Starlight

Chapter 4

Clouds covered the sun the next morning as the patrol set off to find their way back to the lake. Heading in what they thought was the right direction, Brambleclaw stopped short when he smelled scent markers, and spotted the walls of the Twoleg nest through the trees.

“Yuck!” Squirrelflight’s lip curled. “That’s worse than fox dung. Those kittypets must have marked their territory.”

The patrol skirted the markers warily; to Brambleclaw’s relief there was no sign of the hostile kittypets. With the nest in view, he could remember which way they had approached it the night before, and it was not long before they crossed their earlier scent trail.

“This way!” Brambleclaw meowed.

A chill wind shook the tops of the pines, and as they reached the shore the cats felt the full force of it.

Brambleclaw turned to face it, the cold blast flattening his fur against his sides. He guessed they had traveled about halfway around the lake. Looking back the way they had come, he could see the dark smudge of the island against a background of pale green hills. The surface of the lake was gray and choppy, under clouds that bulged with rain.

“Just what we need!” Tawnypelt grumbled, tucking her nose into her chest.

Waving his tail for the rest to follow him, Brambleclaw retraced his steps into the trees. “I think we should stay under cover,” he suggested. “It’s more sheltered here.”

“Just as long as we don’t get lost again,” Mistyfoot warned.

“Let’s stay where we can see the lake.”

The others were all happy to get out of the icy wind. They moved off, keeping the lake in sight through the outlying trees but not venturing onto the open shore.

They had not gone far before Crowfeather let out a muffled grunt and streaked off with his tail streaming behind him. Staring after him, Brambleclaw scented squirrel before he spotted the gray-furred creature nibbling a pinecone at the foot of one of the trees. Its ears flicked up in alarm as Crowfeather raced toward it. Dropping the pinecone, it sprang for the safety of the tree. But Crowfeather was faster.

With a mighty leap he grabbed the squirrel’s tail and pulled it back to the ground. He padded back with the limp body dangling from his jaws.

“Good catch!” Squirrelflight meowed.

Crowfeather nodded as he dropped the fresh-kill in front of them. “Come on; let’s eat.”

Crouching beside the others to eat his share, Brambleclaw itched with impatience to get moving again. The leaders expected them home by nightfall to report what they had discovered, and they still had a lot of territory to explore—and two Clans still needed homes.

“Let’s go,” he meowed as soon as they had finished. To his relief, Mistyfoot didn’t protest, just swiped her tongue around her jaws and kept pace with him as he set off through the trees at a steady trot.

Brambleclaw’s paws tingled with excitement. This could be the day when they found ThunderClan’s new home!

RiverClan and ShadowClan had already found good places, and he guessed that the ridge of hills across the lake would suit WindClan. But deep down, finding somewhere for his Clanmates to live and hunt safely was what he wanted most of all. Their home in the forest had suited them so well, in spite of being close to the Thunderpath and Twolegplace.

Would they find anywhere nearly as good here?

As if she could read his thoughts, his sister, Tawnypelt, padded up beside him and touched her muzzle briefly to his side. “Worried about something?” she mewed.

“I’m okay,” he told her, trying hard to convince himself.

“I’ll just be happier when we’ve found some territory for ThunderClan.”

“There’s a long way to go yet,” Tawnypelt mewed encouragingly.

Soon they came to a wide path winding through the trees.

The pine-needle cover gave way to short grass; regular dents in it had filled with water to form small pools.

“Horses have been along here,” Crowfeather mewed, lapping at one of the puddles.

Tawnypelt tasted the air. “Twolegs, too. But there’s no sign of them now.”

Mistyfoot was gazing up at a tree close to the edge of the path. “That’s a Twoleg thing,” she reported, flicking her tail at something above her head.

Brambleclaw looked where she was pointing. A round shape made of something hard and shiny had been fastened to the tree. It was bright blue, the same glittering color as some of the monsters on the Thunderpath.

“What do you think it’s for?” Squirrelflight asked.

“Maybe it’s like a Twoleg scent marking,” Brambleclaw suggested. “This path could be a boundary between two territories.”

There seemed nothing dangerous about the mark, but all the cats looked around warily as they crossed the path.

Brambleclaw reminded himself crossly that he never used to be this scared of Twolegs. Not until they brought their monsters to the forest and shut up all the cats they could catch in small Twoleg dens. Now he wondered whether he would ever feel safe around Twolegs again, and he let out a sigh of relief when they reached the shelter of the trees on the other side.

Gradually the pine trees began to thin out. Cold rain began to fall, billowing over the cats as the wind rattled the branches above them, sending a prickly shower of pine needles onto their heads.

“I’d give anything for a nice warm den!” Squirrelflight grumbled, flicking raindrops from her ears.

Heads down, they plodded on until the trees stopped altogether, giving way to a broad, straight-edged grassy clearing.

