Crowfeather?” she asked.
Brambleclaw looked up and spotted the young WindClan warrior a few tail-lengths away, anxiously pacing beside Tallstar. The WindClan leader looked so exhausted he could hardly put one paw in front of the other; his long tail dragged on the ground and he was leaning heavily on the brown tabby warrior Onewhisker. The WindClan medicine cat, Barkface, walked close behind, a worried look on his face.
“Hey, Crowfeather!” Squirrelpaw called.
The WindClan cat bounded across. “What do you want?”
Brambleclaw ignored his unwelcoming tone. Crowfeather’s tongue was sharp enough to slice your ears off, but if danger threatened he would fight to his last breath to defend his friends.
“Travel down to the lake with us,” he urged. “I want us to finish the journey how we started—together.”
Crowfeather bowed his head. “There’s no point,” he murmured. “We’ll never be together again. Stormfur lives in the mountains now, and Feathertail is dead.”
Brambleclaw ran his tail lightly over the young warrior’s shoulder. He shared his grief for the beautiful RiverClan cat who had sacrificed her life to save Crowfeather and the Tribe cats from the terrible lion-cat known as Sharptooth. Then Feathertail’s brother Stormfur had stayed with the Tribe of Rushing Water because of his love for the prey-hunter Brook. Brambleclaw missed him bitterly, but knew that pain was nothing compared to the agony Crowfeather felt over Feathertail’s death.
“Feathertail is with us now,” Squirrelpaw insisted, coming to join them. Her eyes shone with the strength of her belief. “If you don’t know that, Crowfeather, you’re even more mousebrained than I thought. And we’ll see Stormfur again, I’m sure. We’re closer to the mountains here than we were in the forest.”
Crowfeather let out a long sigh. “OK,” he meowed. “Let’s go.”
Most of the cats had gone past them already, moving cautiously across the unfamiliar territory, keeping close to each other as they had done throughout the long and dangerous journey to get here. A little way ahead, Brambleclaw saw Mothwing, the RiverClan medicine cat, walking beside a group of apprentices from all four Clans. On the far side of a patch of gorse, the ground fell away into a grassy hollow. Tallpoppy, a ShadowClan queen, was struggling to guide her kits down the steep slope; Cloudtail and Brightheart from ThunderClan darted over to help, each picking up a kit in their jaws. Further down the slope, Cedarheart, a grey ShadowClan tom, prowled along the edge of a thorn thicket, his gaze flicking back and forth as he kept watch for foxes and badgers that might be looking for easy prey.
If he had not known these cats all his life, Brambleclaw would not have been able to distinguish one Clan from another; they walked side by side, helping one another. He wondered grimly how long it would be before they were divided again, and how painful that separation would be.
At an impatient exclamation from Squirrelpaw—“Come on, Brambleclaw, or we’ll leave you to make a den for yourself here!”—he headed down the slope, pausing every so often to draw in the night air. The scent of cat was strongest, but beneath it he could detect the scents of mouse and vole and rabbit. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten; surely the leaders would allow them to hunt soon?
He was imagining the delicious taste of fresh-kill when he was startled by a hiss from Tawnypelt, who was a couple of tail-lengths ahead of him. “Look at that,” spat the Shadow Clan warrior, pointing with her tail.
Brambleclaw’s ears pricked when he saw the thin mesh of a Twoleg fence shining like a huge cobweb in the pale dawn light. Two or three of the other cats had paused to stare apprehensively at it as well.
“I knew we’d come across Twolegs sooner or later!” Squirrelpaw meowed with a disgusted twitch of her tail.
Brambleclaw tasted the air again. He could pick up the scent of Twolegs, but it was faint and stale. There was another, less familiar scent too, and he had to think hard before he remembered what it was.
“Horses.” Crowfeather confirmed his guess. “There’s one over there.”
He gestured with his tail, and Brambleclaw noticed a large, dark shape standing under a clump of trees some way inside the fence. He thought there was another one beside it, though it was hard to tell in the shadows cast by the branches.
“What are horses?” Whitepaw mewed worriedly as she peered through the fence.
“Nothing to worry about,” Tornear from WindClan reassured her, touching the apprentice’s shoulder with the tip of his tail. “They used to run across our territory sometimes, with Twolegs on their backs.”
Whitetail blinked as if she couldn’t quite believe him.
“We saw some of them on our journey to the sun-drown-water,” Brambleclaw added. “They didn’t take any notice of us when we crossed their field. It’s the Twolegs looking after them that we need to watch out for.”
“I can’t see any Twoleg nests,” Tawnypelt pointed out. “Maybe these horse things look after themselves.”
“Let’s hope so,” meowed Brambleclaw. “Horses alone shouldn’t bother us.”
“Provided we stay away from their clumsy feet,” added Squirrelpaw.
The cats followed the Twoleg fence until they came to a thicket of trees where the other cats were gathering. Glancing around, Brambleclaw spotted Cinderpelt, the ThunderClan medicine cat, and her apprentice, Leafpaw, Squirrelpaw’s sister.
“What’s going on?” Squirrelpaw demanded. “Why are we stopping?”
“The patrol the leaders sent has just come back,” Cinderpelt explained.
Following her gaze, Brambleclaw saw the leaders of the four Clans and the WindClan deputy, Mudclaw, standing close together beside a tree stump. Mistyfoot and Russetfur, who had been sent on the patrol, faced them. The other cats had sunk down on the short, springy grass around the tree stump, glad of the chance to rest.
With the others behind him, Brambleclaw weaved through the cats until he was close enough to hear what the Clan leaders were saying.
Mistyfoot was just giving her report: “The ground’s very boggy by the lake. There’s no point going any further until daylight. We don’t want to lose any cats in the mud.”
“ShadowClan is used to wet ground underpaw,” Blackstar reminded her, before any of the other leaders could comment. “But we’ll stay with the rest of you if that’s what you want.” There was an edge to his tone, as if ShadowClan were granting them a huge favour by not going ahead to explore on their own.
Brambleclaw narrowed his eyes. It seemed too soon for the Clans to begin competing with one another over who claimed which part of the new territory. He had grown used to having all four Clans around him, ignoring the differences that had kept them apart for more seasons than any cat could remember. He was also afraid that some cats were weaker and more exhausted than others, which might make any clashes more damaging than they needed to be.
He hoped the leaders would decide to stay where they were for the rest of the night. The hills were still close enough to cut down the force of the wind, and the trees provided even more welcome shelter. A strong scent of prey drifted from the shadows, and his paws itched
