Warriors
The New Prophecy
MIDNIGHT
ERIN
HUNTER

COPYRIGHT

HarperCollins Children’s Books An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2011

First published in the USA by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2005

Copyright © Working Partners Limited 2005

Series created by Working Partners Limited.

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Source ISBN: 9780007419227

Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2014 ISBN: 9780007551040

Version: 2019-04-08

DEDICATION

For Chris, Janet, and Louisa Haslum Special thanks to Cherith Baldry

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Allegiances

Maps

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Keep Reading

Also by Author

About the Publisher

MAPS

PROLOGUE

Night lay upon the forest. There was no moon, but the stars of Silverpelt shed their frosty glitter over the trees. At the bottom of a rocky hollow, a pool reflected the starshine. The air was heavy with the scents of late greenleaf.

Wind sighed softly through the trees and ruffled the quiet surface of the pool. At the top of the hollow, the fronds of bracken parted to reveal a cat; her bluish grey fur glimmered as she stepped delicately from rock to rock, down to the water’s edge.

Sitting on a flat stone that jutted out over the pool, she raised her head to look around. As if at a signal, more cats began to appear, slipping into the hollow from every direction. They padded down to sit as close to the water as they could, until the lower slopes were filled with lithe shapes gazing down into the pool.

The cat who had appeared first rose to her paws. “A new prophecy has come!” she meowed. “A doom that will change everything has been foretold in the stars.”

On the opposite side of the pool, another cat bowed his tawny, bracken-coloured head. “I have seen this too. There will be doubt, and a great challenge,” he agreed.

“Darkness, air, water, and sky will come together, and shake the forest to its roots,” the first cat went on. “Nothing will be as it is now, nor as it has been before.”

“A great storm is coming,” meowed another voice, and the word storm was taken up, repeated and passed around the circle until it seemed that thunder rumbled through the ranks of watching cats.

As the murmur died away a lean cat with a glossy black pelt spoke from near the water’s edge. “Can nothing change what is about to happen? Not even the courage and spirit of the greatest warrior?”

“The doom will come,” the blue-grey cat replied. “But if the Clans meet it like warriors, they may survive.” Lifting her head, she let her luminous gaze travel around the hollow. “You have all seen what must befall,” she meowed. “And you know what must be done. Four cats must be chosen to hold the fate of their Clans in their paws. Are you ready to make your choices before all of StarClan?”

As she finished speaking, the surface of the pool shivered, though there was no wind to disturb it, then was still again.

The bracken-coloured tom rose to his paws, starlight turning the fur on his broad shoulders to silver. “I will begin,” he meowed. He glanced sideways to meet the gaze of a light-coloured tabby with a twisted jaw. “Crookedstar, do I have your permission to speak for RiverClan?” The tabby bowed his head in agreement, and the first cat went on, “Then I invite you all to see and approve my choice.”

He stared down into the water, as motionless as the rocks around him. A pale grey blur appeared on the surface of the pool, and all the cats craned forward to see it more clearly.

“That one?” murmured the blue-grey cat, staring at the shape in the water. “Are you sure, Oakheart?”

The tip of the bracken-coloured tom’s tail flicked back and forth. “I thought that choice would please you, Bluestar,” he meowed, amusement in his tone. “Do you not think she was well mentored?”

“She was excellently mentored.” Bluestar’s neck fur rose as if he had said something to challenge her, then lay flat again. “Does the rest of StarClan agree?” she asked.

A murmur of assent rose from the watching cats, and the pale grey shape thinned and vanished from the water, leaving it clear and empty again.

Now the black cat stood up and padded to the very edge of the pool. “Here is my choice,” he announced. “See and approve it.”

This time the shape in the pool was tawny-coloured and lean, with strong, well-muscled shoulders. Bluestar gazed down at the image for some moments before nodding. “She has strength and courage,” she agreed.

“But Nightstar—does she have loyalty?” called another cat.

The black cat’s head whipped around and his claws dug into the ground in front of him. “Are you calling her disloyal?”

“If I do, there’s reason for it.” The answer was shot back. “She was not born in ShadowClan, was she?”

“Then that could make her a good choice,” Bluestar meowed calmly. “If the Clans cannot work together now, they will all be destroyed. Maybe it will take cats with a paw in two Clans to understand what has to be done.” She paused for a moment, but no other objections were forthcoming. “Do StarClan approve?”

There was some hesitation, but it was not too long before soft meows of agreement came from all the assembled cats. The surface of the pool rippled briefly, and when it stilled again the tawny shape had gone.

Another black cat got up and approached the water’s edge, limping on one stubby, twisted paw. “My turn, I think,” he rasped. “See and approve my choice.”

The grey-black shape that formed in the pool was hard to see against the reflection of the night sky, and the cats peered at it for some time before anyone spoke.

“What?” the bracken-coloured cat exclaimed at last. “That’s an apprentice!”

“I had noticed, thank you, Oakheart,” the black tom meowed dryly.

“Deadfoot, you can’t send an apprentice into danger such as this,” another cat called from the back of the crowd.

“Apprentice he may be,” Deadfoot retorted, “but he has courage and skill to match many warriors. One day he might make a fine leader of WindClan.”

“One day is not now,” Bluestar pointed out. “And the qualities of a leader are not necessarily those that the Clans need to save them now. Do you wish to make another choice?”

Deadfoot’s tail lashed furiously and his neck fur bristled as he glared at Bluestar. “This is my choice,” he insisted. “Do you—or any other cat—dare to say he is not worthy?”

“What do you say?” Her gaze went around the circle. “Do StarClan approve? Remember that every Clan will be lost if one of our chosen cats should weaken or fail.”

Instead of a murmur of approval, the cats muttered at each other in small groups, casting uneasy glances at the shape in the pool and at the cat beside it. Deadfoot stared back with fury in his eyes, his fur fluffed up so that he looked twice his size. He was obviously ready to take on any cat who challenged him.

At length the muttering died away and Bluestar asked once again, “Does the Clan approve?” The assent came, but it was low and reluctant, and a few cats did not speak at all. Deadfoot let out an ill-tempered growl as he turned and limped back to his place.

When the water was clear again Oakheart meowed, “You have not yet made your choice for ThunderClan, Bluestar.”

“No—but I am ready now,” she replied. “See and approve my choice.” She gazed down proudly as a dark tabby shape formed in the depths of the pool.

Oakheart stared at it, and stretched his jaws wide in a soundless mew of laughter. “That one! Bluestar, you never cease to surprise me.”

“Why?” Bluestar’s tone showed she was nettled. “He is a noble young cat, fit for the challenges this prophecy will bring.”

Oakheart’s ears twitched. “Did I say he was not?”

Bluestar held his gaze, not looking at the other cats as she demanded, “Does the Clan approve?” When the agreement came, strong and certain, she gave Oakheart a contemptuous flick of her tail and looked away.

“Cats of StarClan,” she meowed, raising her voice. “Your choices have been made. Soon the journey must begin, to meet the terrible storm that will be released on the forest. Go to your Clans, and make sure each cat is ready.”

She paused, and her eyes blazed with a fierce silver light. “We can choose a warrior to save each Clan, but beyond that we cannot help them. May the spirits of all our warrior ancestors go with these cats, wherever the stars may lead them.”

CHAPTER 1

Leaves rustled as the young tabby cat slid through a gap between two bushes, his jaws wide open to drink in the scent of prey. On this warm night in late greenleaf, the forest was full of the scuffles of tiny creatures. Movements twitched endlessly at the edge of his vision, but when he turned his head he could see nothing but thick clumps of fern and bramble, dappled with moonlight.

Suddenly he stepped out into a wide clearing and gazed around in confusion. He could not remember being in this part of the forest before. Smooth-cropped grass, glowing silver in a cold wash of moonlight, stretched in front of him as far as a softly rounded rock where another cat was sitting. Starlight sparkled in her fur, and her eyes were two small moons.

The young tabby’s bewilderment increased as he recognised her. “Bluestar?” he meowed, his voice shrill with disbelief.

He had been an apprentice when the great leader of ThunderClan had died, four seasons ago, leaping into the gorge with a pack of blood-hungry dogs after her. Like all her Clan, he had grieved for her and honoured her for the way she had given up her life to save them. He had never thought to see her again, and he realised for the first time that he must be dreaming.

“Come closer, young warrior,” Bluestar meowed. “I have a message for you.”

Shivering with awe, the tabby tom crept across the shining stretch of turf until he crouched below the rock and could look up into Bluestar’s eyes.

“I’m listening, Bluestar,” he mewed.

“A time of trouble is coming to the forest,” she told him. “A new prophecy must be fulfilled if the Clans are to survive. You have been chosen to meet with three other cats at the new moon, and you must listen to what midnight tells you.”

“What do you mean?” The young cat felt a prickle of dread, cold as snowmelt, creep down his spine. “What kind of trouble? And how can midnight tell us anything?”

“All will be made clear to you,” Bluestar replied.