At the edge of the wood they crossed another Twoleg path, narrower than the first, the grass worn away by many feet. By now everything was so wet that no cat could pick up a scent; all Brambleclaw could be sure of was that no Twolegs were there now.

“There’s another one of those half-bridges,” he mewed, pricking his ears toward the wooden structure that jutted out into the lake. Squirrelflight didn’t seem keen on venturing onto it when billows of icy rain scudded across the surface of the lake and rattled against the wood.

They cautiously crossed the exposed space beyond the trees, crouching down until the short grass brushed their belly-fur. For a while there was no sound except for the falling rain and the trees clattering in the wind. They had a clear view of the lake from here, and Brambleclaw realized that they were about to enter the last stretch of trees before the bare ridge of hills; beyond that was the place where the horses were, and then the copse of trees where all four Clans waited to hear about their new homes. If WindClan was going to take the hills, which seemed logical, this was ThunderClan’s last chance to find somewhere to live.

Brambleclaw’s ears twitched as he picked up the sound of running water. Could it be a place where his Clanmates could make camp, with somewhere to drink close by?

“It must be another stream,” Crowfeather meowed, hearing it too.

Beneath their paws, the ground sloped down and the grass gave way to pebbles, which in turn disappeared beneath a broad, fast-flowing stream. Unlike the stream they had found in the place where RiverClan might make their camp, there were no stepping stones or islands to help the cats across.

“We’ll have to wade,” Tawnypelt decided. “It doesn’t look too deep.”

She padded down to the edge of the water and dipped in her paw, drawing it out again with a hiss; the water was obviously icy cold. Then she shook herself and walked into the water, placing each paw carefully on the slippery pebbles.

There were fewer reeds here than in the first stream where they had stopped to fish the day before, and hardly any shrubs or other undergrowth. A pang of disappointment bit through Brambleclaw. This would be no place for a camp, especially not with traces of Twolegs so close by.

“Watch out when you get to the middle,” Mistyfoot called.

“Sometimes there are hollows that you can’t see above the water, and it could suddenly get deeper.”

The water almost reached Tawnypelt’s belly fur by now.

She paused and nodded without looking back, then went on more cautiously. Brambleclaw and the others followed; Crowfeather let out a startled meow as he slipped on a loose stone, but found his balance again after some rather undignified splashing, and managed to keep his head above the surface of the water.

Tawnypelt jumped out and shook herself from nose to tail, scattering drops of water around her. “You’ll be fine,” she called to the others. “I didn’t have to swim at all.”

Cold, wet, and with his belly fur clinging uncomfortably to his skin, Brambleclaw wasn’t sure that was much of a benefit right now. Beside him, Mistyfoot padded confidently through the water as if she were on dry land; Brambleclaw noticed her keeping one eye on Squirrelflight, who had the shortest legs of all of them, and had to tip back her head to stop the water from lapping at her muzzle.

There was another stretch of open grass on the far side of the stream, with more trees beyond. Soaked to his ears by the time he scrambled up the opposite bank, Brambleclaw made a dash for cover, but the branches here had shed their leaves, and didn’t offer much shelter from the rain.

He crouched beneath a tree while he waited for the others to catch up, trying to imagine what it would be like in greenleaf, with thicker grass and ferns and a canopy of leaves rustling above him. Right now the ground was unpleasantly soggy, and he couldn’t see any thickets of bramble or hazel like the ones in their old territory.

At least these trees were oak and beech, not pines like the forest they had just left. They would provide good shelter for the mice and birds ThunderClan was used to hunting.

Brambleclaw’s spirits began to lift, but he was still uneasy about all the signs of Twoleg activity—the paths, the brightly colored mark on a tree, the half-bridges. He wondered if it was just his nerves telling him there were more signs of Twolegs here than in their old territory, and he shook himself to clear his head.

“What do you think?” Mistyfoot prompted, joining him.

Before Brambleclaw could reply, Squirrelflight bounded up and began scuffling with one forepaw among the dis-carded beech shells lying in the grass.

“With all these nuts around there should be plenty of squirrels,” she meowed.

Mistyfoot narrowed her eyes at Brambleclaw, and he tried not to look as if he were beginning to give up all hope of finding somewhere for ThunderClan to live. “Why don’t we rest for a bit?” she suggested. “Find somewhere out of the rain and hope it stops soon.”

“Hope catches no prey,” Crowfeather commented dryly as he and Tawnypelt came up, flicking droplets of water from their ears.

“That’s a good idea, Mistyfoot,” Brambleclaw meowed.

“If we can find any shelter,” Tawnypelt added.

“Let’s go farther into the woods,” Mistyfoot decided. “The wind will be colder blowing off the water.”

They padded into the trees on a slanting course that led away from the lake. When they could still make out the silver sheen of water behind them, they came to a huge, ancient oak standing among the beech trees. The ground had fallen away around the twisting roots, and there was a faint, stale scent of rabbit, as if this had once been used as a burrow. There was room for all the cats to creep in among the roots, where they were sheltered from the wind, though rain still trickled in.

