Pinestar shook his head. Kittypets were such strange creatures! All the strengths and skills of a Clan cat, but not remotely aware of what they could do. How could they lead such boring lives? What did they even do all day?
But he had enjoyed talking to Jake. It made a change from discussing patrols or borders or where to find the best source of prey. Perhaps he would see him again, just to pass the time. Shaking a loose blade of grass from his pelt, Pinestar turned away from the fence and trotted into the trees.
Chapter Six
Pinestar wrenched himself free from the WindClan warrior and felt his pelt rip. The black WindClan tom staggered sideways on his twisted paw but quickly recovered his balance and sprang at Pinestar again, teeth bared. Pinestar whirled to face him and reared up on his hind legs to strike at the cat with his front paws. He rained down blows, screwing up his eyes against the blood that spattered his muzzle and belly. The WindClan tom—Pinestar thought it was Deadfoot but in the scrum he could barely distinguish his own Clanmates—let out a yowl and streaked away, ears flattened.
Pinestar paused and looked around. He was halfway up the side of the hollow that sheltered WindClan’s camp. The shallow dip was alive with writhing cats and the air echoed with screeching. Just below him, Stormtail and Dappletail were fighting side by side against three WindClan cats, bravely holding their ground. On the far side of the camp, Swiftbreeze was dragging Leopardpaw to safety. The apprentice had a deep wound along her flank, and Pinestar could see Featherwhisker waiting for her just behind a boulder on the edge of the hollow.
This was not supposed to happen! Goosefeather said we could destroy WindClan’s supply of herbs to weaken them, but that no blood would be shed. How did I ever imagine that WindClan would allow us to attack their medicine stores?
There was a flash of movement outside the WindClan medicine den and Pinestar watched Moonflower and Stonepelt slip inside.
We’ve done it! Pinestar thought with relief. I will call my Clan to retreat.
But before he could open his mouth, two WindClan cats followed the ThunderClan warriors into the den. A heartbeat later, the WindClan medicine cat, Hawkheart, streaked across the blood-soaked clearing and crouched at the entrance, his tail lashing as if he was waiting for prey.
“Oh StarClan, no,” Pinestar whispered.
There was a terrible howl from inside the medicine cat’s den and Stonepelt scrambled out, blood pouring from a fresh wound on his shoulder. A WindClan warrior snarled at his heels. Then came Moonflower, her blue-gray fur stained green with herb juice. The second WindClan cat was chasing her, but he fell back as Hawkheart lunged at Moonflower, hurling the she-cat off her paws.
Pinestar bunched his hindquarters beneath him, ready to spring down and help his Clanmate, but Hawkheart was already springing onto Moonflower and sinking his teeth into her neck. Moonflower struggled free and clouted Hawkheart’s muzzle with her paw. Hawkheart shrugged her off as if she were nothing more than a fly. He snatched the ThunderClan she-cat by the throat and threw her across the grass. She landed with a wet thud, and lay still.
“Noooooooo!” A tiny wail pierced the air, and with a sinking heart, Pinestar stared across the camp to Bluepaw, Moonflower’s daughter, who was watching in horror from the top of the hollow. She had only been made an apprentice two sunrises ago. And now she is in the thick of battle, with her mother dying in front of her. Is this what StarClan had wanted when they spoke to Goosefeather about the WindClan herbs?
“ThunderClan, retreat!” Pinestar tipped back his head and yowled the order to the vast empty sky.
The clearing below fell silent, with only the howling rain and wind to remind Pinestar that he was still alive, still in this terrible place filled with blood and pain… and now death. Heatherstar padded up the slope to meet him. Her blue eyes were filled with rage.
“This attack was unjust,” she growled. “StarClan would never have let you win. Take your wounded and leave.”
I am so, so sorry. Pinestar knew there was nothing he could say. He dipped his head and turned away to join his Clanmates, who were gathering at the entrance to the camp. Each warrior stood with glazed eyes and drooping tail, blood staining their battered pelts. Behind them, the WindClan cats melted away, vanishing into their dens. One shape remained in the clearing, her fur flattened by the pelting rain. Pinestar watched numbly as Bluepaw stumbled over to her mother’s body and crouched beside it.
“Moonflower! Moonflower! It’s me, Bluepaw!”
But Moonflower didn’t respond. Pinestar couldn’t bear it any longer. He padded across the muddy, scarlet-streaked grass and looked down at the apprentice. “Bluepaw,” he prompted gently.
The little she-cat stared at him. “Why won’t she get up?”
“She’s dead, Bluepaw.”
“She can’t be.” Bluepaw put her tiny paws on Moonflower’s sodden flank and shook her. “She can’t be dead. We were fighting warriors, not rogues or loners. Warriors don’t kill without reason!”
How can I tell her that she is right? That the warrior code has been broken, and her mother is gone? We started this battle. This is all my fault.
“She tried to destroy our medicine supply,” came a low growl. Hawkheart had left his den and was crouched a fox-length away. “That was reason enough.”
“But StarClan told us to do it!” Bluepaw mewed. Her huge blue eyes burned into Pinestar’s. “We had no choice. They told us to, didn’t they? Goosefeather said so.”
Hawkheart let out a harsh huffing sound. “You risked so much on the word of Goosefeather?” He lashed his tail and stalked away, hunched against the rain.
“What does he mean?” Bluepaw whispered. She turned back to Moonflower and shoved her with her muzzle. The dead cat rocked limply in the shallow puddle that had formed around her. “Wake up!” Bluepaw pleaded. “It was all a mistake. You don’t have to be dead.”
Swiftbreeze stepped forward and pulled Bluepaw gently away. Pinestar bent down and picked up Moonflower by her scruff. He winced as her weight dragged on muscles already sore from fighting, but he forced himself to lift her clear of the puddle and carry her across the clearing to the rest of the ThunderClan warriors. He would take her all the way home for a warrior’s burial, then face the fury of his Clanmates as they realized he had led them into a terrible defeat.
“Was it really bad?” Jake asked. His green eyes were full of sympathy.
Pinestar nodded. “I thought Swiftbreeze was going to kill Goosefeather, she was so angry that Moonflower had died.”
“At least she blamed the right cat,” Jake commented. “It was Goosefeather who told you to attack WindClan, after all.”
“But I am the Clan leader!” Pinestar protested. He shifted his haunches so that he was sitting more comfortably on the short, soft grass. They had met behind Jake’s Twoleg den, in the shade of a bush with long, trailing branches and pale green leaves. “It was my decision to lead them into battle.”
Jake reached up and licked the cut on Pinestar’s ear. The blood had dried and was tugging at his fur. “You told me that a leader has to trust his medicine cat,” he murmured. “You may be leader, but you are still bound by the warrior code.”
Pinestar pictured Goosefeather, his gray hair ragged, his blue eyes glazed and wild. “I… I don’t know if I can trust him anymore,” he admitted, each word wrenched from his belly. “His prophecies are so strange now, and I’ve seen him watching me as if he knows something that I don’t. I’m scared that he has seen an omen about me which he isn’t sharing.”