was it really bad?” Jake asked. His green eyes were full of sympathy.

Pinestar nodded. “I thought Swiftbreeze was going to kill Goosefeather, she was so angry that Moonflower had died.”

“At least she blamed the right cat,” Jake commented. “It was Goosefeather who told you to attack WindClan, after all.”

“But I am the Clan leader!” Pinestar protested. He shifted his haunches so that he was sitting more comfortably on the short, soft grass. They had met behind Jake’s Twoleg den, in the shade of a bush with long, trailing branches and pale green leaves. “It was my decision to lead them into battle.”

Jake reached up and licked the cut on Pinestar’s ear. The blood had dried and was tugging at his fur. “You told me that a leader has to trust his medicine cat,” he murmured. “You may be leader, but you are still bound by the warrior code.”

Pinestar pictured Goosefeather, his gray hair ragged, his blue eyes glazed and wild. “I… I don’t know if I can trust him anymore,” he admitted, each word wrenched from his belly. “His prophecies are so strange now, and I’ve seen him watching me as if he knows something that I don’t. I’m scared that he has seen an omen about me which he isn’t sharing.”

“Perhaps an omen telling him that you won’t always listen to his nonsense?” purred Jake. He finished with Pinestar’s ear and started to knead the ThunderClan leader’s flanks with his paws, purring softly.

Pinestar stretched out flat and rested his cheek on the ground. It had been so easy for Pinestar to slip into the habit of visiting Jake every moon, then every half-moon, to talk about nothing much at all, to lie in the sun on the Twoleg-groomed grass, to watch birds fluttering without feeling the need to stalk them.

Jake was curious about life in the Clans, but not to the point of wanting to go over the fence into the forest. He was no threat to ThunderClan, even though he knew the deputy and medicine cat by name, knew where the weakest parts of the border were, and how Pinestar was concerned about the safety of new apprentices. Pinestar had mentioned a WindClan warrior, Talltail, from time to time, and the first question Jake had asked Pinestar today was whether he had seen the long-tailed black-and-white tom in the battle. Pinestar had assured him that Talltail had not been injured, as far as he knew.

Jake was not a Clanmate, but a friend. And Pinestar valued him as much as any of his warriors.

“I cannot ignore my medicine cat,” Pinestar meowed now, twisting so that Jake could give some attention to his other shoulder. “I cannot do anything but watch my Clanmates die,” he added quietly.

Jake paused and rested his muzzle on Pinestar’s back. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

“Ah, you help me plenty,” mewed Pinestar, sitting up. “There is no other cat I can talk to like this.”

“What about Leopardpaw?” Jake teased. “You’ve mentioned her often enough.”

“She’s a good apprentice,” Pinestar meowed a little defensively. “I’m going to make her a warrior soon. She was wounded in the battle, but she’s going to be okay, thank StarClan.”

Jake studied him with his head tilted on one side. “You care too much, Pinestar. You can’t save every one of your Clanmates from the dangers of the life you lead.”

“I wish I could,” whispered Pinestar, lying down and resting his head on his paws.

“Hey, Jake, I didn’t know you had a visitor!”

Pinestar lifted his head as a small brown tabby jumped down from the wall and trotted across the grass.

“I’m Shanty,” she mewed.

“This is Pinestar,” meowed Jake, standing up to touch muzzles with the she-cat.

Shanty tipped her head on one side and wrinkled her nose. “You’re not a kittypet.”

“No, I’m a Clan cat,” mewed Pinestar. “I live in the forest.”

“With the wild cats? Cool!” Shanty settled down beside them and curled her tail over her paws. She narrowed her eyes at Pinestar. “You look kind of battered. Are you okay?”

Pinestar twitched his ear. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

Shanty turned to Jake. “Did you hear about Tyr? His Twolegs left his door locked all night and he had to sleep in the shed!”

“Whoa! Tyr would not have liked that!” Jake snorted. “He’s a pedigree Burmese,” he explained to Pinestar.

“And never stops reminding us!” Shanty added with a sniff.

Pinestar knew he couldn’t tell a Burmese from a badger. He tried not to lean closer to sniff Shanty’s fur. The tabby was definitely a she-cat, but she smelled different from any Clan queen. Pinestar liked that she wasn’t afraid of him, or even particularly curious about life in the forest. On this side of the fence, Pinestar wanted to be treated like any other cat. A friend, not a strange and fearsome enemy. He trusted Jake as much as he did his Clanmates—and more than some of them.

Perhaps Shanty would become a friend, too. He settled back onto his belly and closed his eyes. The battle with WindClan, his injured Clanmates, the humiliation of defeat, all seemed a long way away as he listened to Shanty and Jake chatter about cats he didn’t know, and had no responsibility for.

Chapter Seven

“You’ve made the right choice there,” Smallear commented, flicking a midge off his pelt with his tail.

“Hmm? What?” Pinestar lifted his head. The sandy ground was warm beneath his shoulder, and he had been dozing off after a long hunting patrol.

Smallear gestured toward a mottled black she-cat who was nibbling on a starling outside the warriors’ den. “Leopardfoot, I mean,” he meowed. There was a glint in his eye. “Cats are starting to talk, you know.”

“I didn’t think you were one for listening to gossip,” Pinestar retorted. His fur felt hot. He did like Leopardfoot, and he had been spending time with her recently, but he didn’t want to make a statement to the entire Clan about it.

Smallear pricked his ears. “Then the rumors aren’t true? We won’t be hearing the patter of tiny paws in the nursery anytime soon?”

Pinestar stretched out and rolled over. “New kits are always a blessing,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to have this conversation with one of his warriors. Just because he was Clan leader, he wasn’t allowed any kind of private life? He told himself that he was feeling prickly because of Smallear’s curiosity—and not because he was waiting until the clearing was quiet enough for him to slip out and visit the Twolegplace again.

He opened his eyes a slit and watched Bluepaw and Snowpaw carefully dividing a squirrel between them. They deserved to be made warriors soon. They had been so brave since watching their mother die in the battle with WindClan. Pinestar shut his eyes and tried to ignore the wave of pain that swept through him. So many more battles since that day, so many vigils for fallen Clanmates…

He had fought alongside his warriors every time, plunging himself into the thickest action, losing more lives than he could keep count of. In fact, Goosefeather had reminded him recently that he had only two left, and had told him to take more care. Inside his mind, Pinestar shrugged. He had more lives to lay down than his Clanmates; why should he treat himself with any more care? Sunfall would make an excellent leader in his place; there would always be more Clan leaders, more battles to be fought and lives to be lost.

“Hey, Smallear!” Sweetpaw was calling to him from the tunnel of gorse. “You promised to take me battle training after sunhigh!” The white patches on the little cat’s pelt gleamed in the sun, and her tiny ears were pricked.

