“Must have been a good season for them,” Brackenfur guessed.
Brambleclaw halted. “Here’s the border.”
Hollypaw sniffed at the heather and detected the stale scent of WindClan.
Sandstorm’s ears pricked. “Dogs!”
Hollypaw stiffened. Half-blinded by the piercing wind, she peered at the distant hillside rising up to the gray horizon. She could make out the shape of black-and-white dogs streaking over the heather. A Twoleg stood close by, waving its forelegs and whistling like a shrill bird giving an alarm.
Are the dogs hunting the Twoleg?
She watched more closely. No. The Twoleg seemed to be using the dogs to hunt the sheep; when it pointed with its forelegs, the dogs chased the animals across the grass, sending them into a frightened, bleating huddle. With any luck, the sheep would keep the dogs distracted long enough for the patrol to make it to the WindClan camp.
Brambleclaw was scouring the slope. “No sign of WindClan,” he meowed. “And judging by the markers, they haven’t been here for a while.”
“That’s because they’ve been too busy hunting in our forest,” Sandstorm growled.
“Should we go back and tell Firestar?” Brackenfur wondered.
Brambleclaw flexed his claws. “Not without speaking to Onestar.” He padded across the border and, with a flick of his tail, ordered the patrol to follow.
Hollypaw’s heart was racing as she followed Brackenfur through the heather into WindClan territory. The wind tugged at her fur as Brambleclaw led them on, chin high, ears pricked for danger.
As they crossed a muddy dip and began to climb the slope beyond, Hollypaw felt more and more wary. Something was wrong. She tasted the air, wrinkling her nose against the sheep stench. Where were the birds and rabbits? She sniffed again.
No WindClan, no birds, no rabbits. It was as though the land had been deserted by everything but the sheep and the dogs.
Brambleclaw halted suddenly, his hackles rising. Alarmed, Hollypaw looked up. A boulder rose like a giant paw from the grassy slope, and on it she saw the shape of a cat silhouetted against the hillside. WindClan!
“Stay where you are!”
Hollypaw recognized Harespring, a young brown and white tom.
He crouched, bristling, and glared down at them. “Isn’t there enough prey in ThunderClan territory?”
“How dare he accuse us?” Sandstorm hissed.
“Careful,” Brambleclaw whispered. “We are on his territory.”
Two more cats appeared beside Harespring—Ashfoot, the WindClan deputy, and Owlwhisker. The wind slicked their fur, but there was no doubt they were angry. Their eyes glittered with rage.
Before Ashfoot could speak, Brambleclaw took a step forward. “We’ve come to speak with Onestar.”
“We come in peace,” Sandstorm assured her.
“Go back to your own territory!” Ashfoot ordered.
Brambleclaw held his ground. “Not until we’ve seen Onestar.”
Owlwhisker narrowed his eyes. “ThunderClan should stop thinking they can come and go on WindClan territory as they please!” The light brown tom drew back his lips, his teeth yellow beneath. “I bet you don’t visit Blackstar this often!”
“Just go home,” Ashfoot growled. “Onestar doesn’t owe you any favors.” Her unsheathed claws scratched white marks into the stone.
Brambleclaw took another step forward. “We promised Firestar we’d speak to Onestar. We only want to talk!”
Harespring streaked from the boulder, hurling himself through the air and skidding to a halt in front of Brambleclaw.
“Not another paw step!”
Hollypaw let her claws slide out, her muscles tensing to defend her Clanmates.
“We want to see Onestar,” Brambleclaw repeated evenly.
He lifted his paw to take another step forward.
Harespring lunged at him, forepaws slashing.
With one swipe of his paw, Brambleclaw knocked the young warrior to the ground without unsheathing his claws.
Pinning him there, Brambleclaw glared up at Ashfoot. “We come in peace,” he growled through clenched teeth.
Ashfoot leaped down, staring in dismay at her fallen Clanmate. “Please let him go!” she begged.
Hollypaw was startled by the desperation in her voice.
Brambleclaw stepped back and let Harespring scramble to his paws. The young warrior hissed at the ThunderClan deputy.
Panic f lashing in her eyes, Ashfoot weaved between the two warriors. “You really have to go,” she meowed, half pleading. “Onestar has nothing to say to you.”
Brambleclaw hesitated, then nodded. Turning away, he flicked his tail. At his signal, Hollypaw fell in beside her Clanmates, and the patrol headed back toward the border.
Hollypaw was bristling with indignation. “It’s so unfair,” she snapped at Brackenfur. “We haven’t stolen any prey. We only came to give Onestar a chance to explain himself.”
Brackenfur didn’t respond. “Don’t you think they seemed thin?” he wondered out loud.
“WindClan cats are always thin.” And yet, thinking back, Hollypaw realized he was right: The three WindClan warriors had seemed even skinnier than usual.
Brambleclaw glanced back at Brackenfur. “Could they be in trouble?”
“It would explain why they turned us back,” Sandstorm meowed.
“They didn’t want us to see how weak the Clan was,” Brambleclaw guessed.
Hollypaw remembered the absence of rabbit scent and birds. “But what’s happened to all their prey?” No other Clan was fast enough to steal rabbits from WindClan territory.
Brackenfur tipped his head toward the sheep and dogs mewling and barking on the distant slope. “Perhaps they scared the rabbits and birds away.”
Hollypaw felt her belly tighten. “That doesn’t mean WindClan can steal our prey.” Things couldn’t change. There had to be four Clans around the lake. If WindClan’s territory couldn’t support them, what would happen to the other boundaries?
As soon as they reached camp, Brambleclaw and Sandstorm leaped up to Highledge to report what they’d found.
Hollypaw spotted Lionpaw, tail-down at the edge of the clearing. A large wad of tatty moss hung from his jaws, and scraps clung to his pelt.
“You’re not still cleaning out the elders’ den, are you?” she mewed.
Lionpaw spat out the moss. “I finished that ages ago,” he snapped. “I’m doing the nursery now.”
“Let me help you,” Hollypaw offered.
“I thought you were too busy going on border patrols.”
Hollypaw flicked her brother’s ear with her tail. “Don’t be grumpy! I’ve cleaned out my fair share of nests.”
“I guess.” Lionpaw grunted.
“Let’s get this dirty moss out of the camp and gather some fresh.” She picked up a mouthful of the old moss and padded out through the thorn tunnel. Stopping at a bramble bush not far from the entrance, she dropped it.
Lionpaw flung his wad down beside hers. “I’m sick of moss!”
“We’ll be finished in no time,” Hollypaw soothed. “Look!
There’s fresh moss between the roots of that tree.”
Lionpaw joined her as she began clawing pawfuls of soft, green moss away from the rough bark.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?” Hollypaw mewed.
Lionpaw sighed. “Sorry. I’ve been in a foul mood since you left. I’m no better than a jealous kit.”
“Well, ask now,” Hollypaw prompted. She was dying to share her news.
“Okay. What happened?” Lionpaw peeled a long strip of moss and let it dangle from his claw.