Brambleclaw huddled close to Squirrelflight and began to lick drops of rain from the fur around her neck and shoulders.

“This feels way harder than anything we had to do on the journey,” she murmured after a while. “All that way—all the danger we faced getting here, the times we nearly didn’t make it—and now we have to decide where the Clan is going to make its new home. It doesn’t feel as if StarClan is going to lead us straight to a nice, safe camp. What if we make the wrong decision?”

She had come so close to the heart of his fears that Brambleclaw paused to gaze into her forest-green eyes. “I thought it would be easier than this too,” he admitted.

Squirrelflight peered out of their shelter, blinking raindrops off her eyelashes. “These are the right sort of trees, but it’s so open here compared with the old territory.

ThunderClan won’t feel safe if there isn’t enough cover.”

“Or if the territory’s full of Twolegs,” Brambleclaw pointed out.

“Come on!” Tawnypelt stopped licking her chest fur and looked up to face him. “There were plenty of Twolegs back in the forest. It wasn’t a problem then, and it won’t be a problem now.”

She was talking sense, but more than anything else, Brambleclaw knew that he wanted to feel safe in his new home, and he didn’t feel safe here, at least not yet.

“It’ll look better in newleaf,” Mistyfoot meowed encouragingly. “Everywhere does.”

“Hmm…” Squirrelflight shifted so that she could lick the damp fur at the base of her tail. “We still have to find a camp, though.”

“You’ve hardly set paw in the territory yet,” Crowfeather pointed out.

“I know.” Brambleclaw made a determined effort to stop worrying and concentrated on giving Squirrelflight a few more vigorous licks.

Her jaws gaped in an enormous yawn. “This rain doesn’t help. If it goes on much longer it’ll wash my fur off.”

Brambleclaw stopped and let his muzzle rest against Squirrelflight’s warm flank. He was just dozing off when he felt her give a wriggle and heard her say, “I think it’s easing off.”

Lifting his head, Brambleclaw realized that the steady pattering of the rain on the grass outside their shelter had faded away into uneven, short-lived bursts. The wind had dropped, and a watery beam of sunlight glinted on the drops that hung from every branch and twig.

Tawnypelt meowed, “The clouds are breaking up.”

Brambleclaw scrambled out from the roots and glanced up to see that it was almost sunhigh. The rest of the patrol emerged behind him. Mistyfoot scented the air, while Crowfeather groomed the ruffled fur on his gray-black shoulder.

“Any chance of hunting?” Squirrelflight meowed, stretching each hindleg in turn.

“Sure,” Brambleclaw replied. “Let’s look for something on the way.” It would be a chance to see how well the woodland could feed hungry cats.

The five cats spread out among the trees. Brambleclaw kept his ears pricked for the sound of prey, and he paused every few steps to taste the air. At first all he could smell were wet leaves and dripping branches, and he felt his spirits sink.

Were there so many Twolegs here that all the prey had fled?

But at least the ground was becoming more uneven, with bushes and clumps of dead bracken where little creatures might hide.

Suddenly he picked up a tiny scuffling sound among the leaves at the foot of a tree. Squirrelflight heard it at the same moment, and streaked toward it. Her paws thudded on the ground, and the prey—a vole—shot out and vanished into a clump of brambles. Squirrelflight raced after it with her nose stretched out. Brambleclaw groaned—she should have known better than to chase something so noisily in the quiet forest.

“She won’t catch it now,” Crowfeather commented.

They watched Squirrelflight plunge into the bushes. For a heartbeat her dark ginger fur was visible among the waving branches before it disappeared. A fading yowl came out of the bushes, and then all was still.

“What happened?” exclaimed Tawnypelt.

Brambleclaw dashed toward the brambles, the vole forgotten. “Squirrelflight!” he yowled. “Squirrelflight, where are you?”

He pushed his way into the thorny branches.

“Careful!” he heard Mistyfoot warn him from behind.

Brambleclaw scarcely heard her. Springy twigs slapped him across the face, and he felt a thorn sink into his pad.

“Squirrelflight!” he called again.

“I’m down here!” The faint reply came from somewhere below.

Brambleclaw looked down and gasped. A tail-length in front of him the ground fell away sharply; another couple of pawsteps and he would have slipped over too.

Glancing back over his shoulder he saw Tawnypelt pressing up close behind him. “Stay back,” he warned. “There’s some sort of cliff here. Let me have a look first.”

Keeping his belly close to the ground, he crept forward until he could look over the edge. Remembering the gorge in the mountains where Smokepaw had fallen, he braced himself to see Squirrelflight’s broken body lying on stones far below. Instead she was standing in a clump of brambles no more than three or four fox-lengths beneath him, staring up at him with wide green eyes.