Her voice faded, echoing strangely as if she were speaking from a cavern far beneath the earth. The moonlight also began to grow dim, leaving thick black shadows to creep out of the trees around them.

“No, wait!” the tabby cat cried out. “Don’t go!”

He let out a terrified yowl, thrashing his paws and tail, as darkness rose up and engulfed him. Something poked him in the side and his eyes flew open to see Greystripe, the ThunderClan deputy, standing over him with one paw raised to prod him again. He was scuffling among the moss in the warriors’ den, with the golden sunlight leaking through the branches above his head.

“Brambleclaw, you crazy furball!” the deputy meowed. “What’s all the noise about? You’ll scare off all the prey from here to Fourtrees.”

“Sorry.” Brambleclaw sat up and began picking scraps of moss from his dark fur. “I was just dreaming.”

“Dreaming!” grunted a new voice.

Brambleclaw turned his head to see the white warrior Cloudtail heave himself out of a mossy nest nearby and give a long stretch. “Honestly, you’re as bad as Firestar,” Cloudtail went on. “When he slept in here he was always muttering and twitching in his sleep. A cat couldn’t get a good night’s rest for all the prey in the forest.”

Brambleclaw twitched his ears to hear how disrespectfully the white warrior spoke about the Clan leader. Then he reminded himself that this was Cloudtail, Firestar’s kin and former apprentice, well known for his barbed tongue and ready scorn. His impudent talk didn’t stop him from being a loyal warrior to his Clan.

Cloudtail gave his long-furred white coat a shake and slipped out of the den, flicking the end of his tail at Brambleclaw in a friendly way to take the sting out of his words as he went by.

“Come on, you lot,” meowed Greystripe. “It’s time you were moving.” He picked his way through the moss on the floor of the den to prod Ashfur awake. “Hunting patrols will be going out soon. Brackenfur is organising them.”

“Right,” Brambleclaw mewed. His vision of Bluestar was fading, though her ominous message echoed in his ears. Could it really be true that there was a new prophecy from StarClan? It seemed fairly unlikely. For a start, Brambleclaw could not imagine why she would choose to give it to him, of all the cats in ThunderClan. Medicine cats frequently received signs from StarClan, and ThunderClan’s leader, Firestar, had often been guided by his dreams. But they were not for ordinary warriors. Trying to blame his wild imaginings on too much fresh-kill the night before, Brambleclaw gave his shoulder one last lick and followed Cloudtail out through the trailing branches.

The sun was barely up above the hedge of thorns that surrounded the camp, but the day was already warm. Sunlight lay like honey on the bare earth in the centre of the clearing. Sorrelpaw, the oldest of the apprentices, lay stretched out beside the ferns that sheltered the apprentices’ den, sharing tongues with her den mates Spiderpaw and Shrewpaw.

Cloudtail had gone over to the nettle patch where the warriors ate and was already gulping down a starling. Brambleclaw noticed that the pile of fresh-kill was very low; as Greystripe had said, the Clan needed to hunt right away. He was about to go and join the white warrior when Sorrelpaw sprang up and came bounding across the clearing towards him.

“It’s today!” she announced excitedly.

Brambleclaw blinked. “What is?”

“My warrior ceremony!” With a little mrrow of happiness, the tortoiseshell she-cat hurled herself at Brambleclaw; the unexpected attack bowled him over and they wrestled together on the dusty ground, just as they used to when they were kits together in the nursery.

Sorrelpaw’s hind paws battered Brambleclaw in the belly, and he thanked StarClan that her claws were sheathed. There was no doubt that she would make a strong and dangerous warrior, one that every cat would respect.

“All right, all right, that’s enough.” Brambleclaw cuffed Sorrelpaw gently over one ear and scrambled up. “If you’re going to be a warrior, you’ll have to stop behaving like a kit.”

“A kit?” Sorrelpaw meowed indignantly. She sat in front of him, her fur sticking up in clumps and covered with dust. “Me? Never! I’ve waited a long time for this, Brambleclaw.”

“I know. You deserve it.”

Sorrelpaw had ventured too close to the Thunderpath while she was chasing a squirrel in newleaf. A Twoleg monster had struck her a glancing blow, injuring her shoulder. While she lay in Cinderpelt’s den for three long, uncomfortable moons, under the gentle care of the medicine cat, her brothers, Sootfur and Rainwhisker, had become warriors. Sorrelpaw had been determined to follow them as soon as Cinderpelt declared her fit enough to begin training again; Brambleclaw had watched how hard she had worked with her mentor, Sandstorm, until her shoulder was as good as new. She had never shown any bitterness at being forced to train for several moons longer than the usual apprenticeship. She really deserved her warrior ceremony.

“I’ve just taken fresh-kill to Ferncloud,” she meowed to Brambleclaw. “Her kits are beautiful! Have you seen them yet?”

“No, not yet,” Brambleclaw replied. Ferncloud’s second litter of kits had been born only the day before.

“Go now,” Sorrelpaw urged him. “You’ve just enough time before we hunt.” She sprang up and danced a few steps sideways, as if all her energy had to go somewhere.

Brambleclaw set off for the nursery, which was hidden in the depths of a bramble thicket near the centre of the camp. He squeezed through the narrow entrance, wincing as thorns scraped against his broad shoulders. Inside it was warm and quiet. Ferncloud was lying on her side in a deep nest of moss. Her green eyes glowed as she gazed at the three tiny kits curled up snugly in the curve of her body: one was pale grey like her, the other two brown tabbies like their father, Dustpelt. He was in the nursery too, crouched beside Ferncloud with his paws tucked under him, occasionally rasping his tongue affectionately over her ear.

“Hi, there, Brambleclaw,” he meowed as the younger warrior appeared. “Come to see the new kits?” He looked ready to burst with pride, quite different from his usual prickly, detached air.

“They’re beautiful,” Brambleclaw mewed, touching noses with Ferncloud in greeting. “Have you chosen names for them yet?”

Ferncloud shook her head, blinking drowsily up at him. “Not yet.”

“There’s time enough for that.” Goldenflower, the oldest ThunderClan queen and Brambleclaw’s own mother, spoke from her mossy bed. She had no kits of her own to nurse, but she had decided to stay in the nursery and share the care of the new arrivals instead of taking up her warrior duties again; she was nearing the time when she would go to join the elders in their den, and was the first to admit that her hearing and eyesight were no longer sharp enough to keep up with the best hunting patrols. “They’re strong, healthy kits, that’s what matters, and Ferncloud has plenty of milk.”

Brambleclaw respectfully dipped his head to her. “She’s lucky to have you to help look after them.”

“Well, I didn’t do too bad a job with you,” Goldenflower purred proudly.

“There’s something you could do for me,” Dustpelt meowed to Brambleclaw as he was leaving.

“Sure, if I can.”

“Keep an eye on Squirrelpaw, would you? I want to spend a day or two with Ferncloud, while the kits are still so small, but Squirrelpaw shouldn’t be left without a mentor for too long.”

Squirrelpaw! Brambleclaw groaned inwardly. Firestar’s daughter, eight moons old, recently apprenticed—and the biggest nuisance in ThunderClan.

“It’ll be good practice for when you have an apprentice of your own,” Dustpelt added, as if he sensed his Clan mate’s reluctance.

Brambleclaw knew that Dustpelt was right. He hoped that Firestar would choose him to be a mentor before much longer, with an apprentice of his own to train in the warrior code, but he also hoped that his apprentice would not be some smart-aleck ginger she-cat who thought she knew it all. He was well aware that Squirrelpaw would not take kindly to orders coming from him.

“OK, Dustpelt,” he meowed. “I’ll do my best.”

When Brambleclaw emerged from the nursery he saw that more cats had appeared in the clearing. Brightheart, a pretty white she-cat with ginger patches on her fur like fallen leaves, had just chosen a piece of fresh-kill from the remains of the pile and was taking it across to where Cloudtail still sat by the nettle patch. The uninjured side of her face was turned to Brambleclaw, so that he could almost forget the disfiguring wounds she had received when the dog pack roamed the forest. One side of her face was seamed with scars, and her ear had been shredded; there was only a gouge mark where her eye should be. Even though she survived the vicious attack, the Clan had feared that she would never be a warrior. It was Cloudtail who had trained with her and worked out ways of making up for her blindness on that side, even turning it into a strength, so that now she could fight and hunt as well as any cat.

Cloudtail greeted her with a flick of his tail and she sat beside him to eat.

“Brambleclaw! There you are!”

Brambleclaw turned and saw a long-legged ginger warrior heading toward him from the direction of the warriors’ den. He padded over to meet him. “Hi, Brackenfur. Greystripe said you’re organising hunting patrols.”

“That’s right,” Brackenfur meowed. “Will you go out with Squirrelpaw this morning, please?”

He angled his ears toward the apprentices’ den, and Brambleclaw noticed for the first time that Squirrelpaw was half-concealed in the shade of the ferns. She sat tall, her tail curled around her paws, her green eyes following a bright-winged butterfly. When Brackenfur beckoned her with his tail, she got up and strolled across the clearing, her tail straight up and her dark ginger fur gleaming in the sunlight.

