If I’d had my way, the dogs would have invaded the ravine, lured there by my trail of rabbits, and destroyed ThunderClan forever. I misjudged the courage of my old Clanmates; I should have known they’d treat this as one more battle, protected by their faith in their precious StarClan. Firestar, who was deputy by then, arranged a line of cats to lead the dogs away from the camp.
We’re at the top of the ravine now—look down there, where the bushes are thickest. Our dens were hidden around a clearing; if the dogs had made it that far, the cats would have been trapped by the brambles they had relied on for shelter and protection. Ashfur and Ferncloud ran first, because they had lost their mother, Brindleface, to the dogs. They raced through the trees with the dogs on their heels; then Sandstorm took over. One by one, ThunderClan warriors led the dogs through the trees to the gorge. Do you hear that sound like thunder? That’s the river churning along the foot of the cliffs at the edge of WindClan’s territory. Bluestar gave up her ninth life to lure the dogs over. In our final battle, she won. She saved her Clan and secured her place in StarClan.
Stay away from the edge! You don’t want to follow Bluestar, do you? It’s time I took you back to Tawnypelt. I can hear her calling through the mist. Oh, I wouldn’t tell her that you saw me if I were you. She may be my daughter, but she’s like most of the other cats by the lake, who view courage in battle as something not to be trusted. Ha, if any of them had a whisker of my ambition, none of the leaders would sleep in peace! I have no regrets—everything is turning out as I planned—but I miss those days in the forest, when battles answered all the questions, and my allies would shed every last drop of blood fighting alongside me.
Part Three:
Famous Battles
The Gathering
What do we have here? Kittypets? At a Gathering? Ah, Onestar, they’re with you. That’s all right then, I suppose. Make yourselves comfortable—no, not there! That’s Pouncetail’s favorite spot. Come sit beside me on this log. My name’s Dapplenose; Pouncetail and I belong to RiverClan. Over there are Cedarheart, Tallpoppy, and Snaketail from ShadowClan. Don’t take any notice of them; they’re always making faces. I could outrun them when we were all warriors, so they don’t scare me. Yes, I could, Snaketail! The brown she-cat is Mousefur from ThunderClan. I haven’t seen her at Gatherings for many moons, poor old thing. Her denmate, Longtail, died last moon when a tree fell into their camp. Treat her gently, if you speak to her. The bitter scent that clings to her is grief.
The last battle I fought in? It was when all four Clans met in ThunderClan’s territory. Not a proud time for any of us. Did you hear how StarClan stopped it? They made the sun disappear!
Terrible, terrible. We thought the world was coming to an end. Even after the sun came back, we were scared for a long time that it would vanish again. If you can’t trust the sun to be in the sky, what can you trust?
But not all of that battle was shameful. Pouncetail will tell you the story if you ask him nicely enough. He was pretty much the only cat who brought honor to RiverClan that day…
Ah, I see Nightwhisper is here tonight. See that scrawny brown tom under the thorn tree? He has a tale that will haunt your dreams, if you dare to listen. I’ve heard from his Clanmates that his sleep is haunted, and he wakes shrieking about rivers of blood and the taste of enemy fur in his mouth. He has seen too many battles alongside Tigerstar, I fear.
But not all of our battles were against other Clans, you know. We have united more than once against a common enemy—there was even a time back in the forest when foxes caused so much trouble, it took all four Clans to drive them out. Maybe Graystripe will tell you about that later. Listen well, young kittypets. The history of our Clans is alive around you, preserved in the memories of every cat.
Pouncetail Speaks: A Time for Mercy
I was doing my duty according to the warrior code; that’s all, Dapplenose. But you’re right; a lot of us forgot about compassion that day. We came in support of WindClan, believing they had been treated unfairly over their recent border dispute with ThunderClan. The battle was like a roaring lion by the time we reached the shore below ThunderClan’s camp; we could hear it echoing through the trees, and followed the trails of blood to where cats from the other three Clans wrestled and sliced and spat.
I wasn’t afraid. I was a warrior: This was what I had been trained for from the moment my eyes first opened. I didn’t know ThunderClan’s territory well, but my Clanmate Blackclaw had visited the hollow once with Mothwing, our medicine cat. He told us about an abandoned Twoleg nest that would give us the advantage of height as well as a place to lie in wait for other cats passing along the old Thunderpath. We crept through the bracken, skirting the hollow, fighting not to get tangled up in the wretched undergrowth.
At last we crawled out onto a broad stone track speckled with weeds—the old Thunderpath, I guessed. I shook myself, convinced that I’d left half my pelt stuck on brambles. Blackclaw and Reedwhisker had emerged a couple of tail-lengths away on one side; on the other, Dawnflower scrambled out, hissing at a tendril that was trailing after her, stuck to her tail. I ran over and trod on the tendril, letting her pull herself free.
“This way,” Blackclaw called in a low voice.
We slunk along the edge of the path, keeping as close to the undergrowth as we could without getting tangled. The sound of fighting came from behind us through the trees as my Clanmates leaped bravely to help WindClan against a patrol of angry ThunderClan cats. Ahead, the stone track was quiet—too quiet. The scent of ShadowClan hung on the breeze, growing stronger as we crept forward.
Blackclaw stopped in the shelter of some ferns that were straying onto the path. “The Twoleg nest is just beyond here,” he whispered.
“I don’t like this silence. I can smell ShadowClan close by,” Reedwhisker growled.
Dawnflower nodded. “They could be using the nest for an ambush of their own.”
“Then we’ll attack as if we expect them to be there,” Blackclaw decided. “If the nest turns out to be empty, so much the better. Pouncetail, you and Reedwhisker go around the back.” He pointed with his tail. “If I remember correctly, there’s a hole halfway up the wall that you should be able to jump through. Dawnflower and I will take the front entrance.”
Beside me, Reedwhisker was breathing hard, his claws sinking into the leafy dirt between the cracked stone. I kept my claws sheathed and stared into the undergrowth that blocked my view of the Twoleg nest. I thought I could see a tiny path leading through, perhaps made by a rabbit or a mouse trundling in search of food.
“Go!” hissed Blackclaw.
I sprang into the bracken, aiming for the almost invisible trail, with Reedwhisker at my paws.
Picking up the scent of mouse, I weaved through the stalks where tiny paws had walked ahead of me, trying not to shudder as fronds clutched at my pelt.
Suddenly the air ahead dazzled me with light, and I stopped just before I burst into the open.
Peering cautiously out, I saw the Twoleg nest, which looked more like a pile of stones crumbling to the ground. There was no sign of any cat, but ShadowClan scent clung to the warm breeze amid the sickly smell of dusty leaves and churned-up bracken. We padded over to the Twoleg nest and waited under the hole in the wall that Blackclaw had described.