“Squirrelflight!” He gasped. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not!” Squirrelflight meowed crossly. “I’ve got so many thorns in me I feel like a hedgehog. And I never caught that wretched vole. But I’ve found something amazing!

Come and see.”

“Will we be able to get out again?”

Squirrelflight sighed. “Honestly, Brambleclaw, are you a mouse? Get down here. You’ve got to see this.”

Brambleclaw felt his fur prickle with excitement. He glanced back at the other members of the patrol. Tawnypelt was standing where he had left her, and Mistyfoot and Crowfeather peered anxiously around her flank.

“Is Squirrelflight hurt?” Mistyfoot called.

“No, I think she’s fine,” Brambleclaw replied. “She wants me to go down there. Will you keep watch?”

Mistyfoot nodded, and Brambleclaw turned back to the cliff. When he looked at it closely, he saw that it wasn’t as sheer as the gorge. It was steep, but there were plenty of pawholds on jutting stones and tussocks of grass. Half slipping, half scrambling, he made his way down until he reached Squirrelflight, who was standing among the brambles looking rather disheveled.

“There!” She spun around, impatiently twitching her tail.

“See?”

Brambleclaw followed her gaze more slowly. They were standing on the edge of a bramble thicket; a wide, grassy space stretched in front of them, surrounded by walls of stone. Where he and Squirrelflight had come down, the walls were fairly low, but on the opposite side of the clearing they stretched above their heads for many fox-lengths.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t fall down on that side,” he meowed.

“Yes, I know, but don’t you see, Brambleclaw?” Squirrelflight demanded. “This is ThunderClan’s new camp!”

“What?”

“Look at it,” she insisted. “It’s perfect.”

Brambleclaw unhooked a bramble from his fur and padded into the center of the clearing. The stone walls rose all around him except for a gap not far away, which was choked with dead ferns and grass with whiskery, seedy stems.

There were more bramble thickets all around him, and he could see one or two cracks that might lead to caves in the highest part of the wall. He could see what Squirrelflight meant. The place could make a good camp, but something about it spooked him all the same.

“I don’t know…” he began, not wanting to crush Squirrelflight’s excitement but unable to ignore the disquiet that made his paws itch. “Look at the surface of the stone, how smoothly it’s been cut. Only Twolegs could have done that, and we can’t camp anywhere near Twolegs.”

“But that must have been ages ago,” Squirrelflight argued, coming to join him in the center of the clearing. “Look at the grass and bushes growing up the walls. They didn’t spring up overnight, did they? And there’s no scent of Twolegs.”

Brambleclaw tasted the air. Squirrelflight was right. No Twolegs had been there for a long time. She was right about the bushes, too. Twolegs must have cut out the stone—maybe to build their nests—and then gone away and left the hollow in the middle of the forest. In a way, it reminded him of the ravine that had sheltered the old ThunderClan camp.

Perhaps that would make it feel like home to the Clan.

He forced himself to be calm. His Clanmates needed him to be strong, and not see danger in every shadow and stirring leaf. “It might do, I suppose.”

Squirrelflight flicked her ears. “Don’t get too enthusiastic, will you?” she mewed.

“I’m just wondering what it would be like to defend. That part over there would be fine”—he gestured with his tail to the highest, steepest wall—“but it’s pretty low where we came in. And what about that gap?”

“Well, it’s an easier way in and out than the one we took just now! We can fill it in with thorns or something to keep out uninvited visitors.”

She bounded over and prowled through the long grass, sniffing here and there. Watching her, Brambleclaw felt a wave of homesickness sweep over him, and he closed his eyes.

The feeling seemed to pick him up and swamp him like the waves at sun-drown-place, and for a few heartbeats he thought he would drown in it. He wanted the old ThunderClan camp with its strong thorn walls and the gorse tunnel that was so easy to defend. He wanted to lie down in the warriors’ den under the thornbush, or visit Cinderpelt in her den among the soft green ferns. He wanted to eat fresh-kill by the nettle patch while the apprentices scuffled by their favorite tree stump, their fighting moves carefully imitated by the kits outside the nursery.

The pain of knowing he could never go back was almost too much for Brambleclaw to bear. The Twoleg monsters would have torn up every part of the camp by now, all the places that were so deep in his heart. It wasn’t fair! Why had StarClan let this happen?

The wind picked up, rattling the branches of the trees that surrounded the hollow and jolting Brambleclaw back to his surroundings. Taking a deep breath, he padded over to Squirrelflight, who was still nosing about in the gap between the walls.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re limping.”

“Oh—there’s a thorn in my pad.” Brambleclaw had almost forgotten about it.

“Lie down and let me look.”

When Brambleclaw obeyed, she licked experimentally at his pad and managed to get the end of the thorn between her teeth. With a sharp tug it came away.

“There,” Squirrelflight meowed. “Now give it a good lick.”