“Hunting patrol,” Brackenfur explained briefly. “Dustpelt is busy, so you can go with Brambleclaw. Can you find another cat to go with you?”

Without waiting for an answer, he hurried off toward Sandstorm and Sorrelpaw.

Squirrelpaw yawned and stretched. “Well,” she meowed. “Where shall we go?”

“I thought Sunningrocks,” Brambleclaw began. “Then we can—”

“Sunningrocks?” Squirrelpaw interrupted, her eyes stretching wide in disbelief. “Are you mouse-brained? On a day as hot as this, all the prey will be hiding down cracks. We won’t catch so much as a whisker.”

“It’s still early,” Brambleclaw replied crossly. “The prey will be out for a while yet.”

Squirrelpaw let out a heavy sigh. “Honestly, Brambleclaw, you always think you know better than anyone else.”

“Well, I am a warrior,” Brambleclaw pointed out, and knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say.

Squirrelpaw bowed her head in deep and exaggerated respect. “Yes, O Great One,” she meowed. “I shall do exactly what you say. And when we come back empty-pawed, maybe you’ll admit that I was right.”

“Well, then,” Brambleclaw mewed, “if you’re so clever, where do you think we should hunt?”

“Up toward Fourtrees, by the stream,” Squirrelpaw replied promptly. “That’s a much better place.”

Brambleclaw was even more annoyed when he realised that she might be right. In spite of the endless hot days that had lasted all greenleaf, the stream there still ran cool and deep, with thick clumps of reeds where prey could hide. He hesitated, wondering how he could change his mind without losing face in front of the apprentice.

“Squirrelpaw.” A new voice rescued him, and Brambleclaw realised that Sandstorm, Squirrelpaw’s mother, had padded over to join them. “Stop ruffling Brambleclaw’s fur. You chatter as much as a nest of jackdaws.” Her annoyed green gaze turned on Brambleclaw and she added, “And you’re just as bad. The pair of you are always squabbling; you can’t be trusted to hunt together if you can’t even get out of the clearing without scaring half the prey between here and Fourtrees.”

“Sorry,” Brambleclaw muttered, embarrassment sweeping through his fur from ears to tail-tip.

“You’re a warrior; you should know better. Go and ask Cloudtail if you can hunt with him. And as for you,” Sandstorm meowed to her daughter, “you can come and hunt with me and Sorrelpaw. Brackenfur won’t mind. And you’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll know the reason why.”

Without looking back, she headed straight for the gorse tunnel that led out of the camp. Squirrelpaw stood still for a moment, a sulky look in her green eyes, and scuffed the ground with her forepaws.

Sorrelpaw came up and gave her a friendly nudge. “Come on,” she urged. “This is my last hunt as an apprentice. Let’s make it a good one.”

Reluctantly Squirrelpaw nodded, and the two cats set off together after Sandstorm; the dark ginger apprentice shot a last glare at Brambleclaw as she passed him.

Brambleclaw shrugged. Squirrelpaw would get more experienced mentoring from Sandstorm than she would from him, so he wasn’t letting Dustpelt down even though the warrior had asked him to keep an eye on her. And he wouldn’t have to listen all morning to her annoying chatter, so he wasn’t sure why he felt slightly disappointed at being set on a different patrol.

Pushing off the feeling, he bounded over to the nettle patch where Cloudtail and Brightheart were finishing their prey. Their single kit, Whitepaw, had just padded across to join them; as Brambleclaw came up he heard her say, “Are you going hunting? Please can I come with you?”

Cloudtail flicked his tail. “No.” Whitepaw had begun to look disappointed when he added, “Brackenfur said he’d take you. He is your mentor, after all.”

“He told me he’s really proud of you,” Brightheart purred.

Whitepaw brightened up. “Great! I’ll go find him.”

Cloudtail gave her an affectionate cuff over the ear with one paw before she dashed off, her tail waving excitedly.

Brambleclaw hoped that didn’t mean that Cloudtail and Brightheart wanted to go out alone. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Sure, you can come,” Cloudtail replied. He jumped up and nodded to Brightheart, then the three cats trotted together across the clearing towards the gorse tunnel.

Just before he headed into the close-growing thorns, Brambleclaw glanced over his shoulder at the quiet activity going on in the camp. Every cat looked well fed, sleek furred, and confident that their territory was safe. Bluestar’s message came back to echo in his mind. Could it be true that some great trouble was coming upon the forest? Brambleclaw felt his fur prickle with foreboding. He decided that he would not tell any cat about the dream. That seemed like the only way he could convince himself that it meant nothing, and there was no new prophecy coming to disrupt life in the forest as they knew it.

The sun was setting in a ball of fire, turning the tops of the trees to flame and sending long shadows across the clearing. Brambleclaw stretched and sighed with satisfaction. He was tired after the long day’s hunting, but his stomach was comfortably full. All the Clan had fed too, and there was an ample pile of fresh-kill. Greenleaf had been longer and hotter than any cat could remember, but the forest was still full of prey, and there was plenty of water in the stream close to Fourtrees.

A good day, Brambleclaw thought contentedly. This is how life should be.

The rest of the Clan was beginning to slip out into the clearing and gather around the Highrock, and Brambleclaw realised it was time for Sorrelpaw’s warrior ceremony. He padded closer to the Highrock and sat down close to Ferncloud’s brother, Ashfur, who gave him a friendly nod. Greystripe was already sitting at the base of the rock, looking as proud as if his own apprentice were about to be made a warrior. Greystripe had fathered two kits, but they had grown up in RiverClan, where their mother had been born. He had no kits in ThunderClan, but liked to keep an eye on the progress of all the young cats.

As Brambleclaw watched, the deputy was joined by Cinderpelt, the medicine cat, and her apprentice, Leafpaw, Squirrelpaw’s sister. She looked nothing like Squirrelpaw; she was smaller and slighter, with pale tabby fur and a white chest and paws. The sisters were not much alike in character either. When Leafpaw sat down and tipped her head to one side to listen to what her mentor and the deputy were saying to each other, Brambleclaw wondered, not for the first time, how she managed to be so quiet and attentive when her sister Squirrelpaw never stopped talking.

At last Firestar, the Clan leader, appeared from his den at the other side of the Highrock. He was a strong, lithe warrior, his pelt blazing like flame in the light of the setting sun. After pausing for a word with Greystripe, he bunched his muscles and leaped to the top of the Highrock, from where he could look down on the Clan.

“Cats of ThunderClan!” he announced. “Let all those cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Most of the cats were there already, but as Firestar’s voice echoed around the clearing the last of the Clan members slid out from their dens and trotted over to join the others.

Last of all came Sorrelpaw with her mentor, Sandstorm. Her tortoiseshell fur was freshly groomed, her white chest and paws shining like snow. Her amber eyes gleamed with pride and suppressed excitement as she paced across the clearing. Beside her, Sandstorm looked just as proud; Brambleclaw knew how much the ginger she-cat had suffered when she had seen her apprentice lying injured on the Thunderpath. They had both needed courage and perseverance to reach this ceremony.

Firestar sprang down from the Highrock to meet the apprentice and her mentor. “Sandstorm,” he began, using the formal words that had been handed down through all the Clans, “are you satisfied that this apprentice is ready to become a warrior of ThunderClan?”

Sandstorm inclined her head. “She will be a warrior the Clan can be proud of,” she replied.

Firestar raised his eyes to where the first stars of Silverpelt were beginning to appear in the evening sky. “I, Firestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down upon this apprentice.” The Clan was hushed as his voice rang out across the clearing. “She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a warrior in her turn.” He turned to Sorrelpaw, locking his gaze with hers. “Sorrelpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Remembering how he had felt at this moment in his own warrior ceremony, Brambleclaw watched Sorrelpaw’s whole body quiver with anticipation as she lifted her chin and replied clearly, “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior name. Sorrelpaw, from this moment you will be known as Sorreltail. StarClan honours your courage and your patience, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

Stepping forwards, Firestar rested his muzzle on top of Sorreltail’s head. In return she gave his shoulder a respectful lick before backing away.

The rest of the warriors gathered around her, welcoming her and calling her by her new name. “Sorreltail! Sorreltail!” Her brothers, Sootfur and Rainwhisker, were among the first, their eyes gleaming with pride that their sister had finally joined them as a warrior.

Firestar waited until the noise had died down. “Sorreltail, according to tradition you must keep vigil in silence tonight, and watch over the camp.”

“While the rest of us get a good night’s sleep,” Cloudtail added.

The Clan leader flashed him a warning glance but said nothing as the cats parted to let Sorreltail take up her position in the middle of the clearing. She sat with her tail curled around her paws and her gaze fixed on the darkening sky, where the light of Silverpelt grew steadily stronger.

