trembling meow sounded from below. “I didn’t know it was a trap when I hid in it.”
“Who’s that?” Leafpaw asked, peering down.
“Gorsetail of WindClan,” came the reply.
“Are there any other Clan cats here?” Leafpaw called, only half hoping for a reply. However relieved she was to find that her Clanmates and friends were still alive, she’d far rather no forest cats had been caught at all—herself included. But she heard only the steady crunching of pellets as the other trapped cats ate their food.
“There’s about the same amount of rogues here as Clan cats,” Mistyfoot hissed.
“What are rogues?” Cody whispered in alarm.
“They’re cats who choose not to belong to a Clan,” Leafpaw explained. “Or to Twolegs, either.”
“They care only about themselves,” Mistyfoot added.
“Yeah, well, look where caring about your Clanmates got you,” muttered a reproachful voice near the floor of the nest.
Leafpaw strained her eyes and saw a scraggly old tom with ripped ears crouching in a cage on the floor.
“Ignore him,” spat Cody. “He’ll be no help.”
“Do you know him?” Leafpaw asked in surprise.
“He used to steal from my housefolks’ garbage,” Cody explained. “He may call himself a rogue, or whatever, but he’s no better than a rat, if you ask me.”
“Do you live in Twolegplace?” Cloudtail called to Cody. “Do you know a cat called Princess?”
“A tabby with white paws?”
“Yes.” Cloudtail’s eyes shone in the gloom. “She’s my mother! How is she?”
“She’s great,” Cody answered. “A dog came to live in the next house—a yappy thing—but Princess soon let him know it was her territory. She sat on the fence and hissed at him till he went running for cover!”
“Look,” Mistyfoot snapped. “This is all very heartwarming, but can we figure out a way to escape?”
“Does any cat know what the Twolegs are planning to do with us?” Brightheart’s voice was hoarse with terror.
“What do you think they’re going to do with us?” muttered the rogue tom. “They didn’t catch us and lock us up in this stinking hut because they’re fond of cats.”
“At least they’re feeding us,” Cody mewed quickly. “Even if it’s not quite as tasty as I’m used to.”
Leafpaw glanced at her. “Let’s concentrate on finding a way out of here, like Mistyfoot suggested,” she mewed.
“Why don’t you all just shut up?” hissed the rogue. “You’ll bring the Twoleg back with all your mewling.”
As he spoke the noise of heavy footsteps sounded outside, and Leafpaw froze. She pressed herself to the back of her cage as the Twoleg came in with another cage. Leafpaw could tell by the fear-scent that a she-cat crouched inside, but she didn’t recognise its smell. With a guilty pang of relief, she knew that the latest victim of the Twoleg traps was definitely not a Clan cat.
Another rogue, she decided as the Twoleg placed the cage on top of Cloudtail’s. And judging by the other rogues in here, she won’t be much help with planning a way to get out.
But as soon as the Twoleg left the nest she heard Mistyfoot exclaim in astonishment, “Sasha!”
Squirrelpaw raced ahead of Brambleclaw and Stormfur towards the ravine where the ThunderClan camp lay. The stench of Twoleg monsters hung in the air, and her heart grew as heavy as a stone when she heard a rumbling roar up ahead.
“They’re here already!” she whispered. There was an unfamiliar slash of brightness where a gap had appeared in the trees that bordered the ravine. Before, the forest had crowded right up to the edge of the steep slope that led down into the camp.
Squirrelpaw felt Brambleclaw’s pelt brush hers as he crept alongside and peered out from the trees. “Go carefully,” he murmured without looking at her.
A broad trail had been gouged through the forest. The ground, once hidden by ferns and smoothed by many moons’ pawsteps, was lumpy and muddy, churned up like the moorland. Their way to the ravine was blocked by monsters, roaring and growling as they chewed through more trees. Squirrelpaw shrank back under the bracken, flattening her ears.
“Midnight warned us it would be bad,” Brambleclaw reminded her. His voice was oddly calm, and Squirrelpaw pressed herself close to him, seeking comfort from the warmth of his fur. “We can’t cross here,” he went on. “It’s too dangerous. We’ll have to go around and approach the camp from the other side.”
“You lead the way,” Stormfur suggested. “You know the forest here better than I do.” He glanced at Squirrelpaw. “Are you OK?”
Squirrelpaw lifted her chin. “I’m fine. All I want to do is get back to the Clan.”
“Come on then,” mewed Brambleclaw, and he set off at a fast trot, away from the Twoleg devastation.
They turned away from the monsters and sped through the trees. As she raced towards the sandy clearing where she had trained with the other apprentices, Squirrelpaw wondered grimly how the Clan could have survived with the Twolegs and monsters so close. The sun was high in the sky, and the training hollow was crisscrossed with shafts of cold sunlight. She dug her paws into the soft ground and pushed on ahead of Brambleclaw and Stormfur, her chest tightening with fear as she tore along the trail that led to the gorse tunnel. Without hesitating, she ducked her head and raced into the thorns.
“Firestar!” she yowled as she exploded into the clearing.
It was completely empty. The whole camp was silent. No cat stirred, and the scent of the Clan was stale.
On trembling legs, Squirrelpaw padded to her father’s den underneath the tall grey rock where he normally stood to address the Clan. For one wild moment, she thought Firestar might still be there in spite of the danger that roared at the brink of the ravine. But his mossy bedding was damp and musty, unused for several days. Squirrelpaw slipped out of the cleft in the rock and found her way into the nursery. Kits and elders were always the last to leave the camp, and there was nowhere safer than in the heart of the bramble thicket that had protected many generations of ThunderClan cats.
There was nothing inside except the stench of a fox, almost hiding the faint scent of helpless kits and their mothers. Blind panic rose in her chest. There was a rustle of branches, and Brambleclaw appeared at her side.
“F-fox!” she stammered.
“It’s OK,” Brambleclaw reassured her. “The scent is stale. The fox must have been trying his luck, hoping the Clan had left unguarded kits behind. There’s no sign of bl—of a fight,”