“Thanks. You’re nearly good enough to be a medicine cat!”

Squirrelflight gave a little mrrow of amusement. Then the laughter died from her eyes and she looked closely at him.

“You don’t like it here, do you?”

“It’s not that.” Brambleclaw paused in rasping his tongue over his injured pad. “It’s just… well, I suppose I wanted to find a camp exactly like the one we left behind, in a ravine with gorse to keep out invaders…”

He trailed off, afraid Squirrelflight would think he was being ridiculous; instead she pressed her muzzle affectionately against his. “There isn’t a cat among ThunderClan who doesn’t want our old home back. But it’s gone now. StarClan has brought us to a new place, and we’ve got to find out how to live here. Don’t you think this hollow would make a good camp? Twolegs don’t come here, and there’s no sign of Thunderpaths.”

Gazing into her shining eyes, Brambleclaw knew that he had brought with him from the forest everything that was truly important. “You’re right,” he murmured, leaning into the warmth of her fur. “I couldn’t do this without you. You know that, don’t you?”

Squirrelflight’s tongue rasped gently over his ear. “Stupid furball.”

Brambleclaw returned the affectionate lick, then froze as he heard the sound of something approaching through the gap.

“Hi, there.” It was Crowfeather’s voice, muffled by a mouthful of vole. He shouldered the long grass aside as he came up to them and dropped the fresh-kill at their paws.

“You’ve been so long, we started to think a fox might have gotten you.”

“No, we’re fine,” replied Brambleclaw.

“If a fox had gotten me,” Squirrelflight added, “you would have heard about it, don’t worry.”

“I daresay we would,” Crowfeather meowed, pushing the vole toward them. “This is for you,” he went on. “We’ve all had ours. We hunted while we were waiting for you to come back.”

“Thanks, Crowfeather,” mewed Brambleclaw.

The WindClan warrior acknowledged his thanks with a wave of his tail.

“Well, what do you think of the new ThunderClan camp?”

Squirrelflight demanded.

“Here?” Crowfeather blinked, and turned slowly around while the ThunderClan warriors shared the vole in swift, hungry bites. “I suppose it’s okay,” he meowed at last, “if you want to be closed in like this. It would be easy to defend, but it wouldn’t do for WindClan.”

“We’re not offering it to WindClan,” Squirrelflight pointed out.

Crowfeather flicked his ears, and Brambleclaw wondered if he was worried about finding somewhere suitable for his Clan. Surely he’d wait until they explored the ridge of hills before seriously looking for a camp? Now that they’d found this hollow, amid the right sort of woods for voles and squirrels and birds, Brambleclaw was starting to believe there might actually be territories for every Clan around the lake.

Tawnypelt and Mistyfoot padded into the hollow, tasting the air as they gazed around at the sheer walls of rock.

“No foxes or badgers,” Mistyfoot remarked. “Pretty sheltered, too.”

“All the same, you’ll need to be careful,” Tawnypelt urged Brambleclaw. “If Twolegs made this place, how do you know they won’t come back?”

“Twolegs haven’t been here for seasons,” Squirrelflight replied calmly. “There’s no scent of them, and there wouldn’t be so much undergrowth if they were still cutting out the rock.”

But Tawnypelt’s words made Brambleclaw unsheathe his claws and sink them into the rain-damp ground. The memory of Twoleg monsters ripping through their old home was too recent; it was all too easy for him to imagine them coming here to cut more stone out of the hollow. And yet ThunderClan would be mousebrained not to use a place that seemed to have nearly everything they would need for a safe and sheltered camp. In the end it was Firestar who would have to make the decision.

“Are you ready?” Mistyfoot interrupted his thoughts. “It’s way past sunhigh.”

Brambleclaw nodded. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He wasn’t sure what direction they should take to return to the lake, when his nose was filled with unfamiliar smells. Not far away from the entrance to the hollow, he noticed that the ground sloped upward.

“Let’s go that way,” he suggested. If they gained some height, they might be able to see the lake.

The rest of the patrol murmured agreement, and the cats padded side by side out of the hollow. As they pushed through the undergrowth, leaving the sheltering stone walls behind them, Squirrelflight paused and looked over her shoulder. “We’ll come back, won’t we?”

She spoke so quietly that Brambleclaw wasn’t sure if she was talking to him, but he replied anyway. “Yes,” he said, stretching forward to touch his muzzle to the tip of her ear.

“I think we will.”

“Come on,” called Crowfeather. “We want to be back before it gets dark.” He didn’t add that they still had to find somewhere for WindClan to live, but Brambleclaw knew that must be in his thoughts.

He trotted up the slope with Squirrelflight beside him, leaving the hollow to be swallowed up once more among the close-growing trees. Wet grass brushed at his fur, chilling him through, but above his head the clouds had cleared away to reveal the pale blue sky of leaf-bare. The sun shone, though there was little warmth in it.