With the ceremony over, the rest of the cats slipped away into the shadows. Brambleclaw stretched and yawned, looking forward to his comfortable nest in the warriors’ den, but content to stay in the clearing for a while to enjoy the warm evening. He could not see any signs that other cats had shared his disturbing dream; and yet Bluestar had suggested that three other cats would be involved in the new prophecy. Brambleclaw felt a purr rising into his throat, half-amused by how quickly he had believed that a cat from StarClan had visited him in his dreams. That would teach him to gulp down fresh-kill just before he went to sleep.

“Brambleclaw.” Firestar padded over and settled down beside him. “Cloudtail says you hunted well today.”

“Thank you, Firestar.”

The leader’s gaze was fixed on his daughters, Leafpaw and Squirrelpaw, who were heading towards the pile of fresh-kill.

“Do you miss Tawnypelt?” Firestar meowed unexpectedly.

Brambleclaw blinked in surprise. Tawnypelt was his sister; the former ThunderClan deputy, Tigerstar, had fathered them before he had been banished from the Clan for trying to seize power from Bluestar, who was leader then. Later Tigerstar had made himself leader of ShadowClan, only to be killed by a rogue cat in a failed attempt to extend his power over the whole forest. Tawnypelt had always felt that ThunderClan blamed her for her father’s crimes, and she had made the decision to join ShadowClan shortly after he became that Clan’s leader.

“Yes,” Brambleclaw replied. “Yes, Firestar, I miss her every day.”

“I didn’t understand how you might feel about her. Not until I saw how close those two are.” Firestar nodded towards the two sister apprentices, who were choosing prey from the pile.

“Firestar, you’re not being fair to yourself,” Brambleclaw insisted uncomfortably. “After all, you miss your sister, don’t you?” he dared to add.

Firestar had begun life as a kittypet before he joined ThunderClan, and his sister, Princess, still lived with Twolegs. Firestar visited her from time to time, and Brambleclaw knew very well how important they were to each other. Princess had given Firestar her firstborn kit to raise as a warrior—and that was Cloudtail, Brightheart’s loyal friend.

The Clan leader tilted his head to one side, thinking. “Of course I miss Princess,” he meowed at last. “But she’s a kittypet. She could never live this kind of life. You must wish that Tawnypelt had stayed here in ThunderClan.”

“I guess I do,” Brambleclaw admitted. “But she’s happier where she is.”

“That’s true.” Firestar nodded. “The most important thing is that you’ve both found a Clan where you can be loyal.”

A warm feeling crept through Brambleclaw. Once Firestar had doubted his loyalty because he looked so much like his father, Tigerstar, with the same muscular body and dark tabby pelt, the same amber eyes.

Brambleclaw suddenly wondered if a truly loyal Clan cat would mention the disturbing dream and Bluestar’s warning that great trouble was coming to the forest. He was trying to find the words to start when Firestar stood up, dipped his head briefly in farewell, and padded over to where Sandstorm was sitting with Greystripe near the Highrock.

Brambleclaw almost followed him, but then he reminded himself that if StarClan really wanted to send a prophecy of great danger, they would not give it to one of the youngest, least experienced warriors in the Clan. They would tell the medicine cat, or perhaps the Clan leader himself. And obviously Firestar and Cinderpelt had not received an omen, or they would be telling the Clan what to do about it. No, Brambleclaw told himself again, there was nothing whatsoever to worry about.

CHAPTER 2

The sun had not yet risen when Brambleclaw set out with the dawn patrol. Even in the few days since Sorreltail’s warrior ceremony, the leaves had begun to turn to gold and the first chill of leaf-fall lay on the forest, though it still hadn’t rained for longer than a moon. The young warrior shivered as long grasses, heavy with dew, brushed against his fur. Cobwebs spread a grey film over the bushes, and the air was filled with damp, leafy scents. The twittering of waking birds began to drown out the soft padding of the cats’ paws.

Brightheart’s brother, Thornclaw, who was in the lead, paused to look back at Brambleclaw and Ashfur. “Firestar wants us to check Snakerocks,” he meowed. “Watch out for adders. There are more of them since the weather has been so hot.”

Brambleclaw instinctively unsheathed his claws. The adders would be hidden in cracks now, but as soon as the sun came up the warmth would tempt them out again. One bite from those poisoned jaws could kill a warrior before a medicine cat could do anything to help.

Before they had gone very far Brambleclaw began to hear faint sounds behind him, as if something were moving around in the undergrowth. He paused, glancing back in the hope of an easy bit of prey. At first he could see nothing; then he noticed the fronds of a thick clump of fern waving about, though there was no breeze. He sniffed the air, opening his jaws to drink it in, before letting the breath out again with a sigh.

“Come out, Squirrelpaw,” he meowed.

There was a moment’s silence. Then the bracken waved again and the stems parted as the dark ginger she-cat came out into the open. Her green eyes glared defiance.

“What’s going on?” Thornclaw padded up to Brambleclaw, with Ashfur just behind him.

Brambleclaw indicated the apprentice with a flick of his tail. “I heard something behind us,” he explained. “She must have followed us from the camp.”

“Don’t talk about me as if I weren’t here!” Squirrelpaw protested hotly.

“You shouldn’t be here!” Brambleclaw retorted; somehow Squirrelpaw had only to open her mouth for him to feel that his fur was being rubbed the wrong way.

“Stop bickering, the pair of you,” Thornclaw growled. “You’re not kits anymore. Squirrelpaw, tell us what you’re doing. Did some cat send you with a message?”

“She wouldn’t have been skulking in the bracken if they had,” Brambleclaw couldn’t resist pointing out.

“No, they didn’t,” Squirrelpaw meowed with a resentful glance at Brambleclaw. Her paws scuffled in the grass. “I wanted to come with you, that’s all. I haven’t been on a patrol for ages.”

“And you weren’t told to come on this one,” Thornclaw replied. “Does Dustpelt know you’re here?”

“No,” Squirrelpaw admitted. “He promised last night we’d do some training, but every cat knows he spends all day in the nursery with Ferncloud and their kits.”

“Not anymore,” Ashfur mewed. “Not since the kits opened their eyes. Squirrelpaw, I think you might be in trouble if Dustpelt goes looking for you.”

“You’d better go back to camp right away,” Thornclaw decided.

Anger flared up in Squirrelpaw’s eyes, and she took a step forward that brought her nose-to-nose with Thornclaw. “You’re not my mentor, so don’t order me around!”

Thornclaw’s nostrils flared minutely as he let out a patient sigh, and Brambleclaw admired his self-control. If Squirrel paw had spoken to him like that, he would have been tempted to rake his claws over her ear.

Even Squirrelpaw seemed to realise she had gone too far. “I’m sorry, Thornclaw,” she meowed. “But it’s true I haven’t been on patrol for days. Please can I come?”

Thornclaw exchanged a glance with Ashfur and Bramble claw. “All right,” he mewed. “But don’t blame me if Dustpelt turns you into crowfood when we get back.”

Squirrelpaw gave a little skip of excitement. “Thank you, Thornclaw! Where are we going? Are we looking for anything special? Is there going to be trouble?”

Thornclaw swished his tail across her mouth to silence her. “Snakerocks,” he replied. “And it’s up to us to make sure there won’t be trouble.”

“Watch out for adders, though,” Brambleclaw added.

“I know that!” Squirrelpaw flashed back at him.

“And we do it quietly,” Thornclaw ordered her. “I don’t want to hear another squeak out of you unless there’s something I need to know.”

Squirrelpaw opened her mouth to reply, then took in what he had said and nodded vigorously.

The patrol set off again. Brambleclaw had to admit that now she had gotten her own way, Squirrelpaw was behaving sensibly, slipping quietly along behind the leader and staying alert for every sound and movement in the undergrowth.

The sun was well risen by the time the four cats emerged from the trees and saw the smooth, rounded shapes of Snakerocks in front of them. A dark hole gaped at the foot of one of them; it was the cave where the dog pack had hidden. Brambleclaw shuddered, remembering that Tigerstar, his own father, had tried to lead the savage animals to the Thunder Clan camp in deadly revenge against his former Clan mates.

Squirrelpaw noticed his expression. “Scared of adders?” she taunted him.

“Yes,” Brambleclaw replied. “And so should you be.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged. “They’re probably more scared of us.”

Before Brambleclaw could stop her, she bounded forward into the clearing, obviously meaning to poke her nose into the hole.

“Stop!” Thornclaw’s voice brought her skidding to a halt. “Hasn’t Dustpelt told you that we don’t go dashing in anywhere before we’re sure of what we’re going to find?”

Squirrelpaw looked embarrassed. “Of course he has.”

“Well, then, act like you might have listened to him once or twice.” Thornclaw padded up beside the apprentice. “Have a good sniff,” he suggested. “See if you can scent anything.”

The young she-cat stood with her head raised, drawing the morning air into her mouth. “Mouse,” she meowed brightly after a moment. “Can we hunt, Thornclaw?”

“Later,” the warrior replied. “Now concentrate.”

