“We won’t ask you to decide that yet,” mewed Firestar.
“Just come to the caves for a while, and find out more about what it means to live in a Clan.”
“And tell us your name, please,” Sandstorm added.
For a few heartbeats the ginger tom was silent, staring into the distance. “Living alone, a cat doesn’t need a name, but now… A long time ago, I think my mother called me Scratch.”
The waning moon floated above the gorge, shedding pale light over the Skyrock. Firestar jumped over the cleft and stood back to wait for Sandstorm.
“Well?” he asked when his mate had landed by his side.
“What do you think? Have we got the makings of a new Clan?”
Sandstorm sat down and gave her chest fur a few quick licks.
“It’s a start,” she mewed, “but there’s a long way to go yet.”
“I know,” Firestar replied. “I’m afraid Scratch will decide not to stay. He didn’t want to sleep in the warriors’ cave with us tonight. He’s still thinking like a rogue.”
“Give him time. What worries me,” Sandstorm went on, drawing one paw over her ear, “is the way Clover wants to be looked after the whole time. I tried to tell her that the proper place for her and her kits is in the nursery—I even offered to collect the moss and bracken for her—but would she listen?
She insists on sleeping in the warriors’ cave, in case the fox finds her.”
“She needs time too,” Firestar comforted her, resting his tail tip on her shoulder. “She had a nasty fright today. She’ll soon learn fighting skills, and then she’ll realize she can look after her kits herself.”
“I hope you’re right,” Sandstorm meowed.
Firestar heard the sound of pawsteps on the trail leading up to the Skyrock. He glanced down, half prepared to see Scratch, but to his surprise the cat who came into sight was Sky.
“What’s he doing here?” he murmured to Sandstorm.
“The moon isn’t full.”
Moonlight turned the old cat’s gray pelt to silver; he walked with his head raised proudly, like a true warrior of SkyClan. As he approached the Skyrock, he quickened his pace, and leaped across without hesitation to land on the smooth surface.
“Greetings, Sky.” Firestar and Sandstorm dipped their heads to him.
The old cat returned their greeting with a brief nod. “I saw more cats arrive today.”
“That’s right.” Firestar expected Sky to sound more pleased, but there was a wary glitter in his eyes. “I think we might be on the way to rebuilding SkyClan.”
A low growl rumbled in Sky’s throat. “That ginger rogue would tear your throat out as soon as look at you. And as for those kittypets! I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with them.”
“The kittypets will be fine,” Sandstorm mewed. “They’re young; they’ve got lots of time to learn. And they’re true SkyClan cats! Have you seen how high they can leap?”
Sky just sniffed.
“And Scratch—that’s the ginger rogue’s name,” Firestar went on, “is tough and a fighter, and once he’s learned about the warrior code, he’ll be just the sort of cat a Clan needs.”
To his relief the old cat nodded. “Maybe you’re right,” he mewed grudgingly. “At least you’re keeping your promise.”
He raised his head to the glitter of Silverpelt above them.
Following his gaze, Firestar wondered if the SkyClan ancestor was watching. Are you pleased too? he wondered. Is this what you wanted from me?
There was no answer, nothing but the distant blaze of stars.
Chapter 23
“Cats who live in a Clan send out hunting patrols several times a day,” Firestar explained, pausing at the end of the line of Twoleg fences. “And we patrol the borders twice, once at dawn and once at sunset.”
“So are we the dawn patrol?” Boris asked.
“Mouse-brain!” His sister Cherry swiped at him with one paw. “SkyClan doesn’t have borders yet. We’re hunters, aren’t we, Firestar?”
“That’s right,” Firestar meowed. “We’ll have borders soon, when I know the territory a bit better, and see how many cats are going to be living here. Meanwhile, this is SkyClan’s first proper hunting patrol.”
Cherry gave a happy little bounce. “Great! We haven’t caught much, though,” she added, sounding disappointed. “I can’t seem to pick up any scent at all.”
“That’s because it’s wet,” Firestar told her. “Even experienced hunters find it hard.”
Fog filled the gorge and stretched over the scrubland on the cliff top as far as the Twolegplace. The rising sun shone through it with a milky light. Every grass stem was bent with the weight of water droplets, and dew misted on the cats’ fur.
“But that’s no excuse for taking risks.” Scratch looked up from where he was digging up some fresh-kill they had buried earlier. “I couldn’t believe you two. You leaped straight into that garden without looking.”
“Sorry,” Cherry muttered, while Boris scrabbled his forepaws on the ground in front of him.
“‘Sorry’ is all very well,” snapped the rogue. “You nearly landed right on top of that dog. If Firestar hadn’t distracted it, you would be dog food by now. And you lost the squirrel you were chasing.”
Boris sighed. “It was lovely and fat.”
Scratch rolled his eyes and went back to scraping away the earth over their prey.
Firestar gave him a quick glance. It was four days since Scratch and Clover had come to live in the caves, and Scratch’s hunting skills were already proving useful, but he had no patience with the two kittypets.
“They’ll learn,” Firestar meowed, and added to Cherry and Boris, “You’re coming along really well.”
“Can we come and live in the camp all the time?” Cherry begged.
“Not yet.” Firestar was relieved the young cat was so keen to join the Clan, but he wondered if she realized what a huge decision she was making. “What about leaving your housefolk?”
Cherry’s tail drooped and her eyes grew more thoughtful.
“I like sitting on a lap and being stroked, and I like playing with our housefolk and making them laugh… but I like hunting too. I wish we could have both.”
“Well, we can’t,” mewed Boris. “I worry about our housefolk missing us, too. If we could just tell them that we’ll be okay…” He took a deep breath. “But if we are really descendants of the first SkyClan, we belong in the gorge.”
Firestar blinked at him. “I think you need to take your time before you make the final decision.” Scratch had been right to scold them for dashing into the garden, even though he could have been more tactful. The kittypets’ biggest fault was charging blindly into things. But at least it showed they had courage, a valuable quality in a warrior.
“How much longer?” Cherry demanded. “Can we be apprentices soon?”
Before Firestar could reply, Scratch looked up. “Are we just going to stand around here? I want to be back in the gorge before the mist clears. I’ve never had anything to do with Twolegs, and I don’t intend to start now.”
“Good thinking,” Firestar meowed. Already the Twoleg nests were standing out more clearly against the dawn sky, and he could hear a monster waking up in the distance.
“Bring your prey, and let’s go.”
As he led the way across the scrubland, his jaws full of fresh-kill and his ears pricked for any sound of danger, optimism swept over him. He was leading a patrol, taking prey back to a camp. For the first time since he left the forest, he felt as if he were really part of a Clan.