The Sight

Chapter 5

Lionkit woke in his nest. A draft ruffled his golden pelt.

Where’s Jaykit?

Jaykit usually slept beside him, but there was an empty space there now.

Then he remembered.

Lionkit felt sickness surge in his belly as he pictured Jaykit lying limp at the side of the clearing. He’s going to be okay, he reminded himself.

But in the clearing, watching Leafpool and Brambleclaw crouch by his body, Lionkit had thought that his brother was dead. A shiver ran down his tail. He nudged Hollykit, who was still sleeping beside him, her black pelt almost making her invisible in the darkness. “It’s cold without Jaykit.”

“He’ll be back soon,” she murmured, not opening her eyes.

“But it’s weird when he’s not here.”

“He’s only on the other side of the clearing, and he’ll be back in a day or two.” Hollykit rolled over. “Go back to sleep.” Within moments her breathing deepened and she was asleep again.

Lionkit still felt a tug of sadness. Jaykit should be with them, just like always.

He closed his eyes but the image of his brother lying in the clearing filled his mind again. It was my idea to leave the camp.

Jaykit could be dead, or the fox cubs could have chased them into the hollow. What a mess!

Lionkit got to his paws. He needed fresh air to clear his head.

He peered through the shadows to where Daisy slept. Her long, creamy fur blended into Ferncloud’s dark gray pelt.

Ferncloud’s whiskers were twitching as she dreamed, her two kits snuggled against her flank. Neither queen would be pleased at being woken just so he could ask permission to leave the den; besides, he’d be back before they woke.

With a flick of his tail, he picked his way past Hollykit and squeezed through the prickly entrance.

Cold night air stung his nose, and the frosty ground made his paws ache as he padded around the edge of the camp. Prey scents drifted from the forest. A bird chattered an alarm call far away. He glanced up at Silverpelt, spread across the inky sky. He was glad StarClan had let Jaykit stay down here with his Clanmates. Perhaps he could look in on his brother.

Leafpool would be asleep by now.

Lionkit kept to the shadows, painfully aware that he was not supposed to be outside the nursery without permission.

As he crept along the stretch of thornbush that sealed the camp, his heart seemed to pound in his chest loud enough to wake his Clanmates. When he scanned the clearing, Lionkit realized with a start that he was not the only cat awake so late.

A shape was stirring on the other side of the clearing. The lithe outline of a cat peeled away from the shadows, followed by another.

Lionkit ducked under a branch, relieved to find a small space inside the prickly barrier where he could hide. He peered through the twigs at the emerging shapes: Dustpelt and Spiderleg were padding side by side into the pool of moonlight that lit the center of the camp.

“They’re nearly here,” the long-limbed warrior told Dustpelt.

“Good,” Dustpelt meowed.

Lionkit strained his ears, listening. Frozen leaves crackled beyond the camp wall. He felt the thorn barrier tremble as Stormfur and Brackenfur pushed their way through the entrance tunnel into the camp. The moonhigh patrol had returned.

Dustpelt hurried toward them. “Anything to report?”

“All quiet,” Stormfur replied.

Lionkit pressed himself further into the thorns. He could always say he had slipped out only to make dirt, but he was not ready yet to be sent back into the nursery.

Brackenfur held a mouse between his teeth. He dropped it. “It’s good to be out hunting again,” the golden tabby purred.

“Did you patrol the new border at the edge of the clearing?” Spiderleg asked.

Brackenfur nodded. “ShadowClan have marked it well,” he meowed. “But there’s no sign they strayed onto ThunderClan territory.”

Dustpelt narrowed his eyes. “They’d better not. It’s bad enough Firestar gave them that piece of land in the first place.

If I catch any ShadowClan cat on the wrong side of the border I’ll rip his fur off!”

“They wouldn’t dare!” Brackenfur growled.

“They dared before Firestar gave them the territory,” Spiderleg pointed out. He glanced at the scar on Brackenfur’s flank, a reminder of one of the vicious quarrels the two Clans had fought over the stretch of open ground on either side of the stream running down from the Twoleg clearing.

ShadowClan had always laid claim to the territory, and Firestar had finally granted it to them at the last Gathering to save further blood being spilled over a stretch of land that was too bare to offer good hunting.

“It wasn’t worth fighting over,” Stormfur commented.

“Firestar was right to give it up.”

Dustpelt snorted. “ThunderClan has never given up territory before!”

“No,” agreed Brackenfur.

Spiderleg turned in an agitated circle, tail lashing, but Brackenfur went on. “However, the land was too exposed, and the Twolegs will be there soon, once it’s greenleaf.”

“And ThunderClan are more used to hunting in the forest,” Stormfur added.

“Firestar still shouldn’t have given it up so easily,” Spiderleg insisted.

Lionkit watched nervously from his hiding place as Spiderleg glared at Stormfur. The long-limbed black warrior was more hotheaded than his father, Dustpelt. But Stormfur refused to be intimidated.

“We gave up nothing but a piece of barren land that was too close to Twoleg territory!” he hissed.

“You sound like Brambleclaw.” Dustpelt curled his lip. “He only agreed with Firestar’s decision because any cat knows he’d rather face a pack of dogs than a Twoleg!”

Lionkit’s fur bristled with anger. His father wasn’t scared of anything!

“Brambleclaw sided with Firestar because it was a wise decision, not because he was scared of Twolegs!” Stormfur retorted.

“Was it wise to stand before all the Clans and announce that ThunderClan can no longer defend its boundaries?”

Spiderleg meowed hotly. “ShadowClan have no right to set one mangy paw on ThunderClan land!”

“Well, it’s ShadowClan land now,” Stormfur concluded.

Spiderleg glared at him. “Of course, you don’t care how much territory we give up,” he snarled. “You’re not a ThunderClan cat!”

