The rest of us made our way to the foot of the slope and watched in satisfaction as the foxes spun around and snarled when they saw they were trapped. There was still a danger they would try to fight us, but I was relying on the foxes being too afraid for the safety of their young to tackle both lines of cats. The biggest fox, a male with patches of darker red on his fur, took a pace toward us, baring his yellow teeth. Beside me, Spiderpaw let out a tiny whimper. I rested my tail on his flank, trying to give him courage.
Blackstar padded forward. “Leave our forest, and your cubs will be left alone,” he ordered.
The fox blinked, and I guessed he couldn’t understand us any more than we knew what they were saying with their ugly yelps and barks. But Blackstar’s message was clear, even without the exact words.
“Yes, leave!” I joined in, arching my back and spitting. All along the foot of the slope, the patrols snarled at the foxes, making even the leader flinch. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the line of cats surrounding his precious cubs, each one with his or her claws unsheathed, ready to fight.
He tossed his head as if he were shaking water from his fur, then barked. The foxes beside him lowered their heads and crouched down until their tails brushed the ground.
I stared in disbelief. The foxes were surrendering! We had won! I was about to let out a yowl of joy when Mudclaw, the WindClan deputy, called from the line: “Fourtrees patrol! Stand aside!”
The line of cats split and moved to each side of the hollow. At once the cubs raced over to their parents, whimpering and snapping. The adult foxes swept them close with their tails, then turned to face us. The male fox snarled and flattened his ears, but he knew as well as we did that they had no option. The Clans had proven that the forest belonged to us. With one final growl, the leader of the foxes trotted up the slope with his pack behind him, the cubs stumbling to keep up. For a moment the foxes were silhouetted against the sky at the top of the hollow; then they vanished over the edge.
Blackstar turned to me. “Congratulations, Graystripe. Firestar would be very proud of you.”
Then the other cats crowded around me, cheering and yowling our triumph to the first glowing stars. I stood with my paws rooted to the ground and bathed in the feeling of success. All four Clans had united behind me, and I had led them to victory. The battle against the foxes had been won, and Fourtrees was ours once more!
Part Four:
In the Midst of Battle
A Long Tradition
The elders are talkative tonight! Oh, sorry, Graystripe, I didn’t see you there. Greetings, kittypets.
Welcome to the island. My name is Mistystar, the leader of RiverClan. Onestar told me that you’ve come to hear about our long tradition of battles. Well, you’re in the right place for the best stories.
But I hope you’ve seen that there’s more to the Clans than fighting. Warriors train for a long time before they are allowed to risk spilling their own blood for their Clanmates.
Being in the thick of a battle can be a whirl of excitement and triumph. Still, there’s always a dazzling fear, and the screeching and thud of bodies around you stay in your mind for moons. There are moments of ice-cold clarity, too, such as the sight of a fleeing enemy, the satisfaction of a well-aimed blow, the sting of an injury when you don’t dodge fast enough, or the heart-dropping cry of “Retreat!”
Every apprentice longs to fight, and every warrior remembers his first battle. For the ones who have trained hard enough and keep their heads in the maelstrom, it won’t be their last.
Every warrior has a story to tell about memorable clashes. Just don’t let them whet your appetite too much. Whitewing will share her first battle with you—the white she-cat over there with the ThunderClan warriors, see her? And Mousefur can tell you about a warrior named Lionheart who walks with StarClan now, but who would not mind you hearing about the time he lacked courage—and learned from it. Then, if there is time before dawn, you should listen to Cedarheart of ShadowClan. He has the longest memory of all the warriors, and he’ll tell you about a ThunderClan leader who lived many, many moons ago, and his struggle for peace.
Whitewing Speaks: My First Battle
The first time I fought wasn’t in a skirmish over some cats stepping over the ThunderClan border, or a piece of stolen prey. The enemies in the battle weren’t even cats: They were badgers. Huge, fierce creatures with shadows streaking their fur and burning eyes; the snap of thorn-sharp teeth still echoes in my dreams, with the shrieks of my Clanmates as they are battered by a foe with no code of honor, no respect for our courage or skills. They came seeking vengeance because we had driven out a female and her cubs when we arrived at the lake. But they didn’t want territory or fresh-kill. They wanted our blood.
I saw them first. I was returning to the hollow with my mentor, Brackenfur, after a training session. I was bouncing on air, proud that I’d finally mastered the leap-and-hold. Brackenfur must have been aching from the number of times he’d let me scramble onto his back and attempt to hold him down. Tufts of his fur clogged my claws; I was looking forward to cleaning them while I told my mother, Brightheart, about my new battle skill. The sun was sinking into the lake behind us as we approached the camp. Brackenfur’s pelt glowed pink and gold in the slanting rays. My belly growled, and I thought hungrily of fresh-kill.
There was a crackle in the bracken at the end of the abandoned Thunderpath, and I looked over, expecting to see one of my Clanmates emerging. Beside me, Brackenfur stopped.
“Whitepaw, go inside the camp,” he ordered.
I put my head to one side and looked up at him. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Just go!” he snapped. His fur was standing on end and his nostrils flared. Had he scented something?
I opened my mouth and took a deep breath. A sour smell hit the back of my throat. Yuck! I started to ask Brackenfur what it was when the bracken rustled and a long, thin snout poked out. It was black with a broad white stripe, and a bead of moisture hung at the end, as if whatever it belonged to was slavering with anticipation.
There was a rumble of thunder from the trees—no, not thunder— roaring, a low, angry bellow that got steadily louder. The muzzle in the bracken opened and a snarl came out.
“Get inside now!” Brackenfur spat, and I ran. I burst through the thorns with my ears flat back, trying to block out the noise that filled the forest, bounced around the walls of the hollow, swept over me like a wave coming nearer and nearer…
Brackenfur pounded beside me, panting with fear. We stumbled into the center of the camp and Squirrelflight was leaping to her paws, her eyes growing wide in horror as the barrier crashed down behind us.
“Badger!” she yowled.
The clearing exploded with cats. I spotted my mother, Brightheart, pelting across the clearing to me, her good eye stretched so wide that it seemed almost white.
She shook her head. “Come with me. I’ve got to get Daisy and her kits out of the camp. You can hide with them at the top of the cliff.”