Smallear heaved himself to his paws. “StarClan save me from overenthusiastic apprentices,” he muttered, and Pinestar purred with amusement. For a moment he wondered if Leopardfoot would have his kits, and if she did, would he take one of them as his own apprentice.

And teach my own son or daughter how to attack and wound and frighten our enemies, for the sake of these invisible walls we have built around our home? Could I really do that, knowing I might have to watch them die in battle one day?

The clearing fell silent as cats headed out for patrols or training, or to take advantage of the cool forest while the sun was at its height. Pinestar stood up and walked over to the entrance. No cat called after him to ask where he was going, or whether he had any orders. He ducked through the gorse tunnel, raced up the side of the ravine, and plunged into the trees. He took a less direct route so that he avoided a hunting patrol led by Sunfall, entering treecutplace close to the Thunderpath instead. He trotted through the long grass at the foot of the wooden fence, enjoying the feeling of cool stalks brushing his belly fur.

When he drew level with a stunted pine tree that had a broken branch trailing on the ground, he scrambled up the fence and dropped down on the other side. There were no kittypets living here, but Pinestar had seen a pink-faced Twoleg watching him through one of the openings in the side of the den. He crossed the grass in two bounds, then leaped over the wall and ran along a narrow stone path. Nothing about this place resembled his home in the forest—not the scents in the air, the hard red dens, the rumble of monsters and shriek of young Twolegs—and yet it felt safe and familiar to Pinestar now. He avoided kittypets he hadn’t met yet, and he knew which dens had noisy dogs, but there was nothing here that frightened him. Monsters weren’t interested in him as long as he stayed out of their way; even Twolegs ignored him, except for the time he had stopped to make dirt beneath a bush and been chased off with a low yowl and waving pink paws.

He crossed over an empty Thunderpath and headed for a low, glossy-leaved hedge. As he passed, a small brown head popped out. “Pinestar!”

He stopped and looked back. “Hello, Shanty. Is this where you live?”

Shanty stepped out of the hedge. “Yes. Would you like to come and look around?”

Pinestar glanced along the Thunderpath. “I was on my way to see Jake.”

“He’s mooning over Quince today.” Shanty tipped her head on one side. “She lives by the main road. Have you met her?”

Pinestar shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m sure you’d like her,” Shanty mewed dryly. “All the toms seem to.” She turned back to the hedge.

“Wait!” Pinestar called. “I… I’d love to see where you live, if that’s okay.”

He squeezed into the hedge behind her and wriggled through the branches. The grass surrounding this den was soft and short and dazzlingly green like the rest of the grass in Twolegplace. There was a small round pool in the middle of the space with a spray of water splashing into it. Shanty beckoned to Pinestar with her tail and trotted over to the edge of the pool.

Following more cautiously so that he dodged the flying droplets, Pinestar crouched down and peered in. Two bright orange shapes glided just below the surface.

“Fish!” Pinestar exclaimed. “Can you catch them?”

Shanty shook her head. “I tried once, but I fell in. My housefolk had to rescue me.”

Pinestar reached out with one paw and dabbed at the water. With a flash of gold, the fish vanished among some thick green plants. “You need to make sure RiverClan doesn’t find these,” Pinestar joked.

But Shanty was already trotting away toward the side of the Twoleg den. Pinestar ran after her, his wet paw cool against the grass. They plunged into a welcome stretch of shade, then out into the sun again behind the den. The grass here stretched farther, still short and soft and bright, bright green. A clump of silver birch trees stood at the far end, casting dappled shade onto a heap of logs with ferns growing over them. Pinestar padded over and sniffed at the cool fronds.

Behind him, Shanty mewed, “I don’t like it over here. It’s too cold.”

Pinestar arched his back and brushed against one of the drooping ferns. “I think it’s peaceful,” he murmured. He could hear a faint monster grumbling far away, and two sparrows quarreling on the other side of the fence that surrounded Shanty’s territory. But the ferns blotted out most of the sound, and the birch leaves rustled in the breeze, reminding Pinestar of the forest.

There was a noise close by and Pinestar jumped. An opening had appeared in the side of the den and a Twoleg was coming out. Pinestar shrank back against the logs. Had it spotted him? Shanty ran across the grass and stretched up to rub her head against the Twoleg’s front paw. Pinestar forced his pelt to lie flat. This must be one of her housefolk. From the tone of the Twoleg’s voice, he was pretty sure it was a female. She had brown skin and black fur on her head, and although her white teeth were bared, she was making soothing sounds.

Shanty called to Pinestar, “Come on over. I think she’ll like you.”

Pinestar took two steps toward the Twoleg, then stopped. He could feel his heart pounding, and his mouth felt dry. The Twoleg stopped petting Shanty and crouched down on its haunches, staring at Pinestar. Now he could see that her eyes were a shade darker than her skin, and her long straight fur was as glossy as a RiverClan pelt. She reached her front paw toward Pinestar and made a noise a bit like a dove, low and cooing.

Pinestar took another step. He kept his ears pricked and his tail low. He was a ThunderClan warrior; he didn’t want to frighten the Twoleg into running away. Which one of us is the most scared? he wondered.

Shanty bounced on her paws. “Let her stroke you!” she mewed. “She won’t hurt you, I promise!”

Suddenly the Twoleg was right in front of him and Pinestar froze. He felt a warm, naked paw rest on his head. With a hiss, he ducked away. Too close!

Shanty twitched her tail. “I thought warriors were braver than that!”

The Twoleg leaned toward him again, making more cooing sounds. Pinestar forced himself to stay still. The Twoleg put her paw lightly on his head and brushed it along his fur, all the way to his tail. Pinestar blinked. It felt odd, but not unpleasant, like a very large, dry tongue licking him. The Twoleg stroked him again, then tickled him under his chin. Pinestar stepped away. That wasn’t so pleasant, and made him feel too vulnerable.

Shanty came over and stood beside him, her flank warm and fluffy against his pelt. “You’re being really brave,” she purred, with a hint of teasing in her voice. “She’s nice, isn’t she?”

The Twoleg stood up suddenly and Pinestar leaped backward. There was a low, gruff sound and another Twoleg appeared in the entrance to the den. This one was taller, with darker skin and a more powerful scent. Pinestar guessed it was a male. The female Twoleg pointed at Pinestar and yowled something. Pinestar flattened his ears. The territory was starting to feel small and crowded.

Shanty nudged him. “It’s okay. That’s my other housefolk. He can be a bit loud but he’s safe, I promise.”

Pinestar backed toward the ferns. “I think I’ve made enough new friends today,” he mewed, trying to sound light-hearted.

Shanty nodded. “I’m impressed.” Pinestar glanced at her, but she sounded sincere. “I wouldn’t go into the forest and hang out with the wild cats,” she went on.

“You’d be safe if you were with me,” Pinestar mewed, though in his mind he couldn’t begin to imagine a time when he would introduce Shanty to his Clanmates. “You can trust my warriors.”