Brambleclaw stopped and looked down at the sweep of leafless branches below. The stone hollow was totally hidden, safe and secret in the surrounding forest. Could it really become ThunderClan’s new camp? He had expected to feel more certain when he discovered somewhere his Clanmates might be able to live; he had thought it would feel like home.

Instead there was something oppressive about this place, as if the rocks themselves did not want to welcome the newcomers.

As they climbed, the trees began to thin out, and the dense undergrowth gave way to stretches of crisp fallen leaves.

After a while Brambleclaw saw glimpses of open moorland between the trunks, and soon they reached the edge of the forest, with the ridge of hills rolling away in front of them.

The lake was a gleam of silver in the valley below. Straight ahead lay a gray-green swell of moorland grass, rippled by the wind. Gorse thickets were dotted over it, and Brambleclaw could hear the sound of running water. There could be no doubt that they had found a home for WindClan.

“Hey, Crowfeather!” he called. “What do you think?”

The WindClan warrior’s eyes gleamed, but he did not reply until he had opened his jaws and carefully tasted the air.

“Rabbits!”

“Right, that’s WindClan sorted out,” Squirrelflight meowed. “Let’s get back to the others.”

Crowfeather shot her a look from narrowed eyes.

“Only joking,” Squirrelflight mewed quickly. “Come on; let’s find somewhere for your camp.”

Brambleclaw knew they needed to look for a camping place for WindClan, but already the sun was slipping down the sky, casting long shadows over the grass.

“Actually, we should get back to the others,” he began awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Crowfeather. I don’t think we’ve time to explore these hills properly. Tallstar can send another patrol tomorrow to check out a site for your camp. I think we should head straight across the ridge to the end of the lake now.”

Crowfeather’s tail-tip twitched. For a few heartbeats he stood motionless, studying the sweep of hillside before lowering his head to sniff the grass. Brambleclaw was worried that he was about to insist they explored further, but in the end he just meowed, “It’s okay. You’re right; we should be heading back.”

There was a guarded look in his eyes as he spoke, and Brambleclaw guessed he wasn’t sorry that cats from other Clans weren’t getting a chance to explore WindClan’s new territory. Pain stabbed at the young tabby’s heart.

Crowfeather was ferociously loyal to his Clanmates; it wasn’t surprising that he would be the first to start setting up the old barriers again.

They started to follow the slope up to the top of the ridge, with the lake stretching out below them like a shining sheet of sky. Brambleclaw padded beside Squirrelflight, gazing from side to side over this new stretch of territory. They climbed a shoulder of the hill to a stream that foamed over rocks and vanished into the trees they had left behind. They followed it uphill for a few fox-lengths until they came to stepping-stones where they could cross. A smaller stream joined it here, gurgling down a steep, grassy slope.

Before they reached the top of the hill they came to a spot where the ground fell away, as if some enormous monster had taken a bite out of the hillside. But not a Twoleg monster, Brambleclaw realized; this hollow had been formed by time and weather alone. Boulders were scattered over the ground in the middle, while gorse and other shrubs grew thickly around the edges. Inside, it would be sheltered from the wind, but not as closed-in as the walls of stone that encircled the possible ThunderClan camp.

Brambleclaw narrowed his eyes. “What about that for your camp, Crowfeather?” he asked.

Crowfeather kneaded the ground in excitement as he looked down the slope. “It looks good,” he agreed. “I’ll check it out. You go on, and I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure?” Brambleclaw meowed. “I don’t think we should leave you on your own.”

“I’ll be fine,” Crowfeather promised, flexing his hindlegs, ready to dash off. “There’s no scent of Twolegs or foxes. And I can find my own way back to the camp by the horseplace. I can smell those creatures from here!”

Before any of the others could argue, he streaked off down the hill. Brambleclaw watched him pause on the edge of the dip before plunging into the gorse cover, the trembling branches the only sign of where he had been a moment before.

“I hope he’s right about the Twolegs and foxes,” murmured Mistyfoot, coming over to stand beside Brambleclaw.

Too late, he wondered if he should have consulted Mistyfoot before letting Crowfeather go off on his own. He opened his mouth to defend the WindClan warrior, but she stopped him, speaking gently to take any sting out of her words. “It’s all right, Brambleclaw. I can see how much respect these cats have for you. That’s something to be proud of, not to apologize for. Few cats are born leaders, but I think you are.”

He blinked at her, partly grateful and partly surprised. It seemed strange having a RiverClan cat make a judgment like that about him. He wondered what Mistyfoot thought of his half brother, Hawkfrost, who was a RiverClan warrior. Was Tigerstar’s other son a born leader, too?

Suddenly a gust of wind buffeted them so hard that Brambleclaw’s eyes watered, and for a couple of heartbeats he thought it would sweep him off his paws. It brought a strong scent of horse with it. Shaking his head to clear away the tears, Brambleclaw spotted the horseplace at the far end of the ridge, and beyond it the small copse where the four Clans waited for the patrol to return.