Squirrelpaw tasted the air again. “The Thunderpath, just over there”—she waved her tail—“and a Twoleg with a dog. But that’s stale,” she added. “I’d guess they were here yesterday.”

“Very good.” Thornclaw sounded impressed, and Squirrel paw curled her tail up in delight.

“There’s something else,” she went on. “A horrible scent . . . I don’t think I’ve smelled it before.”

Brambleclaw raised his head and sniffed. He quickly identified the scents Squirrelpaw had mentioned, and the new, unfamiliar one. “Badger,” he meowed.

Thornclaw nodded. “That’s right. It looks as if it’s moved into the cave where the dogs were.”

Ashfur groaned. “Just our luck!”

“Why?” Squirrelpaw asked. “What are badgers like? Are they a problem?”

“Are they ever!” Brambleclaw growled. “They’re no good to any cat, and they’d kill you as soon as look at you.”

Squirrelpaw’s eyes widened, though she looked more impressed than frightened.

Ashfur cautiously approached the dark cave mouth, sniffed, and peered inside. “It’s dark as a fox’s heart in there,” he reported, “but I don’t think the badger is at home.”

While he was speaking Brambleclaw suddenly caught the scent again, much stronger this time, washing over him from somewhere behind them. He leaped around to see a pointed, striped face appear from behind the trunk of a nearby tree, its huge pads crushing the grass, its muzzle snuffling along the ground.

“Look out!” he yowled, every hair on his pelt bristling in fear. He had never been this close to a badger before. Whirling around, he dashed out into the clearing. “Squirrelpaw, run!”

As soon as Brambleclaw gave the alarm, Ashfur dived into the undergrowth, while Thornclaw bounded toward the safety of the trees. But Squirrelpaw stayed where she was, her gaze fixed on the huge creature.

“This way, Squirrelpaw!” Thornclaw called, starting to come back.

The apprentice still hesitated; Brambleclaw barrelled into her, thrusting her toward the trees. “I said run!”

Her green eyes, blazing with fear and excitement, met his for a heartbeat. The badger was lumbering forward, its small eyes glittering as it scented cats intruding onto its territory. Squirrelpaw pelted toward the edge of the clearing and launched herself up the nearest tree. Reaching a low branch she dug in her claws and crouched there, her ginger fur fluffed out.

Brambleclaw clawed his way up beside her. Down below the badger was blundering back and forth, as if it could not tell where the cats had gone. Its black-and-white head swung threateningly from side to side. Brambleclaw knew that it could not see very well; usually badgers only came out after dark, and this one would be on its way back to the cave after a night’s feeding on worms and grubs.

“Would it eat us?” Squirrelpaw asked breathlessly.

“No,” Brambleclaw replied, trying to slow his pounding heart. “Even a fox kills to eat, but a badger will kill you just for getting in its way. We’re not prey to them, but they won’t tolerate any trespassers on their territory. Why did you hang about down there instead of running like we told you?”

“I’ve never seen a badger before, and I wanted to. Dustpelt says we should get all the experience we can.”

“Does that include the experience of having your fur ripped off?” Brambleclaw asked dryly, but for once Squirrel paw didn’t reply.

While he was speaking Brambleclaw hadn’t taken his eyes off the creature below. He breathed a sigh of relief as it gave up the search and padded over to the cave mouth, where it squeezed itself inside and was gone.

Thornclaw leaped down from the tree where he had taken refuge. “That was closer than I’d like,” he meowed as Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw scrambled down to join him. “Where’s Ashfur?”

“Here.” Ashfur’s pale grey head popped out of a tangle of briars. “Do you think that badger is the same one that killed Willowpelt last leaf-bare?”

“Maybe,” Thornclaw replied. “Cloudtail and Mousefur drove it away from the camp, but we never found out where it went.”

A pang of sadness went through Brambleclaw as he remembered the silver-grey she-cat. Willowpelt was the mother of Sorreltail, Sootfur, and Rainwhisker, but she had not lived to see her kits become warriors.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Squirrelpaw asked eagerly. “Shall we go in there and kill it? There are four of us, and only one badger. How hard could it be?”

Brambleclaw winced, while Thornclaw closed his eyes and waited a moment before speaking. “Squirrelpaw, you never go into a badger’s den. Or a fox’s, for that matter. They’ll attack right away, there isn’t enough room to manoeuvre, and you can’t see what you’re doing.”

“But—”

“No. We’ll head back to camp and report it. Firestar will decide what to do.”

Without waiting for Squirrelpaw to argue any more, he set off in the direction they had come. Ashfur fell in behind him, but Squirrelpaw paused at the edge of the clearing. “We could have dealt with it,” she grumbled, glancing back longingly at the dark mouth of the cave. “I could have lured it out, and then—”

“And then it would have killed you with one swipe of its paw, and we’d still have to go back and report it,” Brambleclaw meowed discouragingly. “What do you think we would have said? ‘Sorry, Firestar, but we accidentally let a badger get your daughter’? He would have our fur off. Badgers are bad news, and that’s that.”

“Well, you wouldn’t catch Firestar leaving a badger in ThunderClan territory without doing anything.” Squirrel paw swung her tail up defiantly and plunged into the undergrowth to catch up with Thornclaw and Ashfur.

Brambleclaw raised his eyes, murmured, “Great StarClan!” and followed.

When he emerged from the gorse tunnel into the clearing, the first cat he saw was Dustpelt. The brown tabby warrior was pacing up and down outside the apprentices’ den, his tail lashing from side to side. Two of the other apprentices, Spiderpaw and Whitepaw, were crouched in the shade of the ferns, watching him apprehensively.

As soon as Dustpelt spotted Squirrelpaw, he marched across the clearing towards her.

“Uh-oh,” Squirrelpaw muttered.

“Well?” the tabby warrior’s voice was icy. Brambleclaw winced, knowing how short-tempered he was; the only cat who had never felt the rough side of his tongue was Ferncloud. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

Squirrelpaw met his glare bravely, but there was a quaver in her voice as she replied, “I went on patrol, Dustpelt.”

“Oh, on patrol! I see. And which cat ordered you to go? Greystripe? Firestar?”

“No cat ordered me. But I thought—”

“No, you didn’t think.” Dustpelt’s voice was scathing. “I told you we would train today. Mousefur and Brackenfur took their apprentices to the training hollow to practise their fighting moves. We could have gone with them, but we didn’t, because you weren’t here. Do you realise that every cat has been searching the camp for you?”

Squirrelpaw shook her head, scuffling the ground with her front paws.

“When no cat could find you, Firestar took out a patrol to try following your scent. Did you see anything of him?”

Another shake of the head. Brambleclaw realised that following a scent in the heavy dew that morning would have been next to impossible.

“Your Clan leader has better things to do than chase after apprentices who can’t do as they’re told,” Dustpelt went on. “Thornclaw, why did you let her go with you?”

“I’m sorry, Dustpelt,” Thornclaw apologised. “I thought she’d be safer with us than wandering around the forest by herself.”

Dustpelt snorted. “That’s true.”

“We could still go and do the training,” Squirrelpaw suggested.

“Oh, no. No more training for you until you learn what being an apprentice really means.” Dustpelt paused for a heartbeat. “You can spend the rest of the day looking after the elders. Make sure they have enough fresh-kill. Change their bedding. Go over their pelts for ticks.” He blinked. “I’m sure Cinderpelt has plenty of mouse bile for you.”

Squirrelpaw’s eyes flew wide in dismay. “Oh, yuck!”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

The young apprentice stared at him for a moment longer, as if she couldn’t believe he really meant it. When there was no change in her mentor’s hard stare, she whisked around and flounced across the clearing toward the elders’ den.

“If Firestar’s out looking for Squirrelpaw, we’ll have to wait for him to get back before we can report the badger,” Thornclaw observed.

“Badger? What badger?” asked Dustpelt.

While Thornclaw and Ashfur began to describe what they had seen at Snakerocks, Brambleclaw bounded across the clearing and caught up with Squirrelpaw just outside the elders’ den.

“What do you want?” she spat.

“Don’t be angry,” Brambleclaw mewed. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, even though she had deserved some sort of punishment for leaving the camp without any cat knowing where she was going. “I’ll help you with the elders, if you like.”

Squirrelpaw opened her mouth as if she were about to make a rude retort, and then clearly thought better of it. “OK, thanks,” she muttered ungraciously.

“You go and get the mouse bile, and I’ll make a start on the bedding.”

Squirrelpaw’s eyes opened wide in a winning expression. “You wouldn’t rather get the mouse bile, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t. Dustpelt especially told you to do that. Don’t you think he’ll check?”

Squirrelpaw shrugged. “No harm in trying.” With a flick of her tail, she stalked off to find Cinderpelt.

Brambleclaw headed for the elders’ den, which was in a patch of grass sheltered by a fallen tree. The tree was a burned-out shell; Brambleclaw could still scent the acrid tang from the fire that had swept through the camp more than four seasons ago, when he was only a kit. But the grass had grown up again around the tree trunk, thick and luxuriant, making a comfortable home for the elderly cats whose service to the Clan was done.