“And you can trust my housefolk,” Shanty replied. They had reached the ferns and were sitting at the foot of a sun-warmed log, their pelts lightly dappled with shade. “All my life, they have treated me kindly, fed me, sheltered me, given me space to play in.”

“Did your mother live with them?” Pinestar asked.

“No. I was born somewhere else, but I can’t really remember anything about it. I know I had littermates, but I don’t know where they are now.”

Pinestar was shocked. “Aren’t you worried about them?”

“Why should I be?” Shanty shrugged. “If they have found housefolk like mine, then I know they are safe and happy.”

“But… but aren’t you bored?” Pinestar blurted out. All the questions he had wanted to ask Jake came tumbling out. “What do you do all day? You don’t have to patrol your territory, or catch your food, or train any apprentices, or practice for battle…”

Shanty stared at him, her amber eyes huge. “Why would I want to live like that? You make it sound as if every day is a struggle to survive.” She gestured around her with her tail. “There is no cat here that I want to fight. I don’t want to worry about where my next meal is coming from. I am not a prisoner in my territory; I can visit my friends, just as they can visit me.” She sniffed. “Some are more welcome than others, but Quince is okay when she hasn’t got a tom hanging around her.”

Pinestar lifted his muzzle. “What do you do to earn this life? Where is your loyalty, your courage, your honor? How do you know if you have lived your life well if you cannot judge it against the warrior code?” His fur prickled, and he heard a note of desperation in his voice. Do I want Shanty to prove to me that my life is worth more than hers?

The brown she-cat blinked. “I have loyalty and honor too. Look around you, Pinestar. What is keeping me here? I could climb that fence and be gone in a heartbeat. But I love my housefolk. I honor them. They feed me and care for me because they value me. They enjoy my company, they want to keep me safe, and they are afraid if I go away for too long.” She stood up and glared at him, as fierce as any warrior. “Isn’t this the same way you feel about your Clanmates, Pinestar? Just because I don’t look the same as my housefolk, don’t speak with the same words or eat the same food, doesn’t mean that we are not a Clan too. They are not my enemies. Not everything is predator or prey!”

She sat down, panting. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I think you hit a nerve.”

Pinestar reached out with his tail and stroked her flank. “I’m the one who should say sorry,” he mewed. “When I became leader of ThunderClan, a cat named Oakstar gave me a life for judgment. I should have learned to use it more wisely by now.”

Shanty looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. Pinestar rested his muzzle on the top of her head. “I judged you too quickly,” he explained. “You and all the kittypets. Forgive me.”

He felt the she-cat’s purr, rumbling through his body like far-off thunder. “You’re all right,” Shanty meowed. “I always heard wild cats were a bit dumb.”

Pinestar grunted. “But our claws are still sharper than yours!” he teased. He closed his eyes and shifted his weight so that he was lying beside Shanty. Patchy sunlight warmed his fur, and the scent of ferns filled his nose as he drifted into sleep.

Pinestar stood beneath Fourtrees, looking around. The hollow was empty and above, the sky was spattered with stars but no full moon. This wasn’t a Gathering, so what had brought him here?

“I did,” mewed a voice. A fawn-and-white she-cat stepped out from behind the Great Rock.

“Doestar!” Pinestar gasped. He trotted to meet his former leader, rubbing his head along her cheek.

Doestar stepped back and studied him. “Your time as leader hasn’t been easy,” she commented, nodding to the scars on his muzzle. “I am sorry I could not leave ThunderClan in peace.”

Pinestar twitched the tip of his tail. “None of the battles were your fault. This is a difficult time for all the Clans. If RiverClan would give up its claim to Sunningrocks, everything would be easier.”

“For cats who can swim, a river is no kind of boundary,” Doestar pointed out. “Your battle for those rocks is not over yet.”

“And lose more lives for the sake of warming our pelts on a heap of stones?” Pinestar growled. “I can’t wait.”

The she-cat blinked. “Those are not the words of a warrior. Where is your pride, Pinestar? Your promise to keep the boundaries of our territory safe?”

Pinestar flattened his ears. “I have not forgotten,” he mewed. “I will do everything to defend our Clan, of course.”

Doestar paced around him. “You will have even more reason to protect your Clan soon.” Her amber eyes gleamed in the starlight. “You are going to be a father. Leopardfoot is expecting your kits!”

“What?” Pinestar stared at her. “Are you sure?”

The she-cat nodded. Then her gaze darkened. “But you must be careful, Pinestar. One of your kits, a tom, has a shadow over his destiny.”

“What do you mean?” Pinestar demanded, letting his claws slide out and prick the earth. “What kind of shadow?”

Doestar turned away. “The worst kind,” she murmured. “He will be born with the power to destroy ThunderClan.”

“You can’t possibly know that! One kit, against a whole Clan? Don’t be ridiculous!” His heart was beating faster and his fur stood on end. What threat could one tiny cat offer to a Clan full of warriors?

The StarClan cat faced him again. “Listen to me, Pinestar. No cat knows your son’s destiny yet; only the possibilities he will be born with. It is up to you to teach him honor, loyalty, compassion—everything given to you for your nine lives. This cat will have the power to be a great leader, if you guide his paw steps well.”

Pinestar opened his mouth to ask more questions, but the starlight in Doestar’s fur was dazzling him and he screwed up his eyes against the brightness. Something was digging into his back. Was it the Great Rock?

“Wake up, Pinestar. You’re having a bad dream.”

Shanty was prodding him in the ribs. Pinestar opened his eyes to see her anxious brown face against pale green fern fronds.

“I have to go back to my Clan,” he mewed, sitting up. “I… I shouldn’t be here.”

Shanty looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Pinestar scrambled to his paws. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered. His pelt burned with shame and anger. Couldn’t he escape his duties for just one day?

Before he could race off, Shanty pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “Come back anytime,” she mewed. “You will always be welcome here, friend.”

Pinestar started running across the grass. The peace he had found with Shanty had been shattered. The needs of his Clan were dragging him back to the forest, back to blood and conflict and the desperate struggle to survive. And now there was a new threat, one he had created himself, which he already felt powerless to stop.

How am I going to protect my Clan from an unborn kit?

Chapter Eight

Pinestar padded through the bracken, ignoring a brittle frond that tickled his ear. He had taken to pushing through the thickest undergrowth on his way to and from Twolegplace, avoiding the tiny paths where he might encounter a border or hunting patrol. A quarter moon ago, Lionpaw had seen him talking to Jake’s housefolk and Pinestar had lied to explain himself, telling the apprentice that he had only pretended to befriend the Twoleg in order to find out more about the kittypets.

Pinestar’s fur prickled. He couldn’t let his Clanmates find out about his friends outside the territory. They would never understand that it was cats like Jake and Shanty who kept him calm and focused, who listened to fears he couldn’t share with his warriors.

