Thunderstar looked down at Lightning Tail’s body. He looked peaceful at least, his bright green eyes closed and his strong body at rest. Thunderstar, too, felt more at peace than he had the night before. Spending the night watching over his friend one more time had been the right thing to do.
But now it was time to bury Lightning Tail and return home. He would have to carry the news to ThunderClan that their much-loved deputy was dead.
“No,” Thunderstar said, realizing. He couldn’t go home, not yet. Lightning Tail had died trying to protect their Clan, and their job wasn’t finished. Thunderstar was going to have to find a way to stop the dogs before they invaded ThunderClan’s territory again. He couldn’t let them hurt any more of his Clanmates.
The sun was climbing higher every moment that he hesitated. The more time that passed, the more likely it was that the dogs would escape through that hole again.
Lightning Tail needed to be buried, but he would have wanted Thunderstar to wait until their mission had been accomplished. Thunderstar couldn’t bear to leave him exposed, though—he knew there were birds that fed on the dead.
Clumps of long grass grew nearby, and Thunderstar bit through some stalks and spread them over Lightning Tail’s body, concealing it. There. That would have to do for now.
“I’ll be back,” he said softly, and turned toward the strange Twolegplace once more.
He would take a different route this time, he decided, just in case the dogs were tracking them. Skirting the open stretch of land they had run over yesterday, Thunderstar walked up a gradual incline, until he was looking down on the field of dead monsters from a hill above them. There was a good-sized rock perched at the top of the hill, and Thunderstar leaped onto it to get a better look.
As he watched, the door of the Twoleg dwelling opened and the four dogs raced out, barking and yelping. Thunderstar stiffened: He could see the place where the hole in the silver strands was from here. Would the dogs come through it? Would they see him? He shuddered.
But there was an angry shout from inside the dwelling and the dogs hesitated, then turned to cluster around the door. One of the Twolegs came out, shoving the dogs out of the way before dropping something in front of them. They rushed forward and appeared to be eating—their Twoleg must have given them food.
What could Thunderstar do? The problem was the hole. If it wasn’t there, the dogs would never be able to venture back to the forest. But blocking it with stones and brambles clearly wouldn’t have worked, even if they had finished. The dogs had broken through their pile of rocks so easily… They hadn’t had the time, or the strength, to make a real barrier. And without Lightning Tail, everything would be twice as hard and take twice as long.
What if I had one really big stone, one big enough to cover the hole? Thunderstar’s tail twitched with excitement. He and Lightning Tail hadn’t been strong enough to move a stone that big. But he was sitting on one—and it was on a hill, directly upslope from the hole. What if he could roll it down? He jumped off the stone so he could inspect it more clearly.
Looking at the base of the stone, Thunderstar felt hopeful for the first time since he had lain down by Lightning Tail’s body. The earth below the stone was wet and muddy, soft from the days of rain. He scooped away some earth from in front of the stone with his paw: It wasn’t set too deeply. He could feel the stone’s edge just a few paw-lengths below.
He quickly dug more dirt from in front of the stone. After a bit of digging, the stone tilted dangerously forward. Thunderstar jumped back quickly, but the stone stilled again.
He ran around behind it. The edge of the stone was sticking up from the earth. If I can get something underneath on this side, maybe I can get it to start rolling. Thunderstar looked around. A stick, maybe.
He found a thick, long branch beneath a nearby tree and wedged one end beneath the stone. This would be easier if I wasn’t alone, he thought, with a pang of sorrow. Would he miss Lightning Tail at every turn from now on? Thunderstar threw his weight against the far end of the branch. Gradually, the stone tipped farther and farther forward.
At last it fell, leaving a gaping muddy pit behind, and began to roll down the hill. Excited, Thunderstar jumped over the pit to watch the stone’s progress. The hill was steep here, and the stone picked up speed as it rolled toward the Twoleg dwelling.
It was working! Thunderstar began to run after the stone as it tumbled. Could it be this easy?
But the stone must have hit a branch or rock, because it veered off course suddenly. Wobbling, it rolled a bit farther, then fell over with a thump.
No! Thunderstar ran to the stone. It had fallen on its side, its muddy edge now up in the air. There was no space to get a stick under it here, and even if he could start it rolling again, its path would no longer take it toward the hole in the fence. He put his paws on the stone, testing its weight, but he couldn’t shift it at all, not even with all his strength.
I have to think of something else. Keeping low, Thunderstar approached the strange Twolegplace from downwind. With luck, the dogs wouldn’t see him coming.
They weren’t eating anymore. They were sprawled in the sunshine between the dead monsters. Thunderstar looked at them with fear and hatred. The largest one’s eyes were closed, while one of the others was beating its stubby tail in a steady rhythm against the ground. They were peaceful now, enjoying the sun’s warmth while Lightning Tail was dead. Thunderstar shut his eyes for a moment as another wave of sorrow washed over him.
A Twoleg yowled something, sharp and angry, and Thunderstar’s eyes shot open. Had it spotted him? No, he could see that the door to the Twoleg den was open, but the Twolegs must be inside. There was no sign of them among the monsters.
They were unpleasant Twolegs, Thunderstar thought, and he was almost sure they had no idea the dogs could sneak out through the fence whenever they wanted. If the dogs were supposed to guard the dead monsters, the Twolegs wouldn’t want them wandering off.
If the Twolegs had patrolled their territory properly, they would have seen the hole, but Thunderstar had always heard that Twolegs were lazy and unobservant. But what if he could show the Twolegs the hole?
Thunderstar realized what he would have to do. Standing up, he swallowed hard and began to walk closer to the Twolegplace. His paws were heavy and reluctant. These dogs had already killed him once.
Stopping outside the barrier, Thunderstar put a paw against the silver strands. They had sharp barbs on them like thorns, but he saw that he could clamber up the fence without touching those, if he was careful. What if the dogs saw him before he’d done what he had to do? He would have to be fast.
He walked to another part of the fence, closer to the door of the Twoleg den. The closer he was to the Twolegs when he started, the better. As he slipped one paw onto a strand, he was already looking for another smooth spot. He climbed, at first hesitantly, then more quickly as he realized the silver thorns appeared in a pattern, each the same distance away from the others. He kept his ears pricked: Surely the dogs would bark if they spotted him.
Thunderstar reached the top and balanced for a moment on the topmost strand, which swayed beneath his feet. The door to the Twoleg den was straight ahead of him. The dogs were farther away, and the bodies of several monsters lay between them and Thunderstar. This might work. He took a deep breath and leaped down into the place of the dead monsters.