“About to be fresh-kill!” the tortoiseshell answered. She plunged through a wall of ferns and disappeared into the greenery, her white-tipped tail whisking behind her.
Beyond the ferns, the forest floor sloped down into a grassy glade. At the bottom, a dark gray she-cat gnawed at a tick lodged at the base of her tail. She grumbled to herself as she tugged at the fat bug, then stopped and looked up the slope.
The ferns at the top were shivering.
“Got you!” A triumphant mew rang out; then the ferns shivered again, harder than before, and the tortoiseshell popped out with a mouse hanging from her jaws. She blinked at the gray she-cat. “Hi, Yellowfang!”
“Good morning, Spottedleaf,” Yellowfang called back. “A good day for hunting.”
“The hunting’s always good here.” With a flick of her head, Spottedleaf tossed the fresh-kill down to Yellowfang before bounding after it.
Yellowfang sniffed at the fresh-kill and jerked backward.
She rubbed her paw against her broad, flat muzzle as the dark shadow of a flea scuttled across her nose. “I thought these hunting grounds would be safe from fleas!”
“You probably brought them with you.” Spottedleaf narrowed her eyes at Yellowfang’s matted pelt. “When will you learn to groom yourself?” She leaned forward and began to lap at a large knot of fur on her Clanmate’s shoulder.
“When you stop trying to take care of every cat,” Yellowfang muttered.
A voice sounded at the top of the slope. “I can’t imagine that ever happening.”
Spottedleaf glanced up. A white tom was trotting down the slope toward them. “Whitestorm!” she purred. “Is Bluestar with you?”
“She was a moment ago.”
“I still am!” Bluestar burst from the trees and raced after Whitestorm. “I would have kept up with you if Tallstar hadn’t stopped me.”
“What did he want?” Spottedleaf asked.
“He was fretting, as usual.” Bluestar glanced at Yellowfang’s flea-bitten nose and curled her lip. “Bad luck,” she sympathized. “I didn’t think there were any fleas here.” Spottedleaf let out a soft mrrow and flicked the tip of her tail against Yellowfang’s shoulder.
“Tallstar?” Yellowfang prompted, shrugging Spottedleaf away.
“He’s worried about the kits,” Bluestar explained.
Yellowfang’s tail twitched. “Hollypaw, Lionpaw, and Jaypaw?”
“Who else?” Bluestar sighed. “The prophecy has gotten under his pelt like a tick.”
“But their training is going well,” Spottedleaf pointed out.
“They each seem to be figuring out their path at last.”
“That’s true.” Yellowfang stared at her paws and added quietly, “But there’s so much they don’t know.”
“They’re still very young,” Bluestar warned.
Yellowfang looked up. “That doesn’t mean we have to deceive them.”
“Do you think it would help if they knew everything?”
Bluestar countered.
Yellowfang’s shoulders stiffened. “Lives begun in deception are always lived in shadow.”
Bluestar sat down. “They cannot know the truth. We have kept this secret for a reason—one that we all agreed upon, Yellowfang. We have to do what is right for the Clan.”
Yellowfang tipped her head to one side. “It’s a lie. How can that be right?”
“It wasn’t us who lied to them in the first place,” Whitestorm reminded her.
“But we go on hiding the truth,” Yellowfang argued. “I still think there’s too much secrecy in their lives.”
“They know about the prophecy,” Spottedleaf put in.
Yellowfang shifted her paws. “The prophecy! I wish they’d never heard about it. I wish I’d never heard about it! Sometimes I think it would have been better if they hadn’t been given their powers at all.”
Spottedleaf brushed her tail along Yellowfang’s flank.
“You know we had nothing to do with that,” she soothed. “We just have to hope they use their powers wisely, for the good of ThunderClan.”
“Just ThunderClan?” Whitestorm looked thoughtful. “If their powers are so great, shouldn’t they be used to help all the Clans?”
Bluestar widened her eyes. “These kits were born into ThunderClan! They have been raised as loyal ThunderClan warriors. Why should they feel responsibility toward any other Clan?”
Yellowfang narrowed her eyes at the old ThunderClan leader, but said nothing.
“Some things we must agree to differ on,” Whitestorm meowed peaceably. “The most important thing is that the kits respect and listen to their warrior ancestors.”
“Yes,” Spottedleaf agreed. “We must make sure they take notice of what we tell them.”
Whitestorm twitched his ear where it was being tickled by a blade of grass. “No cat is born so wise that it can’t learn from its elders. We must guide them where we can.”
“Easier said than done,” Yellowfang muttered.
A butterfly flitted overhead, making jerky progress against the breeze. Spottedleaf’s eyes flashed, and she suddenly reared up, clapping her paws together above her head. The butterfly surged upward and out of reach.
“Mouse dung!” Spottedleaf dropped back onto four paws. She noticed Bluestar padding away. “Are you leaving already?”
Bluestar glanced back at Yellowfang. “If I stay, we will argue.”
Yellowfang flicked the tip of her tail. “So you still think we should keep the secret from them?”
“I understand your fears, Yellowfang,” Bluestar murmured.
“But for now this secret is safest kept with us.”
Yellowfang looked away. “Nothing but stubbornness,” she growled under her breath.
“Bluestar believes she’s doing the right thing,” Whitestorm told her. “You trusted her before, remember?” He nodded to Yellowfang and Spottedleaf, then followed Bluestar out of the glade.
“And what about you?” Yellowfang’s pale stare rested on Spottedleaf. “Do you agree with all this secrecy?”
“Truth is a powerful weapon,” Spottedleaf replied. “We must be careful how we use it.”
“That’s no answer!” Yellowfang snapped.
Spottedleaf searched Yellowfang’s anxious gaze. “Why are you so worried?”
The fur along Yellowfang’s spine rippled. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just have a feeling.” Her gaze drifted toward the trees, searching the forest. “Something’s wrong. There is a darkness coming that not even StarClan can prevent. And when it comes, we will be helpless to protect the Clans. Helpless even to protect ourselves.”
Chapter 1
Hollypaw crouched low, pressing her belly against the boulder. It was still warm from the sun, which was dipping behind the distant hills. A cold wind rolling from the mountains ruffled her fur. From here she could see green fields unfolding toward a swath of forest; somewhere beyond those trees lay the lake, and home.
Though the trees were still in full leaf, they were a shabby green, and the air had a new, musty taste that hadn’t been there on the journey to the mountains. Leaf-fall is coming, she thought.
She couldn’t wait to be home. It felt as though they had been with the Tribe for moons. At least they were safely out of the mountains. The ground would be softer underpaw from here on, the hunting easier, and the territory steadily more familiar than rock and water and stunted trees.
She glanced over her shoulder. Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight were talking in low voices with Stormfur and Brook.
Tawnypelt and Crowfeather leaned in beside them. Were they saying good-bye?