Today, Shanty had reassured him that he was doing the right thing by holding back from yet another attack on RiverClan, even though the mangy fish-eaters had set their border marks around Sunningrocks again. Pinestar knew his warriors were unhappy, and were waiting for him to give the command to attack their neighbors. Shanty had agreed that he couldn’t risk injuries or death so close to leaf-fall, when the warriors should be concentrating on hunting and building up their strength for the cold weather. She shrugged off Pinestar’s fear that his Clanmates thought he was too fox-hearted to defend their territory.

“They must know you are only trying to protect them from getting hurt,” she mewed impatiently.

The only thing he hadn’t confided to the kittypets was Doestar’s warning about his unborn kit. That was something Pinestar couldn’t begin to deal with until his son had arrived.

He was sitting beside the fresh-kill pile with Patchpelt when Sunfall’s border patrol returned. To Pinestar’s relief, none of his warriors bore any signs of a skirmish. His fur pricked when he saw Bluefur studying him intently, as if she was trying to detect traces of Twolegplace on him.

Suddenly Featherwhisker appeared from the nursery. The medicine cat’s silver fur was ruffled and his eyes were wide with alarm. “Leopardfoot’s kits are coming!” he announced.

“So early?” Swiftbreeze gasped. “They’re not due for half a moon!”

“Is she okay?” Patchpelt called.

Featherwhisker ignored them. “Pinestar!” he meowed. “Will you stay with her while I fetch supplies?”

Pinestar stared at him in dismay. No! This can’t be happening! I’m not ready! “I think it’s best if I leave it to you and Goosefeather,” he mewed, his pelt burning under the gazes of Bluefur and Swiftbreeze, who were looking at him as if he’d grown an extra head.

“I’ll sit with her!” huffed Swiftbreeze, pushing her way into the nursery.

Pinestar sagged with relief. Leopardfoot would be much better off with her mother to care for her. But his respite was short-lived. Behind him, Goosefeather had started sifting through the fresh-kill pile, scowling and muttering to himself. Pinestar’s heart started to pound. Was he looking for omens to mark the birth of the new kits?

The day dragged on. Goosefeather stopped fiddling with the fresh-kill pile and limped out of the camp. Patrols returned and excitement spread through the Clan about the kits. Featherwhisker sent Bluefur for herbs, and the waiting cats tensed as if braced for bad news. But nothing came from the nursery, only the sound of Leopardfoot groaning and soft murmurs of encouragement from Featherwhisker and Swiftbreeze. Pinestar looked impatiently at his gathered warriors, who were acting as if a tree was about to come crashing down on their heads. Kits were born all the time! Why was today any different?

“We must eat,” he told them. “Starving ourselves won’t make these kits come any quicker.”

He caught Bluefur glaring at him and turned away. Too wound up to eat, he stalked past the fresh-kill pile and headed into his den beneath Highrock. He knew his Clanmates were judging him for being cold and uncaring toward the mother of his kits. But nothing would make him share Doestar’s warning. How could he possibly tell them that his own son was going to be the greatest threat the Clan would ever face?

Outside, he heard excited voices. Then Bluefur announced, “Two she-cats and a tom.”

He is here. The cat that will destroy us all.

In the midst of his Clan, which had just swelled by three, Pinestar had never felt more frightened or more alone.

The night was starless and unseen brambles clutched at his paws as Pinestar ran blindly through the forest. He knew he should be with Leopardfoot, with their newborn kits, watching over them as proudly and fiercely as Oakstar had once watched over him. But how could he?

These kits should never have been born!

Even as the thought slipped through his mind, Pinestar recoiled in horror. He had stared across the clearing at the nursery as dusk fell, the simple clump of tightly woven brambles changed by shadows into a dark and thorn-pierced trap. His paws had refused to carry him one step closer, as if he had turned to stone where he sat. Gradually the clearing emptied and the camp fell silent as his Clanmates settled down to sleep. Pinestar stood up, stretching out each stiff limb, then headed toward the gorse. Guilt and shame dragged at his pelt. But he would not, could not, enter the nursery.

There was only one place he could find comfort now, far from the Clans, far from the weight of the terrible prophecy about his own son. He leaped over the wooden fence and streaked along the hard stone paths. A couple of kittypets sprang out of his way with angry hisses, but Pinestar ignored them. He raced around the corner of a Twoleg den and skidded to a halt at the edge of the little Thunderpath.

Shanty was sitting on the other side, talking to a fat gray tom. She jumped up when she saw Pinestar, her fur bristling.

“What are you doing here at this time? Is everything all right?”

Beside her, the gray tom slipped into the shadows and disappeared.

“Leopardfoot’s kits have come!” Pinestar called.

He saw Shanty’s eyes widen. “That’s… that’s good news, isn’t it?”

“No,” meowed Pinestar. “It is the end of my Clan.” All his sorrow, all his self-loathing, all his fears came crashing down on him, and he sank to the ground with a moan.

Shanty gasped and sprang toward him. At that moment, a pair of glaring white eyes appeared at the end of the Thunderpath. With a roar, the monster launched itself toward the little brown cat. She stopped dead in the middle of the Thunderpath, frozen in horror.

“Shanty!” Pinestar yowled. He threw himself toward her, his paws skidding on the black stone. He was less than a mouse-length from her when the monster struck them both, slamming Pinestar so hard that he flew into the air and tumbled over and over before he crashed to the ground with a thud.

Suddenly his eyes were dazzled by silver light and he felt cats close around him, sniffing his pelt, urging him to lie still, promising that all would be well. Pinestar had been here before. He was losing another life. He let his body sink into the ground, felt the searing pain ebb out of his muscles, and waited for his mind to clear.

A cat leaned over him, musty breath warm against his ear. “The time to choose is near, Pinestar,” rasped an ancient voice. “Only you can decide.”

Thunderstar? Pinestar struggled to sit up and looked around. He was alone at the edge of the Thunderpath. The monster had gone and everywhere was silent. In the center of the Thunderpath, a small brown heap lay very still. Pinestar climbed stiffly to his paws, his pelt lifting in dismay.

“Shanty!” he whispered. He padded over to her, each paw carrying the weight of Sunningrocks. The little brown shape didn’t move. Pinestar pushed his muzzle into her fur, trying to feel a heartbeat or a stir of breath. “Shanty, wake up!” Surely the monster had hit him harder? The loss of his life didn’t matter, as long as Shanty had escaped. She can’t be dead! Not now, when I need her more than ever!

There was a thud from the Twoleg den behind the hedge, and a beam of light slanted through the dense leaves. Pinestar heard rapid paw steps and he looked up to see Shanty’s housefolk rush out, their mouths open wide. Pinestar backed away from Shanty’s body.

“I’m sorry,” he mewed. “I tried to save her but I was too slow.”