When he pushed his way through the grasses he found the elders sunning themselves in the small, flattened clearing. Dappletail, the oldest cat in ThunderClan, was curled up asleep, her patchy tortoiseshell pelt rising and falling with each breath. Frostfur, a still beautiful white queen, was dabbing lazily at a beetle in the grass. Speckletail and Longtail were crouched together as if they were in the middle of a good gossip. Brambleclaw felt the familiar jolt of sympathy when he looked at Longtail; the pale tabby tom was still a young warrior, but his eyesight had begun to fail so that he could no longer fight or hunt for himself.

“Hi, there, Brambleclaw.” Longtail’s head swung around as Brambleclaw entered the clearing, his jaws parted to take in the newcomer’s scent. “What can we do for you?”

“I’ve come to help Squirrelpaw,” Brambleclaw explained. “Dustpelt sent her to look after you today.”

Speckletail broke into rasping laughter. “I heard she went missing. The whole camp was in an uproar, looking for her. But I knew she’d just have gone off by herself.”

“She tagged onto the dawn patrol,” Brambleclaw meowed.

Before he could say any more, there was the sound of another cat pushing through the grasses, and Squirrelpaw appeared. She had a twig clamped in her jaws; hanging from it was a ball of moss soaked in mouse bile. Brambleclaw wrinkled his nose at the bitter scent.

“Right, who’s got ticks?” Squirrelpaw mumbled around the twig.

“You’re supposed to look for them yourself,” Brambleclaw pointed out.

Squirrelpaw shot him a glare.

“You can start with me,” Frostfur offered. “I’m sure there’s one on my shoulder, just where I can’t get at it.”

Squirrelpaw padded over to the she-cat, parting her white fur with a forepaw and grunting when she discovered the tick. She dabbed at it with the damp moss until it dropped off; ticks obviously found mouse bile as disgusting as cats did, thought Brambleclaw.

“Don’t worry, youngster,” Speckletail mewed as Squirrel paw went on searching Frostfur’s pelt. “Your father was punished many a time when he was an apprentice. Even after he became a warrior. I never knew such a cat for getting into trouble, and look at him now!”

Squirrelpaw swung around to look at the elder, her green eyes sparkling, obviously begging for a tale.

“Well, now.” Speckletail settled herself more comfortably in her grassy nest. “There was the time when Firestar and Greystripe were caught feeding RiverClan with prey from our own territory. . . .”

Brambleclaw had heard the story before, so he began to collect the elders’ used bedding, rolling the moss together until he had gathered it up in a ball. When he took it out into the clearing he spotted Firestar emerging from the gorse tunnel, with Sandstorm and Cloudtail behind him. Thornclaw was hurrying across to meet them from the other side of the clearing.

“Thank StarClan Squirrelpaw’s safe,” Firestar was mewing as Brambleclaw came into earshot. “One of these days she’ll get into real trouble.”

“She’s in real trouble now,” Sandstorm growled. “Just wait till I get my paws on her!”

“Dustpelt already did.” Thornclaw gave a mrrow of amusement. “He sent her to help the elders for the rest of the day.”

Firestar nodded. “Good.”

“And there’s something else,” Thornclaw went on. “We found a badger up at Snakerocks, living in the cave where the dogs used to be.”

“We think it might be the one that killed Willowpelt,” Brambleclaw put in, setting his ball of moss down. “We’ve not seen any trace of a badger anywhere else in the forest.”

Cloudtail let out a growl. “Oh, I hope it is. I’d give anything to get my claws on that brute.”

Firestar swung around to face him. “You’ll do nothing of the kind without orders. I don’t want to lose more cats.” He paused for a moment, then added, “We’ll keep watch on it for a while. Pass the word around not to hunt at Snakerocks for the time being. With any luck, it will move on before leaf-bare, when prey gets scarce.”

“And hedgehogs might fly,” Cloudtail grumbled, stalking past Brambleclaw toward the warriors’ den. “Badgers and cats don’t mix, and that’s the end of it.”

CHAPTER 3

“Squirrelpaw is upset,” Leafpaw remarked, watching her sister leave the medicine cat’s clearing with the twig of mouse bile clenched in her jaws.

“She deserves to be.” Cinderpelt glanced up from counting juniper berries. She spoke firmly, though not unsympathetically. “If apprentices think they can go off by themselves, without telling any cat, then where would we be?”

“I know.” While Leafpaw prepared the mouse bile, she had listened to her sister raging about how unfair the punishment was. Squirrelpaw’s anger churned deep within Leafpaw’s belly, as if the air in the camp were water and her sister was sending ripples of cold frustration into the medicine cat’s den. Ever since they were tiny kits they had always known what the other was feeling. Leafpaw remembered how her fur had tingled with excitement when Squirrelpaw was made apprentice, and how her sister had been unable to sleep on the night when Leafpaw had been apprenticed as a medicine cat at the Moonstone. Once she had felt an excruciating pain in her paw, and limped around the camp from sunhigh to sunset, until Squirrelpaw returned from a hunting patrol with a thorn driven deep into her pad.

Leafpaw shook her head as if she had a burr clinging to her pelt, trying to push away her sister’s emotions and concentrate on her task of sorting yarrow leaves.

“Squirrelpaw will be fine,” Cinderpelt reassured her. “It’ll all be forgotten tomorrow. Now, did you get any of that mouse bile on your fur? If you did, you’d better go and wash it off.”

“No, Cinderpelt, I’m fine.” Leafpaw knew her voice was filled with the strain she was feeling, however hard she tried to hide it.

“Cheer up.” Cinderpelt limped out of her den to join her apprentice, pressing her muzzle comfortingly against Leafpaw’s side. “Do you want to come to the Gathering tonight?”

“May I?” Leafpaw spun to face her mentor. Then she hesitated. “Squirrelpaw won’t be allowed to come, will she?”

“After today? Certainly not!” Cinderpelt’s blue eyes glowed with understanding. “Leafpaw, you and your sister aren’t kits anymore. And you have chosen a very different path from hers, to be a medicine cat. You will always be friends, but you can’t do everything together, and the sooner you both accept that, the better.”

Leafpaw nodded and bent over the yarrow leaves again. She struggled to calm her feelings of excitement over the Gathering, so that Squirrelpaw would not feel even more upset over being left out. Cinderpelt was right, but all the same she couldn’t help wishing that she and Squirrelpaw had been able to attend the Gathering together.

The full moon rode high in the sky as Firestar led the cats from ThunderClan up the slope toward Fourtrees. Padding along beside Cinderpelt, Leafpaw shivered with anticipation. This was the place where the territories of all four Clans joined together. At every full moon, the Clan leaders met here with their warriors under the sacred truce of StarClan to exchange news and make decisions that would affect the whole forest.

Firestar paused at the top of the slope and gazed down into the clearing. Leafpaw, near the back of the group, could only just see the tops of the four great oak trees that gave the clearing its name, but she could hear the sounds of many cats, and the breeze brought to her the mingled scents of ShadowClan, RiverClan, and WindClan.

Before her first Gathering, the only other cats Leafpaw had met were the three medicine cats from the other Clans, when she made her journey to Highstones at the half moon to be formally apprenticed. When she had attended a Gathering for the first time, she and Squirrelpaw had been overwhelmed by all the strangers, and had stayed close to their mentors. But this time Leafpaw felt more confident, and she was looking forward to meeting warriors and apprentices from other Clans.

Crouching in the undergrowth, she watched her father for the signal to move down into the clearing. Brambleclaw was standing just in front of her with Mousefur and Sorreltail. Leafpaw could see from the tautness in the young tabby’s muscles that he was eagerly waiting for the Gathering to start, while Sorreltail’s whole body quivered with excitement at the prospect of her first Gathering as a warrior. Further ahead, Greystripe and Sandstorm were exchanging a few words, while Cloudtail shifted impatiently from paw to paw. Briefly Leafpaw felt a pang of sadness that Squirrelpaw was not there as well, but to her relief her sister had not minded too much about being left behind, saying that she was looking forward to a good night’s sleep after caring for the elders all day.

At last Firestar raised his tail as the sign for his cats to move forward. Leafpaw sprang over the edge of the hollow and found herself racing down the slope just behind Brambleclaw, weaving her way through the bushes until she came out into the clearing.

The shimmering moonlight revealed a mass of cats, some already seated around the Great Rock in the centre, others trotting across the clearing to greet cats they had not seen for a moon, or lying in the shelter of the bushes to gossip and share tongues. Brambleclaw slipped into the throng right away, and Cinderpelt went over to speak to Littlecloud, the ShadowClan medicine cat. Leafpaw hesitated, still a little daunted by the number of warriors in front of her, the unfamiliar scents, and the glowing of so many eyes that all seemed to be trained on her.

