TWILIGHT

Leafpool glanced at Squirrelflight; once her sister would have leapt to Brambleclaw’s defence, but now she was just staring at him with narrowed eyes.

Firestar looked from Brambleclaw to Dustpelt and then back again. “I hope Ashfur’s right,” he mewed at last, “and this is just an example of WindClan trying to prove how strong they are. But I don’t think we can trust Webfoot to report on what’s happening in his Clan. I’ll have to visit WindClan myself once my shoulder is better.”

Leafpool exchanged a startled glance with her sister. “He should wait for the Gathering,” she mewed quietly. “He could talk to Onestar there.”

“You try telling him that,” Squirrelflight murmured back.

Leafpool knew she couldn’t. Firestar’s friendship with Onestar went so far back that none of the Clan cats, even those who had grown up with Firestar, would dare tell him he couldn’t visit his old friend. Leafpool heard Mousefur mutter, “Did you ever hear such a mousebrained idea? A day-old kit could see that WindClan wants to be left alone.”

Firestar was about to go back to his den when Brambleclaw stopped him. “Wait, we haven’t told you about the badger yet.”

“What badger?” Firestar turned back, his green eyes flashing with alarm. “On our territory?”

“Not any more,” Brambleclaw replied, and he described how the patrol had tracked the badger by its scent.

“It was digging out a set in an old foxhole,” Rainwhisker added. “And there were four of them. Three cubs and their mother.”

“The cubs were too small to fight,” meowed Ashfur. “But the mother gave us enough trouble.” He twisted around to lick a raw patch on his hindquarters.

Squirrelflight remained silent as Brambleclaw finished explaining how the badgers had been driven off. Leafpool picked up mingled feelings of fear, defensiveness, and pity. She could understand why. ThunderClan had been driven from their home too. But this is our territory now, she reminded herself. We can’t share it with badgers, especially not four of them.

Firestar looked around at his Clan. “Dustpelt, take a patrol up there, please, and fill in the hole. Keep at least one of the warriors on watch in case the badger comes back.”

Dustpelt beckoned to Rainwhisker, who would be able to show him the way to the half-built set, and signalled Brightheart and Cloudtail to follow.

Firestar watched them go. “Every patrol will have to watch out for badgers in the future,” he warned. “This family could come back, or more of them might be trying to settle. If one badger is trying to find a new home, there could be others.” Grimly he added, “We must make it clear they’re not welcome here.”

Moonlight glimmered on the rippling stream, and the warm scents of newleaf drifted across Leafpool’s fur as she stood gazing into WindClan’s territory. Suddenly a lean, dark shape raced down the bank—Crowfeather. He plunged into the stream with a glittering splash as moon-filled drops spun away from his paws. Water brushed his belly fur; then Crowfeather was pulling himself onto the bank beside Leafpool. His scent flooded over her.

“Crowfeather …” she murmured.

“What?”

Leafpool opened her eyes to see Cinderpelt poking her head out of her den. “Did you say something?” the medicine cat mewed.

Leafpool sprang out of her nest and gave herself a shake to dislodge scraps of moss from her pelt. “No, Cinderpelt.” The last thing she wanted was to be asked what she had been dreaming about. “Do you need me to do something?”

“I’ve just been checking our stores of herbs,” Cinderpelt meowed. “Some of them are getting very low, and—”

“I’ll go and gather some,” Leafpool offered. “It’s almost newleaf, so there’s bound to be something growing. Squirrelflight told me where she saw some coltsfoot.”

“Good,” mewed Cinderpelt. “We could do with some marigold or horsetail too. We used nearly every scrap after the battle. And anything else you see that would be useful.”

“Right, Cinderpelt.” Leafpool’s paws itched to carry her out of the camp so she could be alone with her thoughts. Waving her tail in farewell, she headed across the clearing and through the thorn tunnel.

The sun had not yet cleared the tops of the trees, and clammy, dew-laden grass brushed Leafpool’s belly fur, but she scarcely noticed the chill. Her paws tingled with excitement, and she ran faster until she was racing through the trees. The gurgle of water brought her to a halt. She realised her paws had brought her to the stream that marked the border with WindClan, close to the lake where trees grew in WindClan territory too. The place was hauntingly familiar. She had stood here in her dream, and Crowfeather had come to her.