The female Twoleg dropped to her knees and bent over the dead cat. A howling sound rose into the air. The male Twoleg patted her and made gruff noises as he wiped at his face with a hairless brown paw. Pinestar felt his heart crack. He wanted to tell them that he shared their grief, that he had loved Shanty too, she had been his dearest friend, closer to him even than his Clanmates… But he knew that he couldn’t make them understand him, even though he felt the same pain as they did. They would sit vigil for Shanty tonight, not him.

The Twoleg walls blurred around him as Pinestar padded away.

He walked in the forest until dawn, then sat beneath a tree and watched the sun rise. A day that Shanty will not see. He felt hollow and cut loose, as if his paws weren’t quite touching the ground. He knew he wouldn’t find Shanty in StarClan, however much he dreamed. That was not where kittypets went at the end of their lives. Wherever you are, I hope you are warm and safe, and can see me. The thought that Shanty might have vanished into nothingness was too much for Pinestar to bear. He had felt alone before; now he felt as if he were teetering at the edge of a shadowy chasm, echoing with the yowls of dying cats. Shanty, I need you!

The air around him grew hotter, buzzing with the drone of insects. Pinestar knew he had to return to his Clan. He had to see Leopardfoot and his kits. He was their father, for StarClan’s sake! He could do nothing more for Shanty. But he still had responsibilities toward his Clanmates—and his kin.

He padded back to the ravine, pausing only to roll in ferns to disguise the Twolegplace scent on his pelt. His legs trembled from losing a life, and he wondered if Featherwhisker or Goosefeather would know that he was now on his last. It would be hard to explain how he had lost this one.

His heart sank lower as he followed the path down to the gorse tunnel. Ignoring the mutters as he entered the clearing, he headed for the nursery. Featherwhisker was just slipping through the branches.

“Can I see them?” Pinestar asked.

The medicine cat nodded and stepped aside. “The tom’s the weakest,” he warned.

A savage burst of hope flared in Pinestar’s chest. Perhaps StarClan will take him before the prophecy can come true.

Leopardfoot looked up as he entered. “You came,” she stated flatly. “I waited for you all night.”

Pinestar bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re all right.”

The queen bent over the tiny damp shapes squirming at her belly. “I won’t be all right until I know my babies are safe,” she murmured. “They’re so frail. I can’t even make them feed!” Her voice rose to a wail as she tried to nudge them closer to the milk that stained her fur.

Pinestar stepped forward and placed one paw on her shoulder. “Calm down,” he mewed. “You’ll frighten them.”

“I just want them to take some milk,” Leopardfoot whimpered.

“I’m sure they will,” Pinestar meowed. His heart was thudding so loud that he thought Leopardfoot would hear it. He peered down at the three little bodies. “Have… have you named them?”

Leopardfoot nodded. “The she-cats are Mistkit and Nightkit, and the tom is Tigerkit.” She touched each one with her nose as she spoke, moving with the tenderness of every queen that had ever nursed a kit.

Pinestar stared at the dark brown tom. His eyes were tight shut and his mouth opened and closed silently, too feeble even to mew. He looked smaller and more pitiful than a mouse on the fresh-kill pile. Did this kit really have the power to destroy ThunderClan? It was easier to imagine being threatened by a beetle.

Suddenly the kit opened his eyes and glared up at Pinestar. Amber fire blazed in the depths of his gaze, and for a moment he looked older and more terrifying than any cat Pinestar had seen before. He leaped backward and Leopardfoot let out a hiss.

“Careful, you’ll tread on them!”

“Tigerkit looked at me!” Pinestar stammered.

“Don’t be mouse-brained. They won’t open their eyes for days,” Leopardfoot snapped. She placed her tail protectively over her son, whose tiny eyes were tight shut once more. “I think you should go now.” She looked up at Pinestar. “Our kits are very sick. Pray to StarClan that they survive.”

Chapter Nine

Pinestar dreamed he was back in the nursery, watching his kits nestle into their mother’s fur. The she-cats slept peacefully, but Tigerkit’s cold yellow eyes blinked open and he scowled up at Pinestar. He was growing now, faster and faster until he covered his sisters and Leopardfoot, filling the nest, filling the nursery, pressing Pinestar against the bramble walls. And now Pinestar’s paws were sinking into the moss—no, not moss, some kind of liquid, thick and red and lapping at his belly. Blood! The nursery was drowning in blood!

Pinestar scrabbled desperately at the brambles, trying to get out. Behind him, Tigerkit’s breath was hot on his neck, and he could hear his son growling from deep in his belly. The blood rose higher, splashing against Pinestar’s muzzle, pulling him down…

He was lying on icy stone, somewhere high up, with only the starlit sky above him. Silver-furred cats surrounded him, their faces obscured by mist. Pinestar tried to sit up but he was pressed down by invisible paws.

“Your son is evil!” hissed one of the cats; Pinestar couldn’t see which one because the fog was too thick.

“He’s only a kit!” Pinestar protested.

“He won’t be a kit forever!”

“Your Clan is in danger!”

“What can I do?” Pinestar wailed.

There was a moment of silence, when even the wind dropped. Then a voice murmured, “Kill him.”

Pinestar flinched in horror. “No!”

“Kill him.”

“Kill him.”

“Kill him! It is the only way to save your Clan!”

Pinestar flung off the unseen paws and leaped to his feet. “I cannot kill my own son!”

The mist and the mountaintop vanished. He was standing in his den, shreds of moss clinging to his fur, his flanks heaving. Goosefeather’s face appeared in the entrance.

“Having a bad dream, were you?” he rasped. His watery blue eyes seemed to look right through Pinestar and see into his mind.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pinestar mewed, shaking off the leaf dust and trying to tidy his nest.

“Oh, I think it does,” growled Goosefeather, taking a step into the den. “Sweetpaw is dead.”

Pinestar blinked. “But… but it’s been nearly a quarter-moon since she ate that mouse! Bluefur and Rosepaw got better ages ago!”

“And Sweetpaw didn’t,” Goosefeather snapped. “Another death, and your kits are still so weak…”

“They have nothing to do with Sweetpaw,” Pinestar retorted. He stared bleakly around his den. “I thought the Clan was getting stronger,” he murmured. “The fresh-kill pile has been full for days. I thought everything was going to be okay.”

“Did you really?” sneered Goosefeather. “Don’t be a fool, Pinestar. I think StarClan has told you exactly what is going on.”

He turned and limped out of the den. Pinestar took a deep breath. Sweetpaw’s death is not an omen. I will not kill my own son!

He padded into the clearing. A knot of sad she-cats was gathered around Sweetpaw’s little body. Judging by the emptiness of the rest of the clearing, Sunfall must have taken most of the young cats out on patrol. Pinestar was relieved. He wanted to spare them the grief that seemed to shroud the Clan every moon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tiny shape playing with a piece of moss. Tigerkit!

The tom had survived, and not just survived but grown swiftly and strong, unlike his sisters, who were still too frail to leave the nursery. With the gaze of his Clanmates burning his pelt, Pinestar forced himself to go over to his son.