Then she caught sight of Greystripe with a group of cats who all had the scent of RiverClan. Leafpaw recognised a warrior with dense blue-grey fur whom they had met at the last Gathering, and remembered her name: Mistyfoot, the RiverClan deputy. The two younger warriors were strangers to her, but Greystripe greeted them affectionately, pressing his muzzle against theirs.

Leafpaw was just wondering if she would be welcome to go and talk to them when Mistyfoot caught her eye and beckoned to her with her tail. “Hi—it’s Leafpaw, isn’t it? Cinderpelt’s apprentice?”

“That’s right.” Leafpaw padded over. “How are you?”

“We’re all well, and the Clan is thriving,” Mistyfoot replied. “Have you met Stormfur and Feathertail?”

“My kits,” Greystripe added proudly, though it was several moons since these strong cats had left the nursery.

Leafpaw touched noses with the young warriors, realising that she should have guessed Stormfur was Greystripe’s kin. The two cats had the same muscular bodies and long grey pelt. Feathertail’s fur was a lighter silver-grey tabby; her blue eyes glowed with warmth and friendliness as she greeted Leafpaw.

“I know Cinderpelt well,” she meowed. “She looked after me once when I was ill. You must be proud to be her apprentice.”

Leafpaw nodded. “Very proud. But she knows so much, sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever learn it all!”

Feathertail purred sympathetically. “I felt the same about becoming a warrior. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“You say the Clan’s thriving, Mistyfoot,” Greystripe meowed quietly, “but you’re looking worried. Is there a problem?”

Now that he mentioned it, Leafpaw could see a glimmer of uneasiness in the RiverClan deputy’s eyes. Mistyfoot hesitated for a couple of heartbeats and then shrugged. “It’s probably nothing but . . . Well, you’ll hear about it soon enough when the Gathering starts.”

As she spoke she glanced toward the Great Rock. Leafpaw saw that two cats were already waiting on the summit. Silhouetted against the shining circle of the full moon was Tallstar, leader of WindClan, easily recognizable by his long tail. Beside him stood Leopardstar, the RiverClan leader, staring around impatiently at the cats below. As Leafpaw watched, she saw Firestar leap up to join them.

“Where is ShadowClan’s leader?” Leopardstar called out. “Blackstar, what are you waiting for?”

“Just coming.” A heavy white tom with jet black paws shouldered his way through the cats not far from Leafpaw. He crouched at the base of the rock and sprang up to land lightly beside the RiverClan leader.

As soon as his paws touched the rock Leopardstar threw back her head and let out a yowl. At once the noise in the clearing died down and every cat turned to face the Great Rock. Feathertail settled down beside Leafpaw with a friendly glance, and Leafpaw found herself warming to the gentle young warrior.

“Cats of all Clans, welcome.” Tallstar, the eldest of all the Clan leaders, moved to the front of the Great Rock, raising his voice to address the assembled cats. Glancing at his fellow leaders, he asked, “Who will speak first?”

“I will.” Firestar stepped forward, his flame-coloured pelt turned silver in the moonlight.

Leafpaw listened as her father passed on the news about the badger at Snakerocks. It caused little stir; the creature was unlikely to move from there onto another Clan’s territory as long as the forest was full of prey.

“And we have a new warrior,” Firestar went on. “The Thunder Clan apprentice Sorrelpaw has taken the warrior name of Sorreltail.”

A murmur of appreciation rippled around the clearing; Sorreltail was popular and well-known among the other Clans, having been to several more Gatherings than the average apprentice. Leafpaw caught a glimpse of her sitting up very straight and proud beside Sandstorm.

Firestar stepped back and Blackstar took his place. He had taken over the leadership of ShadowClan after the death of Tigerstar. Under his leadership ShadowClan was trusted more than before, though it was still believed that cold winds blew over the hearts of the ShadowClan cats and darkened their thoughts.

“ShadowClan is strong and prey is plentiful,” Blackstar announced. “The heat of greenleaf has dried up part of the marshes on our territory, but we still have plenty of water to drink.”

His glance raked defiantly around the clearing, and Leafpaw reflected that even if ShadowClan had less than a single raindrop left in their territory, Blackstar was unlikely to admit as much to the Gathering.

Tallstar flicked his tail at Leopardstar, inviting her to speak, but she drew back, leaving the next place to him. The WindClan leader hesitated for a moment, and Leafpaw saw that his eyes were clouded with worry.

“Blackstar spoke truly of the heat of greenleaf,” he began. “It is many days since the forest saw rain, and the moorland streams on WindClan’s territory have been scorched away completely this last quarter moon. We have no water at all.”

“But the river borders your territory,” a cat called out from the shadows beneath the Great Rock; craning her neck to see, Leafpaw recognised Russetfur, the ShadowClan deputy.

“The river runs through a deep, sheer-sided gorge for the whole length of our border,” Tallstar replied. “It’s too dangerous to go down there. Warriors have tried, and One whisker fell, though thank StarClan he was not hurt. Our kits and elders cannot manage the climb. They are suffering badly, and I fear that some of the younger kits might die.”

“Can’t your kits and elders chew grass for the moisture?” another cat suggested.

Tallstar shook his head. “The grass is parched. I tell you, there is no water anywhere on our territory.” Turning with clear reluctance to the RiverClan leader, he meowed, “Leopardstar, in the name of StarClan I must ask that you let us come into your territory to drink from the river there.”

Leopardstar came to stand beside the WindClan leader, her dappled golden fur rippling in the moonlight. “The water in the river is low,” she warned. “We have not escaped the effects of this drought in my Clan.”

“But there is far more than you need,” Tallstar responded, desperation creeping into his tone.

Leopardstar nodded. “That is true.” Coming to the very edge of the rock, she looked down into the clearing and asked, “What do my warriors think? Mistyfoot?”

The RiverClan deputy rose to her paws, but before she could speak one of her Clan mates cried out, “We can’t trust them! Let WindClan set one paw over our border, and they’ll be taking our prey as well as our water.”

Leafpaw could see the speaker, a smoky black tom, sitting a few foxlengths away, but she did not recognise him.

“That’s Blackclaw,” Feathertail murmured into her ear. “He’s loyal to the Clan, but . . .” She trailed off, obviously unwilling to say anything bad about her Clan mate.

Mistyfoot turned and fixed Blackclaw with a clear blue stare. “You forget the times when RiverClan has needed help from other Clans,” she meowed. “If they had not helped us then, we would not be here today.” To Leopardstar she added, “I say we should allow this. We have water to spare.”

The clearing fell silent as the cats waited for Leopardstar to make her decision. “Very well, Tallstar,” she meowed at last. “Your Clan may enter our territory to drink from the river just below the Twoleg bridge. But you will come no further, and you do not have leave to take prey.”

Tallstar bowed his head, and Leafpaw heard the relief in his voice as he replied, “Leopardstar, RiverClan has our thanks, from the oldest elder to the youngest kit. You have saved our Clan.”

“The drought will not last forever, and you will have water in your territory soon. We will discuss this again at the next Gathering,” Leopardstar meowed.

“I’m sure they will,” Greystripe muttered darkly. “If I know Leopardstar, she’ll make WindClan pay for that water somehow.”

“Let us hope that StarClan have sent rain by then,” Tallstar meowed, stepping back to let Leopardstar address the Gathering.

Leafpaw’s interest quickened as she wondered if they were about to hear what had been troubling Mistyfoot earlier, but at first the RiverClan leader’s news was unremarkable: a litter of kits had been born, and Twolegs had left rubbish by the river, attracting rats that had been killed by Blackclaw and Stormfur. Greystripe looked ready to burst with pride when his son was praised, while Stormfur scuffed the ground with his paws, his ears flat with embarrassment.

At last Leopardstar meowed, “Some of you have met our apprentices Hawkpaw and Mothpaw. They are now warriors, and will be known as Hawkfrost and Mothwing.”

The cats around Leafpaw craned their necks to see the warriors the RiverClan leader had named; Leafpaw turned to look too, but she could not distinguish them among the throng. The traditional welcoming murmur for all new warriors broke out at the announcement, but to Leafpaw’s surprise it was mingled with a few disconcerting growls, which she realised were coming from RiverClan cats.

Leopardstar glared down from the rock and stilled the noise with a flick of her tail. “Do I hear protests?” she spat out angrily. “Very well, I will tell you everything, to stop rumours flying once and for all.

“Six moons ago, at the beginning of newleaf, a rogue cat came to RiverClan, with her two surviving kits. Her name was Sasha, and the birth of her kits had weakened her so much that she needed help with hunting and caring for them. For a time she thought of joining the Clan, and we would have welcomed her as a warrior, but in the end she decided the warrior code was not the way of life for her. She left us, but her kits chose to stay.”

A flood of protest surged up from the cats around the rock. One voice rose clear above the yowling. “Rogue cats? Taken into a Clan? Has RiverClan gone mad?”

Greystripe shot a questioning glance at Mistyfoot, who shrugged.

“They are good warriors,” she murmured defensively.

