“All right,” Crowpaw meowed at last. “I’ll come.” His eyes narrowed as he gazed at Brambleclaw. “Just don’t start telling me what to do. Dreams or no dreams, I’m not going to take orders from you!”
Brambleclaw picked his way along the stone-lined tunnel under the Thunderpath, skirting the puddles that had formed there since the rain. Darkness lay all around, along with the reek of ShadowClan.
He had come here straight from the encounter with Crowpaw. The RiverClan warriors had offered to come with him, but Brambleclaw thought it was too risky. Alone, he would be less of a threat if ShadowClan warriors found him on their territory. Emerging on the other side of the Thunderpath, he tasted the air for fresh scents of ShadowClan warriors, but detected nothing except the damp odors of the marshy ground. His belly skimming the earth, he darted across an open space and into the shelter of some bushes.
There were few tall trees in ShadowClan territory. Most of the ground was choked with brambles and nettles, separated by shallow pools of water. Brambleclaw’s paws sank into the peaty earth at every step, and he shivered as his belly fur grew soaked.
“How do ShadowClan stand it?” he muttered. “It’s so wet, I’m surprised they haven’t all got webbed paws!”
He had a pretty good idea of where he might find Tawnypelt. She had once told him about a huge chestnut tree beside the stream that led down into ThunderClan territory.
Her eyes had glowed as she described this favorite spot for sunning herself and catching squirrels, making Brambleclaw wonder if she was secretly missing the trees of ThunderClan.
With any luck, she might be there now.
Brambleclaw located the stream and began to follow it, sometimes gritting his teeth and splashing through the shallows in the hope of hiding his scent from ShadowClan warriors. He saw a patrol crossing the stream a short way ahead, and crouched down behind a clump of sedge until they had vanished into the undergrowth and their scent faded away.
Not long after that he came to the chestnut tree. Its roots twisted around him, stretching down into the stream.
Brambleclaw thought he could detect his sister’s scent, but under the thick canopy of leaves it was too dark to see her.
“Tawnypelt!” he called softly. “Are you there?”
The answer came as a weight that crashed down on him, bowling him over. He let out a startled yowl that broke off as his muzzle was pressed into the damp earth. A paw landed on his neck, pinning him with barely sheathed claws, and a voice growled close to his ear, “What are you doing here, you stupid furball?”
Brambleclaw let out a gasp of relief. The claws retracted and the weight lifted off him, letting him scramble to his paws. Tawnypelt was perched on a tree root, looking down at him.
“If you’re found here, you’ll be crowfood,” she hissed.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Something’s happened. I’ve had another dream.”
Brambleclaw quickly told her about it.
Tawnypelt settled herself on the root to listen. “So Ravenpaw reckons it’s a real place,” she mused when he had finished. “And you think StarClan wants us to go there. They don’t ask much, do they?”
Brambleclaw felt his ears droop. “You mean you won’t come?”
His sister’s tail twitched irritably. “Did I say that? Of course I’m coming. But no cat says I have to like it. And what about Stormfur? Why does he have to get involved? StarClan haven’t chosen him.”
Brambleclaw sighed. “I know. But try stopping him. Besides, he’s a good warrior, and we might be glad of his support. We don’t know what we’re going to meet out there. And another thing,” he added. “He and Feathertail do everything together. I think it comes of having their father in another Clan.”
“I can understand that.” Tawnypelt’s tone was dry, and her brother realized how much sympathy she might have for the two RiverClan warriors. Her father was dead and both her brother and her mother, Goldenflower, remained in ThunderClan. Tawnypelt might well feel like a stranger in the Clan she had chosen. But Brambleclaw recognized the pride that would not let her voice her loneliness, and her determination to be a loyal ShadowClan warrior. Regret surged through him, not for the first time, as he thought what a loss she was to ThunderClan.
“You will serve your Clan well by coming on this journey,” he reminded her.
“That’s true.” A trace of eagerness crept into Tawnypelt’s voice, and grew stronger as she went on. “StarClan must have chosen us because they think we’re the right cats. We must have something to offer that no other cats can give.” She sprang down from the root and landed with a soft thud at Brambleclaw’s side. “ShadowClan has many strong warriors to keep up the patrols. They can do without me for a while.
When do we leave?”
Brambleclaw let out an affectionate purr. “Not right now!
I told the others the night before the half-moon. We’ll meet at Fourtrees.”
Tawnypelt’s tail lashed with enthusiasm. “I’ll be ready. And now,” she added, “I’d better show you to the border. Even one of StarClan’s chosen can get his fur ripped off for trespassing.”
Chapter 8
“Snakerocks is the best place in the forest to find chervil,” Cinderpelt explained over her shoulder as she limped along the fern-shaded path. “But we can’t go there just now, thanks to that wretched badger.”
“It’s still there, then?” Leafpaw asked. She and the medicine cat were on an herb-gathering expedition. The sun shone brilliantly from a sky that was clear again, but the rain had revived the forest plants, and Leafpaw was enjoying the delicious coolness on her paws as she followed her mentor along the narrow track.
“So the dawn patrol said,” Cinderpelt replied. “Keep your eyes open for—Ah!”
She swerved into the ferns and up a sandy slope, where several clumps of a strongly scented herb were growing; the flowers were gone but Leafpaw recognized the large, spreading leaves, and as she drew closer she smelled the sweetish scent of chervil.
“Tell me what we use it for,” Cinderpelt prompted, beginning to gnaw one of the stems at its base.
Leafpaw narrowed her eyes and tried to remember. “The juice of the leaves for infected wounds,” she mewed. “And if you chew the root it’s good for bellyache.”
“Well done,” Cinderpelt purred. “Now you can dig up a few roots—not too many, though, or there’ll be no more in seasons to come.”
She went on biting the stems while Leafpaw obediently began to scrape at the ground to uncover the roots. The chervil scent was all around them, making her feel light-headed, but after a few moments she began to scent something else—something that reminded her of the acrid tang of the Thunderpath, though it was not quite the same.
She glanced up and spotted a thin thread of smoke rising from a clump of dead bracken a little way down the slope.
“Cinderpelt, look,” she mewed uneasily, pointing with her tail.
The medicine cat looked around and froze, her neck fur bristling and her blue eyes blazing. “Great StarClan, no!” She gasped. Awkwardly, because of her injured leg, she began scrambling down toward the burning bracken.
Leafpaw leaped after her and passed the medicine cat in a couple of bounds. As she drew closer to the clump of bracken, a searing light flashed, dazzling her eyes. Blinking, she made out something shiny and clear sticking out of the ground, some spiky scrap of Twoleg rubbish. The sun was falling straight onto it and the bracken behind was slowly blackening and sending the wisp of smoke into the sky.