reek of Twoleg monsters stung her nostrils as they approached the border. There was no sign of any prey: no birds in the sky and no scent of rabbits among the gorse. WindClan had never been an easy territory to hunt in, but there had always been traces of prey on the breeze or in the sandy soil. Even the buzzards, which often hovered over the wide stretch of moorland, were gone.
The four cats reached the crest of a rise, and Squirrelpaw swallowed hard, fighting the urge to retch as the tang of monsters grew stronger. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to look down the slope. A whole slice of land had been carved out of the moorland, brown and grey and broken instead of the smooth green expanse that had been there when the cats began their journey. In the distance, Twoleg monsters growled across the ground, chewing the earth with their heavy paws to leave a trail of useless mud.
Trembling, Squirrelpaw whispered, “No wonder WindClan moved to the rabbit warrens! The Twolegs must have destroyed their camp.”
“They’ve destroyed everything,” Brambleclaw breathed.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tawnypelt hissed. Squirrelpaw heard anger in her voice, and saw her long, hooked claws sink into the grass.
Brambleclaw continued to stare at the ravaged landscape. “I can’t believe how much they’ve destroyed.”
Squirrelpaw’s throat tightened. Seeing Brambleclaw’s misery was almost as bad as looking at the ruined moor. “Come on,” she urged. “We have to get home and find out what has happened to our Clans.”
He nodded. Squirrelpaw saw him brace his shoulders as if he were literally carrying the weight of the message they had to take to their Clan. Without saying anything else, he headed down the slope, keeping well away from the Twoleg monsters, and together the cats picked their way across the swath of churned-up ground. Squirrelpaw was grateful for the cold night that had set the mud hard; if it rained, this would turn into a clogging brown river, enough to swallow kits and suck at the bellies of the longest-legged warriors.
When they reached the WindClan border where the land swept down to the forest, Tawnypelt paused. “I’ll leave you here,” she meowed. Her voice was calm but her eyes betrayed her sadness. “We’ll meet at Fourtrees tomorrow, whatever the Twolegs have done,” she promised.
“Good luck with Blackstar,” Brambleclaw meowed, rubbing his muzzle along his sister’s cheek.
“I don’t need luck,” she replied grimly. “I will do whatever it takes to persuade Blackstar to come with me. Our quest isn’t over yet. We have to keep going for the sake of our Clans.”
Squirrelpaw felt a renewed burst of energy as the tortoiseshell warrior pelted away toward the ShadowClan border. “And we’ll persuade Firestar!” she called after her.
The grass grew softer under their paws as Brambleclaw, Squirrelpaw, and Stormfur approached the RiverClan border; soon Squirrelpaw could scent the markers and hear the distant thundering of water in the gorge. RiverClan territory lay on the other side, and just beyond the gorge there was a Twoleg bridge that would take Stormfur across the river to his camp.
Brambleclaw paused as if he expected Stormfur to leave them there, but Stormfur just looked into his eyes. “I’m coming with you to the ThunderClan camp,” he meowed quietly.
“Coming with us? Why?” Squirrelpaw exclaimed.
“I want to tell my father about Feathertail,” he replied.
“But we can tell him,” she offered, wanting to spare Stormfur the pain of telling Greystripe, the ThunderClan deputy, about his daughter’s death. Greystripe had fallen in love with a RiverClan she-cat, Silverstream, many moons ago. She had died bearing his kits, and though Stormfur and Feathertail had grown up in RiverClan, they had always known their ThunderClan father.
Stormfur shook his head. “He has already lost our mother,” he reminded her. “I want to be the one to tell him about Feathertail.”
Brambleclaw nodded. “Then come with us,” he mewed gently.
In single file the three cats followed the path away from the gorge and down into the trees. Squirrelpaw’s fur prickled with anticipation as she breathed the musty smell of fallen leaves. They were nearly home. She quickened her pace until her paws were flying across the soft forest floor. She felt Brambleclaw’s pelt brush against hers as he sped up to join her.
But Squirrelpaw wasn’t running from excitement or joy at being back in the forest. Something was calling her home—something even more desperate than the threat of the Twolegs and their monsters. The sinister dreams that had disturbed her sleep flooded her mind again and echoed in her heart like the warning cry of a hawk. Something was terribly wrong.
“Spottedleaf!” Leafpaw called desperately into the forest. There was no reply. The wise medicine cat had guided her many times before in dreams; if ever Leafpaw had needed Spottedleaf’s help, it was now.
“Spottedleaf, where are you?” she called again.
The trees did not even tremble in the breeze. No prey-sound whispered in the shadows. The silence tore at Leafpaw’s heart like a claw.
Suddenly an unfamiliar yowl echoed in her ears, forcing its way into her dream. Leafpaw opened her eyes with a jolt. For a moment she couldn’t think where she was. Her fur was ruffled by a cold draft, and instead of a soft, mossy nest there was a strange, cold, shiny web beneath her paws. She stood up in panic, and more shiny web grazed her ears. Wherever she was, it was a very small space, hardly taller than she was. Taking a deep breath, Leafpaw forced herself to look around, and everything came rushing back to her.
She was trapped in a tiny den, with walls, floor, and roof made entirely from cold, hard web. There was just enough space to stand and stretch, but no more. It was packed among other dens lining every wall of a small wooden Twoleg nest.
Leafpaw longed to see the stars, to breathe in the comforting presence of StarClan and know they were watching her, but when she looked up she saw nothing but the nest’s steeply pitched roof. The only light came from a shaft of moonlight that streamed through a small hole in the wall at one end of the nest. Her den was on top of others; the one directly below was empty, but beneath that she could just make out a bundle of dark fur. Another cat? Not a forest cat, since its scent was unfamiliar. The shape was so still, it must have been sleeping. If it was alive at all, Leafpaw thought grimly.
She listened again for the yowl, but the cat that had cried out was silent now, and Leafpaw could hear only the soft mewling and shuffling of cats trapped in the other dens. She sniffed the air but recognised no scents. An acrid Twoleg stench filled the nest, tinged with fear. Leafpaw unsheathed her claws, feeling them catch on the shiny web.
StarClan, where are you? The thought fleetingly crossed her mind that she was already dead, but she thrust it away with a shudder that made her claws scrape against the floor of the den.
“You’re awake at last,” whispered a voice.
Leafpaw jumped and craned her neck to look over her shoulder. A heap of tabby fur stirred in the den beside hers, and she smelled the unmistakable Twoleg-tainted scent of a kittypet. There had been kindness in the she-cat’s voice, but Leafpaw felt too wretched to reply. Her mind flooded with bitter memories of how the Twolegs had trapped her while she was
