“Whitepaw, get off!” It was Dustpelt, yowling to me from halfway up a hawthorn bush. “You’ve won!”
Dazed, I sprang down to the ground and stared at my enemy. Its eyes were half-closed, and its breath came in quick, shallow gasps. Had I really killed a badger?
Teeth sank into the scruff of my neck and I let out a yelp of fear.
“Get away from it! It’s not dead!” Dustpelt hissed in my ear as he dragged me away. “But you did well to stun it. Come on, stay close.”
He led me to the hawthorn tree and shoved me into the branches. I clung to a swaying twig, catching my breath and gazing out at the hollow. The stone walls were streaked with blood, and the grass was hidden beneath writhing bodies—and ominous furry lumps where cats had fallen and not gotten up again. My legs ached from the effort of holding on to the badger, and my eyes stung from the rancid blood, but I couldn’t stay here. My Clanmates needed me.
I scrambled down the tree and ran out into the clearing. A badger with one ear almost completely torn off lunged toward me; wondering briefly whether that was the badger that had attacked Cloudtail and me at the start, I swerved away and fled toward the barrier—or what remained of the barrier, after the badgers had trampled it down. A shadow fell across me, and I looked up at a narrow black-and-white face. I tried to dodge away, but one of my paws was trapped under a bramble. I flattened myself to the ground and let out a wail.
“StarClan, help me!”
Paws thudded toward me, and Squirrelflight sprang to my side, front paws raised. I waited for her to strike, but there was a pause. Peering up, I saw the she-cat staring in astonishment at the badger that was about to eat me. In a strange, high-pitched voice, she meowed, “It’s okay, Whitepaw. This is Midnight.”
The badger that had told the Clans where to find their new home when they were driven out of the old forest had come to help us—bringing warriors from WindClan, fresh and hungry for victory.
They fought alongside my Clanmates and drove out the badgers, giving them scars to remember us by.
We had won the battle—but at a terrible cost. Rainwhisker, Sootfur, and Cinderpelt all died in the attack.
Every ThunderClan cat was a hero that day. Sometimes I think my pelt still smells of blood, and when I’m hunting alone in the woods, every rustle reminds me of badgers marching against my home. We were saved by our battle skills, and we will use them again if we must.
Mousefur Speaks: The Deserter
This story takes place in the old forest, on the border beside the Thunderpath. Our territory ended here, and ShadowClan’s began on the other side. Lionpaw was on a border patrol with his mentor, Swiftbreeze, his denmate Bluepaw, and her mentor, Sunfall, the ThunderClan deputy. The scent of ShadowClan was too strong to be drifting across the Thunderpath on the wind—there was barely a breeze on this cold, gray day in early newleaf. Sunfall had led his patrol close to the edge of the Thunderpath, carefully sniffing each bush for signs of trespassers.
“Well, look what we have here!” came a snarl from the foot of a beech tree. “A patrol of ThunderClan warriors! Ooh, I’m scared now!”
A bright ginger tom stepped forward, still curling his lip, and blocked their way.
Sunfall halted and allowed the fur to rise on his neck. “You’re trespassing, Foxheart,” he growled. “What are you doing on this side of the Thunderpath?”
Foxheart looked back at his Clanmates. “Great StarClan, these warriors ask difficult questions!
What are we doing here, Crowtail?”
A skinny black she-cat put her head to one side, pretending to think. Then she straightened up. “I remember! We’re hunting prey.”
Lionpaw gulped. There was something in the way the she-cat had looked straight at him that made him feel as if her prey were ThunderClan apprentices. He glanced at Swiftbreeze, but she was glaring at the intruders, her tail kinked stiffly over her back.
A small white tom, his face still fringed with fluffy kit fur, padded forward to stand beside
Crowtail. “We’re chasing a rabbit,” he announced. “It came from our territory, which means it’s still ours.”
“That’s enough, Cloudpaw.” A flash of anger swept across Foxheart’s expression, and Lionpaw wondered whether the apprentice would get in trouble later on for speaking up. “We don’t have to explain ourselves.”
Another cat emerged, his dark gray pelt well hidden among the shadows beneath the tree.
“That’s right. ThunderClan patrols don’t scare us.”
“Well, they should!” Bluepaw hissed, unsheathing her claws. “We’re not afraid of you!”
Lionpaw looked sideways at his denmate. Really? You’re not scared? He looked back at the ShadowClan cats, all of them so much bigger than he was, with long, curved claws and powerful shoulders. And a hunger in their eyes that yearned for more than fresh-kill.
Sunfall lifted his head. “Leave now, and this matter will be forgotten.”
“Or what?” Foxheart asked with a hint of a growl.
“Or we’ll make you leave,” snarled Swiftbreeze, taking one step forward.
Foxheart let out a hiss. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this,” he murmured. His gaze fell on Lionpaw.
“I’ll start with that trembling lump of fur over there. I’ll slice his ears so he can’t hear his own screams of pain, then shred his muzzle until he begs to be put out of his agony.”
Sunfall let out a yowl and sprang toward the ShadowClan cat. Swiftbreeze leaped forward beside him, and Bluepaw crouched down with her claws out. Lionpaw’s vision blurred and the blood roared in his ears. He couldn’t fight these cats! StarClan, save me!
He spun around on numb, shaking paws and scrabbled across the damp forest floor. All he could think of was getting far, far away from those terrible cats.
Suddenly a log reared up in front of him and he crashed into the furrowed gray bark. Reeling back, he sat down hard, dazed and bruised. Where did he think he was running to? He couldn’t leave the territory: Where would he go? How would he survive? But he couldn’t go back to the camp. His Clanmates would know he had been too scared to fight ShadowClan warriors. He might not even be allowed to go back. Pinestar might send him away! Warriors were supposed to have courage in the face of the fiercest enemies, but Lionpaw had none. Icy drops of rain started to fall, bouncing on his fur and making him shiver. Looking around, he realized that he had run all the way to Snakerocks, the pile of rugged gray stones in the middle of the forest where adders lived. Only in hot weather, though—in leaf-bare, the snakes hid themselves away, leaving the rocks safe for hunting. And shelter.
Lionpaw spotted a shadowed entrance at the foot of the stones and trotted over to it. The cave stretched farther back than he could see, and smelled of fox, but the scent was old and stale, and Lionpaw couldn’t hear anything moving about inside. He could stay here for a while, maybe catch something to eat, and figure out what he was going to do next. He squeezed through the gap and lay down on the bare earth, pressing his back against the rock. It was cold and uncomfortable compared with his mossy nest in the apprentices’ den, but he didn’t let himself think about that. He’d have to get used to finding other places to shelter, now that he couldn’t be a Clan cat.
He didn’t mean to sleep, but when he looked out of the entrance again the forest was hidden in shadow, and a few stars twinkled in the branches. Lionpaw looked at his paws, feeling his fur burn with shame. Were his warrior ancestors gazing down at him with anger that he had run away from the battle? Or shame that he had failed his Clanmates and broken the warrior code? Or pity that he was such a pathetic, useless apprentice that he couldn’t stand his ground against a few trespassers?