The bank was silent and deserted, the trees casting long shadows over the water. Leafpool stood still, her gaze devouring the undergrowth on the far side of the stream. She half hoped, half dreaded what she might see. A WindClan patrol would be hostile if they found her so close to the border, but if Crowfeather appeared … But she had no business hoping to meet Crowfeather. She was a medicine cat, and medicine cats could not fall in love.

She tasted the air and picked up her own Clan’s scent markers, and those of WindClan from the opposite bank, but not the scent that threw her into such turmoil. A pang of disappointment burned through her, and she knew some part of her had expected him to be waiting for her.

“Stupid furball,” she muttered. “It was only a dream.”

She stiffened as she heard voices from further downstream; a heartbeat later ThunderClan scent drifted around her. She didn’t want to meet a patrol this far away from the camp. They would ask what she was doing, and she was too confused to explain properly. She glanced around. The only cover close by was a holly bush with branches that swept the ground; Leafpool squeezed under it just as the ThunderClan patrol came into sight.

Peering out between the prickly leaves, Leafpool saw that Brackenfur was leading the patrol. He padded past with Sootfur and Whitepaw behind him, then paused to ask his apprentice what she could scent. Leafpool froze.

“WindClan cats,” Whitepaw replied after a moment. “And ThunderClan, of course, and I think a fox went by a while ago—probably yesterday. No sign of any badgers, though.”

“Well done,” meowed Brackenfur. “If you go on like this, you’ll be a warrior in no time.”

Whitepaw fluffed out her tail with pride as she followed her mentor and Sootfur upstream. Leafpool relaxed; the apprentice hadn’t singled her out from the other ThunderClan scents. When the patrol had disappeared she began to wriggle out from her hiding place, only to be flooded by another, crashingly familiar scent.

“Leafpool, whatever are you doing under there?”

Leafpool scrambled the rest of the way out of the holly bush and turned around to meet the curious gaze of her friend Sorreltail. “Looking for berries,” she mewed feebly.

“Holly berries?” Sorreltail’s amber eyes stretched wide in surprise. “I thought they were poisonous.”

“Yes, they are. I was … er … looking for different berries.”

Sorreltail’s tail curled up, but to Leafpool’s relief she didn’t ask any more questions. Her eyes were shining, even though she looked tired. “There’s something I have to tell you, I think,” she meowed.

Leafpool stared at her friend in horror. Had she guessed about Crowfeather? “There are good herbs around here,” she began, struggling not to show her panic. She had to make Sorreltail believe she was here on medicine cat business—no other reason. “I always come here when—”

“Leafpool, what are you meowing about? I’m expecting kits!”

Leafpool saw pride and excitement and a flicker of fear in Sorreltail’s expression. Mousebrain! she scolded herself. Call yourself a medicine cat?

A purr of happiness rose inside her. “Are they Brackenfur’s?” The tortoiseshell and golden brown warriors had been inseparable ever since they arrived in the new territory.

Sorreltail nodded. “I haven’t told him yet; I wanted to be certain first. Oh, Leafpool, I just know he’ll make a wonderful father.”

“I’m sure he will.” Leafpool pressed her muzzle against her friend’s. “And you’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“I hope so.” Sorreltail ducked her head. “I’m a bit scared, but I know I’ll be fine if I’ve got you to look after me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Leafpool mewed, trying not to squirm under the warmth of her friend’s praise. Right now, she was as far from being a good medicine cat as she could be. “Just think, Sorreltail, you’ll be the first cat to bear kits for ThunderClan in our new home! The first cat to use the new nursery.”

Sorreltail blinked happily. The sound of a pawstep behind her made Leafpool turn; Brackenfur had come back to see what was keeping his mate.

“Are you OK?” he asked, padding up to her and giving her ears a lick.

“I’m fine, Brackenfur,” Sorreltail replied. “Just a bit tired.”

“Come a bit further,” Brackenfur meowed, pointing upstream with his tail. “We’ve found a nice sunny spot under a tree. You can rest and we’ll see how Whitepaw’s hunting skills are coming on.”

His gentle care of Sorreltail made Leafpool certain that he had guessed her secret. It wouldn’t be a secret for much longer.

Sorreltail leaned against his shoulder for a moment, then touched her nose to Leafpool’s. “Bye, Leafpool. I hope you find those berries.”

Leafpool watched the two cats head upstream, their pelts brushing, until they disappeared among the trees. There was a strange ache in her heart, half joy and half sorrow. She was happy for Sorreltail, but she envied her too. She and Brackenfur had entered a private world where a medicine cat could never follow.