Tigerkit looked up at him. “Sweetpaw’s dead,” he announced.

“I… I know,” Pinestar mewed.

“Are you really sad?” Tigerkit asked.

“Of course!” Pinestar replied.

The little brown tom tipped his head on one side. “As sad as if I died? I mean, you’re my father, so you must love me more than Sweetpaw or any of the other cats.”

Pinestar stared at his son in horror. Why is he talking about dying? “Y-yes, of course I love you and your sisters the most. But I care for every cat in ThunderClan.”

Tigerkit seemed to lose interest in speculating about his death. “Play with me.” He pushed the ball of moss toward Pinestar. It rolled against his paw and he looked down at it.

Kill him!

But he is only a kit!

You have to protect your Clan!

“I’m sorry, I can’t play with you today,” Pinestar meowed. The blood was roaring in his ears and his vision blurred. “I have to go somewhere.” He turned and padded quickly across the clearing.

“Tomorrow?” he heard Tigerkit call after him.

Pinestar didn’t answer. He pushed his way into the gorse, relishing the way the thorns clutched at his fur and pricked his muzzle. I cannot be a father to this kit! Oh Shanty, what should I do?

He blundered through the undergrowth toward Twolegplace. He had never missed Shanty more, never yearned more strongly that he had told her about the prophecy before she died. He had deliberately kept his dream from her, knowing that she would have no understanding of StarClan and the meaning of omens. But now he wished he had trusted her with everything so that she could give her honest opinion, let him consider all of the possibilities—and dismiss the idea that the only way to save ThunderClan was to kill a helpless kit.

When he reached the wooden fence, he stopped. He couldn’t go to Shanty’s home, not when he knew she wouldn’t be there. The emptiness would be too heartbreaking. He decided to look for Jake instead. He trotted through the long grass until he reached the edge of Jake’s territory. A quick leap over the fence and he was standing behind Jake’s Twoleg den. There was no sign of the ginger cat.

“He’s with Quince,” mewed a high-pitched voice. A strikingly elegant fawn cat with dark brown ears and paws was looking down at Pinestar from a tree on the other side of a wall. “You’re the wild cat, aren’t you?”

“Er, yes,” mewed Pinestar.

The stranger stood up and stretched each long, slender leg in turn. “I’m Tyr,” he meowed. “See you around, I expect.” He sprang out of the tree and vanished behind the wall.

Pinestar stood on the grass, feeling the sun warm his pelt. The scents of Twolegplace wafted around him, flowers and leaves and the faint hint of monsters. There was no stench of blood here, no hiss of fear or fury as cats fought over who was allowed to walk where. Some kittypets were more bad-tempered than others, Pinestar had learned, but they never fought to the death. They are better at following the warrior code than we are!

There was a noise behind him, and Pinestar turned to see Jake’s female Twoleg coming out with something in her front paw. It rattled, and Pinestar knew that it was something Jake called his food bowl, containing the brown pellets that Jake ate. He pricked his ears, feeling a worm of curiosity stir in his belly. Was kittypet food really that bad?

The Twoleg saw him and made a soothing sound. She reached out with her empty paw and Pinestar padded close enough for her to touch him. He had done this enough times with this Twoleg to know that he didn’t need to be frightened. He meowed in delight when she smoothed his fur from head to tail tip. She made more friendly noises, then put the food bowl onto the white stone path that surrounded the Twoleg den. Pinestar took a step forward and stretched out his neck to sniff the pellets. They didn’t smell too awful; there was a hint of rabbit, even. He licked one of the pellets, then jumped back to consider the taste. Definitely rabbit, and something else, a bit like pigeon…

The Twoleg murmured and bared her teeth at him. Pinestar knew this wasn’t a sign of hostility; quite the opposite. He bent his head and crunched up a mouthful of pellets. The Twoleg ran her paw along his back again, just the way he liked it. He purred, sounding rather muffled around the food.

When the bowl was empty, Pinestar looked up at the Twoleg and pressed himself against her hind legs. “That was delicious!” he mewed. “Is there any more?”

“Pinestar! What are you doing?”

Pinestar felt his belly flip over in horror, and the pellets stuck in his throat. How long had Lionpaw been standing on top of the fence? He ran across the grass, thinking furiously. “You shouldn’t be here! What if that kittypet comes back?” He hoped Lionpaw would remember Pinestar telling him about the ferocious kittypet who had been causing trouble, and needed a close watch.

“RiverClan is invading!” the apprentice meowed. “You have to come!”

Another battle! Time seemed to slow down around Pinestar, and his mind whirled. At this very moment, his Clanmates were fighting to defend a few paw steps of territory, a couple of fox-lengths of trees and grass that would provide prey for whichever Clan was prepared to shed the most blood. I cannot do this any longer. No matter what he did, brave cats would die. He pictured Shanty’s housefolk, bent double with grief over her death, and then the solemn, calm atmosphere in the camp that morning around Sweetpaw’s body.

Have we lost the ability to grieve? he wondered. Do we watch so many cats die that we cannot let ourselves feel true loss? Does any cat’s life really matter at all?

Then he thought of Tigerkit, his own son, innocently playing with a bundle of moss with a cruel and terrible destiny hanging over him. StarClan must have known that he would never be able to kill this kit, whatever warnings they gave. If Pinestar could not prevent the threat, perhaps another cat would; a different leader, one who was able to guide Tigerkit’s paws to a brighter destiny.

Every leader faces difficult choices, whispered a voice in Pinestar’s ear. And yours will be the most difficult of all.

Thunderstar! The cat who had given him one of his nine lives. And here is my choice, Pinestar thought. To stay with my Clan, or leave and follow a different path. He knew there was a place where he belonged, where he would be needed and loved and kept safe in return for a different kind of loyalty and honor.

There was no choice at all, or if there had been, Pinestar had made it already, without even noticing. Still, he could not meet Lionpaw’s eye as he spoke. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Did the kittypet hurt you?”

“There is no kittypet. Only me.”

“You’re just pretending to be a kittypet,” Lionpaw mewed in confusion. “So the Twoleg doesn’t chase you away.”

Pinestar looked back at Jake’s Twoleg. She was holding the food bowl and watching them. “She won’t chase me away. She likes me.”

“But… but you’re our Clan leader! You can’t be friends with Twolegs!”

Oh, Shanty! This is the hardest thing I have ever done! I wish you were here with me.

Pinestar took a deep breath. “Then I can’t be your Clan leader anymore. I’m sorry, Lionpaw. I tried so hard, but I can’t keep the Clan safe. I’m too old, too scared of losing any more battles. Sunfall will make a better leader than me. Tell… tell ThunderClan that I am dead.”

The apprentice narrowed his eyes in anger. “No! I will not lie for you! You might not want to be our leader anymore, but you could at least be brave enough to tell the Clan yourself. They deserve to know the truth, that you are leaving to become a kittypet.”