“We’re almost there!” Squirrelflight exclaimed. She bounded forward, and the other cats followed, their paws flying over the smooth ground. It was much faster to travel out here than in the forest, and for a moment Brambleclaw understood why WindClan cats ran more swiftly than any other, and seemed restless when they were closed in by ferns and tree trunks.

The sun was setting behind the pine trees, turning the surface of the lake to fire, as they trekked down the hill. They had just reached the bottom when Crowfeather caught up, panting.

“Well?” Squirrelflight demanded.

Crowfeather swiped his tongue around his jaws as if he had just swallowed a juicy piece of fresh-kill. His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “It’s great!” he mewed. “There’s a tunnel under one of the gorse bushes that looks as if it might lead to an old badger set, but the badgers are long gone.

There’s not even any scent left.”

“You could use the set as a den,” Tawnypelt suggested.

Crowfeather sniffed. “WindClan cats sleep outside. Only badgers and rabbits live in burrows,” he reminded her.

In twilight they slipped along the edge of the lake, past the fence of the horseplace. All Brambleclaw’s senses were alert for dogs and Twolegs, but they saw nothing except for one huge horse looking over the fence. Squirrelflight jumped as it blew out a noisy breath, then hissed to hide how startled she had been.

Moments later they heard a loud meow coming out of the darkness. “Who’s there?”

“It’s okay, Hawkfrost, it’s only us,” Mistyfoot called.

The RiverClan warrior emerged from the shadows, his powerful shoulders flexing smoothly under his tabby pelt.

“Leopardstar and the other leaders sent me to look out for you,” he meowed. “They’re all expecting you. Follow me.”

Brambleclaw blinked. It was strange to think that he and Hawkfrost were kin, both sons of Tigerstar. They were alike in so many ways, yet Brambleclaw struggled to feel any kinship or loyalty to the RiverClan warrior. He was too quick to order other cats around, too openly hungry for power in his Clan, and he made Brambleclaw ask himself questions about their shared inheritance that he would have preferred to ignore. Such as, where did Hawkfrost’s ambition come from?

Did he share Tigerstar’s hunger for power at any cost? And if he had inherited this from their father, what did that mean for Brambleclaw?

Hawkfrost led them to the trees near the horseplace where the Clans had stopped to rest the day before. Firestar and Blackstar were talking together beside the tree stump, but otherwise the clearing looked deserted.

As soon as the patrol appeared, Blackstar leaped up on the stump and let out a yowl. “Cats of all Clans! Gather around!”

At once the shadowy shapes of cats began to appear out of hollows and clumps of long grass. One or two jumped down from low-hanging branches. Mudclaw pushed his way through his Clanmates and joined Blackstar on the stump, forcing Leopardstar to sit on the ground again.

Firestar padded over to stand in front of Brambleclaw.

“Welcome back,” he meowed. “No trouble, I hope?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Brambleclaw replied. He glanced guiltily at Squirrelflight as he remembered the fight they had nearly lost against the kittypets.

“One of you had better come up on the stump so we can all hear you,” Firestar decided. “Mistyfoot, would you like to join us?”

Mistyfoot dipped her head. “Actually, Firestar, I think Brambleclaw should speak on behalf of the patrol. He has more experience with describing unknown places.”

Brambleclaw looked quickly at her, but there was no edge to the RiverClan deputy’s words. Instead she stepped back to let him reach the tree stump. “Thanks,” he murmured as he went past. Mistyfoot just blinked.

Brambleclaw bunched his hindlegs underneath him and sprang onto the stump. It was a tight squeeze, and his flank brushed against Blackstar’s as he shuffled around to face the cats below. The ShadowClan leader drew away with the faintest hiss, but Brambleclaw tried not to let Blackstar’s hostility ruffle his fur. His heart pounded at the thought of describing the long journey around the lake to all four Clans.

The cats gazed up at him, and Brambleclaw could feel their hunger for his news pulsing through the air. Briefly he wondered if this was what it was like to be a Clan leader, with every cat hanging on his words.

Then he heard Dustpelt’s voice raised impatiently above the rustle of the branches overhead. “Get on with it, Brambleclaw! Tell us what you found.”

Brambleclaw swallowed uncomfortably, wondering where to start. He couldn’t say that choosing a new home was not all he had hoped for. In spite of Midnight’s directions, the dying warrior, the starlight reflected in the lake, he didn’t feel as if the Clans truly belonged in this territory. It was too easy to imagine Twoleg monsters tearing through the woods, turning the ground to mud and shattering the walls of the stone hollow until the newly built ThunderClan dens were exposed to the sky, and every cat was as helpless as a newborn kit…

But that wasn’t what the Clans wanted to hear, and none of the other cats on the patrol had seemed to doubt that this was where they belonged now. They could be right, Brambleclaw told himself firmly. They had proved that the Clans could live here; what more could he expect?