Leafpool had always known that, ever since she first became apprenticed to Cinderpelt. But she had never thought about what it would mean. She had never realised one cat could long for another the way she longed for Crowfeather with every hair on her pelt. And now Sorreltail was depending on Leafpool to take care of her when her kits were born. Her duties kept her busy enough already. There was no room for forbidden feelings.

“You’re a medicine cat,” she told herself. “And Crowfeather’s a warrior from another Clan. So stop thinking about him. Stop dreaming.”

Head down, she padded away from the stream without looking back at the WindClan border, and went to search for Squirrelflight’s coltsfoot.

CHAPTER 4

Squirrelflight used her claws to tear moss from the roots of an oak tree and began patting it into a ball to take back to camp. A quarter moon had passed since the battle with Mudclaw and his followers, and the Clan was beginning to recover. Wounds were healing and the memory of Mudclaw’s rebellion was fading.

Brambleclaw had started his training sessions, and Sandstorm had insisted that every warrior take a turn with the apprentice duties. Squirrelflight would rather be hunting or exploring than fetching fresh bedding for the elders, but the job wasn’t too boring when you had a friend to share it with.

Casting a mischievous glance at Ashfur, who was gathering moss from another tree nearby, she hooked up her ball with the claws of one paw and hurled it at him. It landed accurately in the middle of his back and disintegrated, covering his pelt with scraps of moss.

Ashfur spun around to face her. “Hey!”

His eyes gleaming with laughter, the grey warrior scooped up his own moss and flung it at Squirrelflight. She dodged behind the tree to avoid it, and crashed straight into Brambleclaw.

“What’s going on?” the tabby tomcat demanded. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting moss for the elders’ bedding,” Squirrelflight replied. Regret for their lost friendship pierced her like a thorn, along with fury that he had to appear at the exact moment she’d stopped working.

Ashfur hurtled around the tree with more moss in his jaws and skidded to a halt when he saw Brambleclaw.

“Collecting bedding? So I see.” Brambleclaw used his tail to flick a scrap of moss from Ashfur’s shoulder. “Carrying it back on your pelt, are you?”

Ashfur put the moss down. “We were only having a bit of fun.”

“Fun?” Brambleclaw snapped. “Wasting time is what I’d call it. Don’t you realise how much there is to do?”

“OK, OK.” Squirrelflight felt her neck fur bristle. “There’s no need to treat us like lazy apprentices.”

“Stop behaving like lazy apprentices, then,” Brambleclaw flashed back at her, a glint of anger in his amber eyes. “Being a warrior means putting the Clan first.”

Squirrelflight’s fury rose like a wave. “Do you think we don’t know that?” she spat. “Who died and made you deputy?”

As soon as the words were out she knew she had said something unbelievably stupid. She wanted to snatch it back, but it was too late.

Brambleclaw’s eyes blazed, but when he spoke his voice was icy calm. “No cat knows whether Greystripe is dead or alive. Do you have any idea what Firestar must be suffering?”

“Of course I do!” Deep inside, Squirrelflight wanted to say she was sorry, but she couldn’t back down when Brambleclaw was being so unfair. “Firestar is my father, for StarClan’s sake! Don’t talk to me like I don’t care.”

“Steady.” Ashfur stepped forward and pressed his muzzle against Squirrelflight’s shoulder.

Squirrelflight struggled to control her anger. “I’d give anything to have Greystripe back.”

“Yes, we know,” Ashfur reassured her. His breath felt warm against her pelt. “Look, Brambleclaw,” he went on, straightening up, “we’ll get the moss, OK? You don’t need to hassle Squirrelflight.”

Brambleclaw twitched his ears. “OK, but be as quick as you can. And when you’ve done that, make sure the elders have had some fresh-kill.” Without waiting for a reply he turned and stalked off towards the camp.

“Feed the elders yourself!” Squirrelflight yowled after him. There was no need for Brambleclaw to behave like this—not unless he was punishing her for being suspicious about Hawkfrost.

If Brambleclaw heard her, he didn’t show it. He just carried on walking until soft green ferns hid him from sight.

“Take it easy,” Ashfur meowed. “He’s just trying to make sure everything gets done. We’re all under pressure, with only one apprentice.”

“He should do more himself then, instead of striding around giving orders,” Squirrelflight grumbled. “If he thinks I’m collecting moss for him, he can think again! I’m going hunting.”