Leopardstar made no attempt to quiet the clamour, only staring stonily down until it died away. “They are strong young cats and they have learned their warrior skills well,” she meowed when she could make herself heard. “They have sworn to defend their Clan at the cost of their lives, just as all of you have sworn.” With a glance at Blackstar, she added, “Were not some of ShadowClan’s warriors rogues once?” Before he could reply, her gaze swivelled to Firestar. “And if a kittypet can become Clan leader, why should rogues not be welcome as warriors?”

“She has a point there,” Greystripe admitted.

Firestar dipped his head toward Leopardstar. “True,” he mewed. “I will be glad to see these cats fulfil their promise as loyal members of their Clan.”

Leopardstar nodded in reply; his words had clearly appeased her.

“Is that what was worrying you, Mistyfoot?” Greystripe asked. “It’s no big deal, if they’ve settled down well.”

“I know.” Mistyfoot sighed. “And I know I’m the last cat to criticise any warrior for being born outside the Clan, but . . .”

“You do know that Mistyfoot’s mother was your old leader, Bluestar?” Feathertail whispered to Leafpaw.

Leafpaw nodded.

“But Leopardstar hasn’t told you everything,” Mistyfoot went on. The blue-grey warrior broke off as Leopardstar began to speak again.

“Mothwing has chosen a special place within our Clan,” she explained. “Mudfur, our medicine cat, is growing old, and the time has come for him to take an apprentice.”

This time her voice was drowned completely by the howls of protest. The three other leaders on top of the Great Rock drew together for an anxious conference. Tallstar was clearly unwilling to speak out after Leopardstar had agreed to give him access to the river, and in the end it was Blackstar who replied. “I’m ready to admit that a rogue can learn enough of our code to become a warrior,” he rasped. “But a medicine cat? What do rogues know of StarClan? Will StarClan even accept her?”

“That’s what’s bothering me,” Mistyfoot muttered to Greystripe.

Leafpaw felt a tingle spread through her fur. She remembered her own conviction, back when she had been little more than a kit, that it was right for her to heal and comfort her Clan mates, and to interpret the signs of StarClan for them. Had Mothwing felt the same? Leafpaw wondered. Could she have felt the same, if she was not Clan-born? Even Yellowfang, the medicine cat before Cinderpelt, had been forest-born, though ThunderClan had not been the Clan of her birth.

Voices all around the clearing echoed Blackstar’s questions. At the base of the rock an old brown tom heaved himself to his paws and waited for quiet; it was Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat.

As the noise died down, he raised his voice. “Mothwing is a talented young cat,” he meowed. “But because she was born a rogue, I am waiting for a sign from StarClan that she is the right medicine cat for RiverClan. Once I have received that sign, I will take her to Mothermouth at the half-moon time. If I act without the blessing of StarClan, then you can all complain—but not until then.” He flopped back down again, his whiskers twitching irritably.

The crowd had parted so that Leafpaw could make out the young cat crouched beside him. She was startlingly beautiful, with glowing amber eyes in a triangular face, and a long golden pelt with rippling tabby stripes.

“Is that Mothwing?” she whispered to Feathertail.

“That’s right.” Feathertail gave Leafpaw’s ear a quick lick. “When the leaders have finished I’ll take you to meet her, if you like. She’s quite friendly, once you get to know her.”

Leafpaw nodded eagerly. She was sure that Mudfur would soon receive the sign that Mothwing could be accepted. There were no other medicine cat apprentices in the forest, and she looked forward to making friends with another one—someone she could talk to about her training and all the mysteries of StarClan that were slowly being revealed to her.

The protests had died down after Mudfur’s speech, and as Leopardstar had no more to say Tallstar brought the meeting to an end.

Feathertail leaped to her paws. “Come on, before we all have to leave.”

As Leafpaw followed the RiverClan warrior across the clearing, she felt sympathy already for Mothwing. Judging by the response of the other cats tonight, it was easy to imagine the hard path that lay ahead of her before she would be fully accepted by her Clan.

As the Gathering drew to a close and the cats began to separate into their own Clans, Brambleclaw looked around for his sister, Tawnypelt. He had not seen her, and wondered if she had not been chosen to come this time.

He saw Firestar halt in front of a young tabby tom who was sitting near Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat.

“Congratulations, Hawkfrost,” Firestar meowed. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine warrior.”

So that’s Hawkfrost, Brambleclaw thought with interest, pricking up his ears. The rogue-born RiverClan cat.

“Thank you, Firestar,” the new warrior replied. “I’ll do my best to serve my Clan.”

“I’m sure you will.” Firestar touched Hawkfrost on the shoulder with the tip of his tail in a gesture of encouragement. “Pay no attention to all the fuss. It’ll all be forgotten in a moon.”

He walked on, and Hawkfrost raised his head to look after him. Brambleclaw couldn’t quite suppress a shiver when he glimpsed the tom’s eyes, an eerie ice blue that seemed to stare through the ThunderClan leader as if he were made of smoke.

“Great StarClan!” he murmured aloud. “I wouldn’t like to meet him in battle.”

“Meet who?”

Brambleclaw spun around to see Tawnypelt standing behind him. “There you are!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Answering her question, he added, “Hawkfrost. He looks dangerous.”

Tawnypelt shrugged. “So are you dangerous. I’m dangerous. It’s what warriors are for. This whole full-moon thing could be broken by the slash of a claw—and has been before.”

Brambleclaw nodded. “True. So how are you, Tawnypelt? How’s life in ShadowClan?”

“Pretty good.” Tawnypelt hesitated, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Look, there’s something I wanted to ask you about.” Brambleclaw sat down and pricked his ears expectantly. “The other night I had this weird dream. . . .”

“What?” He couldn’t bite back the exclamation, and Tawnypelt’s green eyes flew wide with alarm. “No, go on,” he meowed, forcing himself to be calm. “Tell me about the dream.”

“I was in a clearing in the forest,” Tawnypelt explained, “but I didn’t recognise exactly where it was. There was a cat sitting on a rock—a black cat; I think it was Nightstar. You know, ShadowClan’s leader before our father? I . . . I guess if StarClan were going to send a cat to ShadowClan, it wouldn’t be Tigerstar.”

“What did he say to you?” Brambleclaw asked hoarsely, already knowing what his sister’s answer would be.

“He told me that there was some great trouble coming to the forest, and a new prophecy had to be fulfilled. I had been chosen to meet with three other cats at the new moon, and listen to what midnight would tell us.”

Brambleclaw stared at her, his fur crawling with ice.

“What’s the matter?” Tawnypelt asked. “Why are you looking like that?”

“Because I had exactly the same dream, except that the cat who spoke to me was Bluestar.”

Tawnypelt blinked and her brother saw a shiver pass through her tortoiseshell fur. At last she meowed, “Have you told any other cat about your dream?”

Brambleclaw shook his head. “I didn’t know what to make of it. To be honest, I thought it was due to something I ate. I mean, why would StarClan send a vision like that to me, instead of to Firestar or Cinderpelt?”

“I thought the same,” his sister agreed. “And I expected the other three cats to be from ShadowClan, so when no other cat mentioned it . . .”

“I know, me too. I thought they would be from ThunderClan. But it looks as if we were wrong.”

Brambleclaw glanced around the clearing. The Gathering was thinning out as cats began to leave, and in spite of the protests over Hawkfrost and Mothwing the general mood was good-humoured. No other cats looked as if they had received doom-laden dreams. What possible trouble could be coming—and if it did, what could he and Tawnypelt do about it?

“What do you think we should do now?” Tawnypelt echoed his thoughts.

“If the dream was true, then two other cats should have had it,” Brambleclaw replied. “It makes sense that there would be one from each of the other two Clans. We should try to find out who.”

“Oh, yes.” Tawnypelt sounded scornful. “Are you going to walk into WindClan or RiverClan territory and ask every cat if they had a weird dream? I’m not. They would think we were mad, if they didn’t claw our ears off first.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“We’re all supposed to meet at the new moon,” Tawnypelt mewed thoughtfully. “Nightstar didn’t say where, but it must be here at Fourtrees. There isn’t anywhere else where cats from four different Clans can get together.”

“So you think we should come here at the new moon?”

“Unless you can think of a better idea.”

Brambleclaw shook his head. “I only hope the other cats do the same. If . . . if the dream is real, of course.”

He broke off as he heard a cat calling his name, and turned to see Firestar standing a short distance away, with the other ThunderClan cats gathered around him. “It’s time to go,” Firestar said.

“Coming!” Turning back to Tawnypelt he meowed urgently, “At the new moon, then. Say nothing to any cat. And trust StarClan the others will come.”

Tawnypelt nodded and slipped into the bushes, following her Clan mates. Brambleclaw hurried over to join Firestar, hoping that his shock and fear did not show on his face. He had tried to forget his dream, but if Tawnypelt had dreamed it as well, he had no choice but to take it seriously. Trouble was coming, and he did not know what to do about it, nor understand how midnight could tell him anything.

Oh, StarClan, he mewed silently. I hope you know what you’re doing!

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