“It’s good news,” he began, taking a deep breath. “We have found territories that are suitable for all the Clans—reeds and water for RiverClan, pine forest for ShadowClan, leafy woods for ThunderClan, and moorland for WindClan.”

As murmurs of excitement broke out, Leopardstar called.

“What about prey?”

“There seems to be plenty,” Brambleclaw replied, “given that it’s leaf-bare. We didn’t go hungry, that’s for sure.”

“And Twolegs?” queried another cat—Brambleclaw thought it was a ShadowClan warrior, but he couldn’t be sure.

“We saw some evidence that they visit places around the lake, but there are none there now,” he meowed. “Mistyfoot thinks there’ll be more of them around in greenleaf. That’s when they used to bring their kits to swim in the river, back in the forest.”

He noticed several of the cats glance anxiously at each other, and felt the familiar tremor of fear at the thought of what Twolegs had brought to the forest, apart from their kits.

He was relieved when Mistyfoot added, “We’ll be able to keep out of their way. They won’t be a big problem.”

“Well… that’s all.” Brambleclaw wasn’t sure what else to say. “Maybe each of us should tell our own Clans what we saw in more detail.”

“We need to decide where the boundaries will be,” Blackstar growled.

“Right,” meowed Firestar from where he was sitting at the base of the stump, next to Leopardstar. “We can do that when we have a clearer idea of each territory. Thanks, Brambleclaw.”

Brambleclaw dipped his head gratefully at his leader; he may have led his friends to sun-drown-place and back again, and explored the territory around the lake, but he felt as helpless as a kit among the other Clan leaders. His fur prickled, and he noticed Hawkfrost staring at him from the edge of the cats seated around the stump. Twitching his ears uncomfortably, Brambleclaw jumped down. He winced as Hawkfrost came over to meet him and braced himself for a hostile comment, perhaps a challenge about where the new boundaries should be.

To his surprise, there was a friendly gleam in the RiverClan warrior’s blue eyes.

“Thanks for finding the new territories, Brambleclaw,” he meowed. “I’m almost sorry that we’ll be going our separate ways now. I’d have liked to hunt with you.”

Brambleclaw blinked. Warriors of different Clans could not hunt together—but that wasn’t the real reason Hawkfrost’s suggestion startled him. Did the RiverClan warrior feel something like kinship with him? If he and Hawkfrost had been members of the same Clan, might they have been friends like Firestar and Graystripe, who had risked their lives for each other countless times?

“Well, we’ll meet at Gatherings,” he began.

“Brambleclaw, what are you doing?” Squirrelflight padded up with a glare at Hawkfrost. “Firestar is waiting for us.”

“Of course. And Leopardstar will be waiting for me.”

Hawkfrost dipped his head in farewell and padded away.

“Why are you talking to him?” Squirrelflight demanded crossly when Hawkfrost was out of earshot. “You know he can’t be trusted.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind,” Brambleclaw retorted.

Squirrelflight snorted. “Yeah, right. That cat has too much ambition for his own good.”

Brambleclaw felt his neck fur start to rise. “Really?”

“He wishes Mistyfoot had never come back, so that he could still be deputy. I’ve heard him arguing with her more than once.”

“He wants the best for his Clan, that’s all,” Brambleclaw meowed. There was something in him that understood exactly how Hawkfrost must have felt when Mistyfoot had escaped from the Twolegs, and claimed back her place as RiverClan deputy.

“That’s not all.” Squirrelflight paused, flicking her tail-tip back and forth. “I can tell Leafpaw doesn’t trust Hawkfrost, and she knows him better than we do. She was in the forest while he was RiverClan deputy.”

“Have you asked her why she feels that way?”

Squirrelflight shook her head. “I don’t need to ask her. I just know how she feels.”

Brambleclaw narrowed his eyes. “So you don’t have anything against Hawkfrost except for what Leafpaw feels about him? Because she’s your sister, right? Well, Hawkfrost is my brother.”

“Are you telling me you feel loyal to him because of that?”

Squirrelflight exclaimed. “But you hardly know him!”

“Neither do you. But you think you know him well enough to say he can’t be trusted.” Brambleclaw unsheathed his claws and let them sink into the fallen leaves. “Or are you accusing him because of who his father was?”

Squirrelflight’s green eyes stretched wide. “If that’s what you think, then you don’t know me at all!” she hissed. She whirled around and stalked away with her tail in the air.

Brambleclaw stared after her in dismay. He and Squirrelflight had quarreled ever since she became an apprentice. But he had never expected to hear such cold dis-like in her voice.

Icy claws pricked down Brambleclaw’s spine. If Squirrelflight distrusted Hawkfrost because of who his father was, did that mean she didn’t trust him?