She spun around and raced into the trees. Behind her she heard Ashfur call her name, but she was too furious to slow down. Part of her wanted to launch herself at Brambleclaw and wipe that look of scorn from his face, while part of her was torn apart with guilt for implying that Greystripe was dead. Every time she and Brambleclaw spoke to each other they seemed to plunge deeper into a pit of anger and mistrust. Squirrelflight wondered if anything could put things right between them.

With these troubled thoughts churning in her head she hardly noticed where her flying paws were taking her. Too late she saw a bramble thicket looming up in front of her; she tried to skid to a halt and stumbled headlong into the prickly tendrils.

“Mouse dung!” she spat.

Thorns tugged at the fur on her back as she struggled to wrench herself free; she couldn’t bear the indignity of Brambleclaw or Ashfur coming up to find her stuck. Digging her claws into the ground, she managed to drag herself out of the thicket, leaving scraps of ginger fur on the bramble thorns.

Scrambling up, she saw that the trees around her were unfamiliar—huge grey trunks hung with moss and ivy, packed closer together than in the woods around the camp.

“Squirrelflight! Watch out!”

Ashfur’s gasp of alarm came from close behind her. She spun round, her pelt standing on end. Just beyond the bramble thicket was a clearing where the ground was thick with dead leaves. Squirrelflight’s heart started to pound as she spotted a russet-brown, wedge-shaped face peering out at her from a clump of thorns on the far side of the clearing. She watched in horror as the fox stepped delicately out, its jaws parted in a snarl and its eyes gleaming with hunger.

“Back away slowly.” Ashfur’s quiet meow came from close by.

Squirrelflight’s legs felt as if they had turned to stone, but she forced herself to take one step back. At once the fox leapt. Squirrelflight raised her claws to defend herself, but in the same instant a grey streak flashed between the fox and her: it was Ashfur, slashing at the creature’s muzzle with both forepaws. He let out a fearsome caterwaul, but the fox stood its ground in the centre of the clearing. It wrenched its head towards Ashfur, jaws snapping. Squirrelflight hurled herself at the fox with a furious yowl and raked her claws down the side of its face. It reared up, throwing her off; she hit the ground with a thud that drove the breath out of her. When she scrambled to her paws she saw Ashfur on the ground, battering at the fox with his hindpaws as it tried to bite down on his throat.

Squirrelflight sprang again, claws stretched towards the russet fur. As the fox rounded on her, she glimpsed Ashfur trying to drag himself away with blood pouring from his neck. While her attention was distracted, the fox snapped at her, and this time its teeth met in her shoulder. Squirrelflight yowled with pain and tore at the fox’s muzzle with her claws. She heard Ashfur’s voice calling weakly, “Squirrelflight, run!” But the fox wouldn’t let go. Angry and terrified, Squirrelflight fought harder.

The fox gave her a shake that rattled her teeth. Squirrelflight hung limply in its grip, feeling her strength ebbing away. A black wave was rising behind her eyes, threatening to drown her, when she heard a loud yowling close by. Abruptly the fox’s jaws opened and let her drop. For a few heartbeats she lay half-conscious among the leaves, aware of furious snarls somewhere above her head.

Gasping for breath, she staggered to her paws. The forest swirled around her; when her vision cleared she saw Brambleclaw, his tabby fur fluffed out with rage so that he looked twice his normal size. He was driving the fox back into the trees with slashing claws and bared fangs; Ashfur fought alongside him, looking shaky but determined. Squirrelflight stumbled over to join them, letting out a yowl of defiance. At the sight of a third attacker, the fox backed off rapidly, then turned and vanished into the undergrowth. For a moment they heard rustling as it crashed through the ferns, then silence.

“Thanks, Brambleclaw,” Ashfur gasped. “How did you know we were in trouble?”

“I heard you,” Brambleclaw replied. His voice was tight with anger. “Great StarClan, what did you think you were doing out here? You know we haven’t explored this part of the territory properly yet. Surely finding that badger should have made you more careful?”

Squirrelflight was almost speechless with fury. Why did it have to be Brambleclaw who had come along to help? What made it worse was that he was right; she shouldn’t have gone tearing through the forest in a temper without looking where she was going. But he didn’t have to be so obnoxious about it. “What is your problem?” she spat. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you!”

“We thought we’d hunt,” Ashfur explained, brushing his tail across Squirrelflight’s mouth before she could say anything else. “I’m sorry we came further than we meant to.”