Pinestar hung his head. He couldn’t blame Lionpaw for his fury. And the apprentice was right: His Clanmates deserved a proper good-bye. They had done nothing wrong; only served him loyally and courageously and to their deaths, like all good warriors. It wasn’t their fault that Pinestar couldn’t bear it anymore.

Lionpaw was already racing across the grass and hurling himself over the fence. Pinestar followed, his paws suddenly light as he realized that this was the last time he would have to enter the forest, the last time he would have to take responsibility for these cats who were so much braver, so much better able to fight for their survival, than he was.

And so much stronger to deal with Tigerkit.

“Pinestar!” Sunfall’s call greeted Pinestar as he entered the clearing.

Pinestar winced as he noticed the fresh blood on his deputy’s ear. Adderfang and Stormtail stood behind him, deep claw marks on their fur. Oh, my Clanmates. I am sorry that I did not fight alongside you today. You deserve more than this, I promise.

“Where were you?” Sunfall meowed.

Pinestar blinked. “Did you win?”

Sunfall nodded. “We chased those fish-faces back as far as the river. They still have Sunningrocks—that is a battle for another day—but they won’t set foot across the border for a while.”

One more tiny victory. Until the next battle.

“Good,” Pinestar mewed out loud. It is time. The last time I will summon my Clan. The last time I will call myself a warrior. The last time I will breathe the air in this place that has been my home for so many seasons.

The smooth gray stone felt familiar beneath his paws as he took his place on Highrock. He looked down at his Clanmates, knowing he would dream about this sight for the rest of his life. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather to hear what I have to tell you!”

Warriors and queens turned tired, grief-stricken eyes to face him. Pinestar felt a fresh wave of sadness roll in his belly. I wish I could take you all with me! he thought for one wild moment.

“Cats of ThunderClan, I can no longer be your leader. From now on, I will leave the Clan and live with housefolk in Twolegplace.”

There was a pause of horrified silence, then Stormtail hissed, “You’re going to be a kittypet?”

Sunfall looked as if a hedgehog had just sprouted wings. “Why?”

“How could you?” wailed Poppydawn from where she crouched beside Sweetpaw’s body.

Pinestar bowed his head. I love you all! Please believe me! “I have been honored to serve you this long,” he explained. “The rest of my life will be spent as a kittypet, where I have no battles to fight, no lives depending on me for food and safety.”

“Coward,” Adderfang snarled.

Pinestar avoided the warrior’s gaze. “I have given eight lives to ThunderClan—each of them willingly. But I am not ready to risk my ninth.”

“What could be more honorable than to die for your Clan?” rasped Weedwhisker.

“You would live among StarClan,” Poppydawn mewed. “And share tongues with Clanmates you have lost.”

Pinestar forced himself to keep still and not run into the welcoming bracken behind him. “I am doing this for ThunderClan, I promise.”

“You’re doing it for you,” Stormtail muttered.

Then a small golden-striped shape moved to the front of the cats and turned to face them. Pinestar stared down in surprise. What was Lionpaw doing now?

The apprentice raised his head boldly. “Do we really want a leader who no longer wishes to lead?” he demanded.

Thank you, Lionpaw. Pinestar watched his Clanmates’ eyes flicker with uncertainty. They shot fleeting, baffled glances at him, light as a butterfly’s wings, as if he was a stranger who had blundered into the camp by mistake.

“Sunfall will lead you well, and StarClan will understand,” Pinestar promised.

“The other Clans might not,” Sunfall suggested. There was a flash of anger in his eyes, and his fur bristled along his spine. “You won’t be able to come back to the forest, you know.”

Pinestar shrugged. “Oh, I can imagine the names they’ll call me. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the leaders suggests an addition to the warrior code, that all true warriors scorn the easy life of a kittypet. But you’ll make ThunderClan as strong as it ever was, Sunfall. My last act as leader is to entrust my Clan to you, and I do so with confidence.”

Sunfall bowed, though his gaze still burned. “I am honored, Pinestar. I promise I will do my best.”

Pinestar jumped down and studied his Clanmates. Former Clanmates? For a moment he wondered if they would treat him as a kittypet from this moment, if he would have to claw his way out of his own home. But Sunfall padded forward and rested his tail against Pinestar’s flank.

“You have led us well, Pinestar,” he murmured.

Larksong joined him. “We will miss you.”

“Sunfall will make a good leader,” White-eye insisted, and the cats around her nodded.

“Thank you,” Pinestar murmured. He turned to face Lionpaw, and felt a purr rising inside him. ThunderClan was lucky to have this young cat among them. “You were right,” Pinestar told him. “I had to tell the Clan myself. It would not have been fair to them, or to you, to do anything else. You have a good spirit, young one. When it is time for you to receive your warrior name, tell Sunfall I would have called you Lionheart.”

Lionpaw’s eyes glowed, and Pinestar knew he had judged well. Not everything I have done was a mistake.

He started toward the gorse tunnel but Leopardfoot blocked his way. “Pinestar, what about our kits?” she pleaded, her voice high with disbelief. “Won’t you stay to watch them grow up?” She had brought the kits out of the nursery; Mistkit and Nightkit were huddled on the ground, barely any bigger than the day they had been born, their eyes cloudy and unfocused. Tigerkit loomed beside them, broad and strong, crouching down to pounce on Pinestar’s tail.

Pinestar twitched his tail out of harm’s way. This is the hardest part of all. I can never tell this Clan about the warning StarClan gave me. Tigerkit deserves to grow up being treated fairly, given the best chance to succeed. It is not my duty to taint his reputation forever. “They’ll be fine with you, Leopardfoot. I’m not a father they could be proud of, but I will always be proud of them. Especially you, little warrior,” he forced himself to add.

Tigerkit stared up at him and let out a tiny growl.

“Be strong, my precious son,” Pinestar whispered. “Serve your Clan well.” Prove StarClan wrong, whatever happens.

There was nothing more to say. It was time to leave. He gazed around the clearing once more, committing every branch, every paw print to memory. Then he pushed his way into the gorse tunnel and left everything behind.

Chapter Ten

Pinestar padded through the forest for the last time, keeping to well-trodden paths. It didn’t matter if a patrol saw him; he was no longer their leader. No cat would be interested in him now. He had no responsibilities, no need to worry about the fresh-kill pile or border marks or whether the elders’ den would leak in the next rainstorm…

As he neared the wooden fence, Pinestar broke into a run. The long grass closed around him as he crouched down and leaped over the border between his old life and his new one. He landed with a thud, his legs suddenly feeling old and tired. He realized he was trembling, and for a heartbeat a sense of dizzying emptiness opened up inside him. All his life he had known what he was: kit, apprentice, warrior, deputy, leader, each role marked out by his name, the way his Clanmates treated him, the boundaries of the territory, and the routine of each day. All that had vanished. What was left?