Lionkit flinched. Stormfur had fought off the invading ShadowClan warriors as fiercely as any cat. He watched closely, waiting to see how the gray warrior would react. But Stormfur only stared back at Spiderleg, his eyes wide with shock.

Brackenfur stepped between them, his eyes glinting anxiously in the moonlight. “It doesn’t matter if we disagree,” he meowed. “The decision has been made.”

“But now ShadowClan will think they can take whatever they want from us!” Spiderleg objected.

“Firestar made it clear that he was doing ShadowClan a favor when he let them take the land,” Brackenfur reminded him. “He left no cat in any doubt that he was acting out of wisdom rather than weakness.”

“Then why did Onestar and Leopardstar look so interested?” Dustpelt snapped. “It was obvious they thought ThunderClan couldn’t defend their territory.”

“What if WindClan decide they want a piece of the forest on the other side?” Spiderleg chipped in. “Onestar hasn’t exactly been a friend of ours since he became leader.”

“He’s been okay since he helped us with the badger attack,” Brackenfur pointed out.

“But he’s still going to be looking out for his Clan,” Dustpelt argued. “If he thinks we’re weak he might see a chance to expand his territory.”

“Can you imagine Firestar giving up any prey-rich part of our territory?” Stormfur asked.

Dustpelt glared at him for a moment, then dipped his head. “No,” he conceded.

“And we don’t have to worry about RiverClan,” Brackenfur pressed. “We share no boundaries with them, and Leopardstar’s been pretty quiet since Hawkfrost died on our territory.”

“Does any cat really know what happened to Hawkfrost?”

Stormfur asked.

“Only that Firestar found his body while he was on patrol with Brambleclaw and Ashfur,” Spiderleg meowed.

Lionkit did not fully understand. He had heard Daisy and Ferncloud talking about Hawkfrost, the RiverClan deputy who had died on ThunderClan territory, impaled on a wooden spike from a fox trap. No one was sure what the RiverClan warrior had been doing there. Lionkit had tried to ask his father once about Hawkfrost—after all, Hawkfrost was Brambleclaw’s half brother and therefore Lionkit’s kin—but Brambleclaw had been reluctant to answer. The only information he would give was that Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight had carried the dead RiverClan warrior back to his camp as they would have done with any fallen warrior, and that he had been mourned by his Clanmates.

As Lionkit strained to hear whether the warriors’ conversation would reveal anything new, he felt the thorn barrier rustle around him. He realized with a jolt that he was right beside the small entrance that led to where the cats made their dirt—the same entrance that he, Jaykit, and Hollykit had sneaked out of in search of the fox cubs. Alarmed, Lionkit sniffed the air. Mousepaw was squeezing his way back through less than a tail-length away.

He shrank further back into the shadows, but he could not escape Mousepaw’s sharp nose.

“Lionkit?” Mousepaw hissed into the darkness.

Lionkit wondered for a moment whether to bury himself deeper in the barrier, but he didn’t like the look of the thorns, and besides, his pride would not let him. “I’m in here,” he confessed.

As he spoke, Dustpelt’s amber gaze flashed toward them.

“Mousepaw?” he called.

Lionkit held his breath. Would the apprentice give him away? They had been denmates for a while in the nursery, but Mousepaw might side with the warriors now.

“I’m just on my way back to the den,” Mousepaw told Dustpelt. A moment later he squeezed into Lionkit’s hiding place. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the nursery?” he whispered.

Lionkit flicked his tail crossly. He was grateful that Mousepaw hadn’t given him away, but he hated being treated like a feeble kit. “I couldn’t sleep,” he grumbled. “I’m used to having Jaykit around.”

“Why were Dustpelt and Stormfur arguing?”

“They were talking about Firestar’s decision to give ShadowClan the bit of land by the river,” Lionkit explained.

“Dustpelt accused Stormfur of not being a real ThunderClan warrior.”

Mousepaw flattened his ears, shocked. “I’m surprised that Stormfur didn’t shred him!”

“But Stormfur’s not a real ThunderClan warrior, is he?”

Lionkit pointed out, puzzled.

“You’d better not say that to his face!” Mousepaw warned.

“But he was born in RiverClan and lived with the Tribe.”

“Mousepaw!” Dustpelt’s voice sounded from the clearing.

Mousepaw shoved Lionkit further back into the bush. He stifled a squeak of pain as thorns dug into his pelt, and Mousepaw squeezed out from under the branches.

“Shouldn’t you be back in the apprentices’ den?” Dustpelt queried.

“I thought I smelled a mouse,” Mousepaw lied.

“Straying into the camp would be stupid even for a mouse,” Dustpelt muttered. “Go to your den. I’m sure Spiderleg won’t be pleased if you’re too tired for training in the morning.”

“Yes, Dustpelt.” Mousepaw dipped his head and padded quickly away.

Lionkit waited, thorns poking him, until Dustpelt and the other warriors headed to their den. It seemed foolish to risk going to the medicine cat’s den now. As soon as he was sure that no cat stirred, Lionkit dragged himself out from under the thorn barrier and crept back to the nursery.

Several thorns from the barrier had caught in his fur and were tangled in his pelt. They pricked him as he curled gingerly back into his nest. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep, but his conversation with Mousepaw echoed in his mind. It hadn’t occurred to him before how important it was to the warriors whether a cat was truly ThunderClan or not.

His own place in the Clan had always been something he had taken for granted. He supposed that not every cat was lucky enough to be born in the forest, with the Clan deputy and Clan leader as kin. But he still didn’t understand why Mousepaw had taken the quarrel between the warriors so seriously. So long as Stormfur and Brook were loyal to ThunderClan, what else mattered?