Brambleclaw’s gaze raked over him, fury still burning in his amber eyes.

“It’s a good thing we came across that fox,” Squirrelflight pointed out. “The Clan needs to know about it.”

“And how much would the Clan have known if the pair of you were killed?” Brambleclaw growled. “For StarClan’s sake, have a bit more sense next time.”

He stepped forward to sniff the wound in Ashfur’s neck. To Squirrelflight’s relief it had almost stopped bleeding; it looked deep, but not the kind of wound that would kill.

“You’d better get back to camp and let Cinderpelt have a look at that,” he advised. “You too, Squirrelflight. You have some pretty bad scratches there.”

Squirrelflight twisted her head to see along her flanks and over her shoulders. Several clumps of fur were missing, and blood trickled out in sticky red streams where the fox’s teeth had sunk into her flesh. The bitemarks stung fiercely, and every muscle throbbed. Squirrelflight longed to creep back to camp for a pawful of soothing herbs and her soft nest under the thorn bush. But they couldn’t let the fox go without trying to find its den.

“Shouldn’t we follow the scent trail and see if the fox has a den close by?” she suggested. Her voice was cold, hiding the anger that burned inside her. “There’s no use going to Firestar with half a story.”

“Good idea,” Ashfur agreed. “That fox looked thin and desperate, as if it’s competing for food with stronger foxes. That makes it dangerous. If it lives in our territory, we need to work out how to get rid of it.”

Brambleclaw hesitated, then nodded. “OK, we’ll follow for a while, at least.”

He led the way to the thicket where the fox had disappeared. The reek of its scent was still strong.

“What a stink!” Ashfur snarled.

Brambleclaw took the lead as the three cats followed the trail through the undergrowth. Before long it crossed the old, overgrown Twoleg path that led back to the stone hollow and continued into the woods on the other side. As the trees thinned out and gave way to moorland, Squirrelflight realised it was becoming mingled with the scent of cats. Not far off she could hear the gurgling of a stream.

Brambleclaw halted. “This is the WindClan border,” he announced.

“If the fox has crossed into their territory, it’s not our problem any more,” meowed Ashfur.

“Don’t be too sure of that.” Brambleclaw glanced from side to side. “Let’s just check if we can see its den.”

“Its den must be in WindClan territory, mousebrain,” Squirrelflight muttered, but she helped in the search, padding along the border for several fox-lengths in each direction before heading further back into the trees.

When the three cats joined each other again at the border, none of them had found the den.

“It looks as if the fox crossed the border. WindClan can deal with it now,” Squirrelflight mewed.

“I’m not sure Firestar will see it that way,” Brambleclaw warned. “He might want to warn Onestar.”

Squirrelflight knew he could be right. The awkward meeting with the WindClan patrol a few days before hadn’t seemed to change her father’s faith in his friendship with Onestar. And a true friend wouldn’t keep news of the fox to himself. Besides, even if the fox crossed the border, ThunderClan cats were still in danger.

“OK,” she agreed. “Let’s get back to camp and tell Firestar about it.”

Squirrelflight lay near the entrance to Cinderpelt’s den, gritting her teeth while Leafpool dabbed chewed-up marigold leaves onto her scratches. Nearby, Cinderpelt was applying cobwebs to the wound in Ashfur’s neck. He flinched, and Squirrelflight gave him a sympathetic glance.

“That should be fine,” the medicine cat told him. “Take it easy for the next couple of days, though. And make sure you let one of us check the wounds every day, to make sure they’re not infected.”

“You say the fox went across the WindClan border?” Leafpool asked her sister.

She looked worried. Squirrelflight couldn’t imagine why Leafpool should be bothered about a fox in WindClan’s territory. It would be much more worrying if it lived on the ThunderClan side of the border.

“That’s right,” she mewed, wincing as marigold juice seeped into the puncture wounds where the fox’s teeth had pierced her fur.

“You didn’t see any WindClan cats, did you?” Leafpool went on. Squirrelflight began to pick up embarrassment from her, and some deep, churning feeling she couldn’t identify. “Like—like Crowfeather, for instance?”

“No. If we’d seen any WindClan cats we would have told them about the fox, mousebrain. We wouldn’t have to think about visiting them again.” Brambleclaw was with Firestar right now, describing what had happened, and Squirrelflight was fairly sure what her father’s reaction would be. “Anyway, what made you think of Crowfeather?”