For a moment, Pinestar wanted to go back. He would no longer be ThunderClan’s leader, but he could be an elder, safe, sheltered, well fed, with no responsibilities, not even for his own ticks. But his Clanmates would still be around him. He would still have to watch cats go out to fight, and never return. And he would be just as powerless to change Tigerkit’s destiny.

Pinestar kept going. He trotted through several kittypet territories, passing Tyr, who was dozing on a patch of sunbaked stone. Over a wall, along a narrow path, and then he was standing on the edge of the Thunderpath, picturing the very last time he had seen Shanty in the orange glow cast by the strange light-making poles. His paws felt heavy as he crossed the Thunderpath, not letting himself look down at the faint brown stain where she had died. She wasn’t there anymore, he told himself. All her pain, all her fear in that terrible moment, was over. Wherever she was, she was safe now.

He paused at the entrance to Shanty’s home. He could hear her housefolk talking outside their den, their voices rumbling softly. Was it his imagination, or did they sound sadder than before? They must miss Shanty even more than I do, he thought. He took a deep breath. This was it. This was why he had made his choice to leave the Clan. I can help you. I can never replace Shanty, but I might fill part of the gap she has left. I know you feel it, because I feel it too.

He walked past the glossy green hedge and into Shanty’s territory. The Twolegs stopped talking and stared at him, their brown eyes wide. The male gestured at Pinestar and yowled. He clearly wanted Pinestar to go away.

“It’s me!” Pinestar mewed. “Shanty’s friend!”

The Twoleg took a step toward him, suddenly looming as tall as a tree and rumbling ominously. Pinestar shrank back in alarm. What do I do now, Shanty? This wasn’t an enemy he could fight. There was no rule about this in the warrior code. He was nothing more than an intruder here!

But the female Twoleg moved forward and put out her light brown paw on the male’s foreleg. Her voice was softer, as if she was asking him something. She pointed at Pinestar and bared her teeth. Pinestar held his breath and waited. After a few moments, the female crouched down and held out her paw toward him. She was making the same noise she had made to Shanty, gentle and encouraging, like an invitation to come closer.

Pinestar took one step forward. He knew Shanty’s Twoleg wasn’t going to hurt him. The first time she had tried to touch him, he had been nervous. But now he didn’t feel brave so much as trusting, relieved, and full of memories of his beloved kittypet friend. It was almost as if Shanty was beside him, wreathing around him in delight. I knew you two would be friends, she purred in his ear.

He kept very still as Shanty’s Twoleg stroked his ears. Her paw was softer than Jake’s Twoleg’s, and it tickled. She made another sound that seemed even more welcoming to Pinestar. Fascinated, he moved nearer to her. This time she ran her whole paw along his back, smoothing his fur and dislodging the leaf scraps he had collected on his run through the forest.

The male Twoleg joined her. Even when he was crouched down, he was still huge. Pinestar forced himself to stay still as the male reached out with his huge dark brown paw. But he was as gentle as the female, though his paw felt heavier and rougher. Pinestar rubbed his head against the hairless underside, letting his scent mingle with the strong, musky scent of the Twoleg.

The female Twoleg straightened up and looked at Pinestar. She beckoned to him with her paw, a gesture that Pinestar had seen from many, many tails. She wanted him to follow her. Pinestar told himself there was nothing to be afraid of; he had seen how Shanty trusted these Twolegs, loved them as much as he loved his Clanmates. But Shanty was not here now, and Pinestar missed her so much he could hardly breathe.

The female stepped inside the den and beckoned to him again. Pinestar paused in the entrance, trembling. This felt more dangerous than any battle with a rival Clan, any confrontation with a snarling badger or snapping fox. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he made out a sharp-edged, white-walled space, much smaller than the outside walls suggested. The floor was hard and shiny, like ice. Pinestar placed one paw cautiously on it. Not as slippery as it looks, good. He walked in and looked around. The female Twoleg had crouched down in the corner and seemed to be pointing to something.

But Pinestar couldn’t concentrate. Shanty was everywhere. Her scent, the things she had played with, the food bowl he had seen her eating from once outside. Most of all, the feeling that she was there with him, only just out of sight, encouraging him on. Even if she was not in StarClan, Pinestar felt her presence as strongly as he had ever felt a StarClan cat alongside him. He was not alone here. I will never be alone.

He padded carefully across the gleaming floor and sniffed at the soft, lumpy pelt that the female had pointed to. This was Shanty’s nest, judging by the smell and the shape left behind by her body. Pinestar felt a pang in his belly. My nest, now. If he wanted it. And he did, very much. He climbed into the middle of the nest and curled up. The Twoleg made a happy purring noise and bared her teeth at him again. The male Twoleg appeared and rumbled in a pleased way. He bent down and patted Pinestar’s head, almost making his teeth rattle. Twolegs are strong!

The female Twoleg stood up and put something into the feed bowl. Pinestar peered at it. This wasn’t pellets, like Jake’s food, but chunks of some kind of meat. His belly rumbled, and he reminded himself that as an elder, he wouldn’t be catching his own prey anyway. Did it matter who caught it for him? He reached out and took a mouthful. It wasn’t bad—in fact, it was juicier and tastier than anything he’d eaten in leaf-bare. Better than Jake’s dry pellets, too. Pinestar cleaned out the bowl and the Twolegs purred at him.

Feeling restless now his belly was full, Pinestar stepped out of the nest and headed outside. He looked back to see the Twolegs watching him anxiously.

“I’ll come back,” he promised. He felt a warm glow spread through him at the thought that they might be waiting for him. Is this what it was like to be a kittypet? To know that Twolegs would keep you safe and warm and fed? Why do warriors despise this way of life so much? It is all we ever want for our kits and elders!

He trotted across the grass and hopped over a low wall. Jake was sunning himself on a flat expanse of gray stone next to the empty Thunderpath. He blinked in surprise when he saw Pinestar.

“Hey! I didn’t think you’d come back,” he meowed. “You know, after Shanty…” He trailed off.

Pinestar nodded. “For a while, I wasn’t sure I would,” he admitted. “But I think I can do some good here… for Shanty’s housefolk. More than I can do for my Clan.” Except it’s not my Clan any longer. It belongs to Sunfall now.

Jake flicked the tip of his tail. “What do you mean? Have you left ThunderClan?”

“Yes, I have.” Wow. That makes it feel very real.

The ginger tom looked impressed. “You’d really give all that up to be a kittypet for Shanty’s housefolk?”

“I really would,” Pinestar murmured.

Jake’s eyes softened. “Shanty would like that, Pinestar.” He stood up. “Do you want to go meet some of your new neighbors? You haven’t seen Quince yet, have you? She’s a sweetheart.”

“I should go home,” Pinestar meowed. “My… my housefolk are expecting me. Oh, and my name isn’t Pinestar anymore. It’s Pine. Just Pine.”

Jake twitched his ears. “It suits you.” He turned away, then paused and glanced back. “Welcome home, Pine.”