“Brambleclaw, you crazy furball!” the deputy meowed.
“What’s all the noise about? You’ll scare off all the prey from here to Fourtrees.”
“Sorry.” Brambleclaw sat up and began picking scraps of moss from his dark fur. “I was just dreaming.”
“Dreaming!” grunted a new voice.
Brambleclaw turned his head to see the white warrior Cloudtail heave himself out of a mossy nest nearby and give a long stretch. “Honestly, you’re as bad as Firestar,” Cloudtail went on. “When he slept in here he was always muttering and twitching in his sleep. A cat couldn’t get a good night’s rest for all the prey in the forest.”
Brambleclaw twitched his ears to hear how disrespectfully the white warrior spoke about the Clan leader. Then he reminded himself that this was Cloudtail, Firestar’s kin and former apprentice, well known for his barbed tongue and ready scorn. His impudent talk didn’t stop him from being a loyal warrior to his Clan.
Cloudtail gave his long-furred white coat a shake and slipped out of the den, flicking the end of his tail at Brambleclaw in a friendly way to take the sting out of his words as he went by.
“Come on, you lot,” meowed Graystripe. “It’s time you were moving.” He picked his way through the moss on the floor of the den to prod Ashfur awake. “Hunting patrols will be going out soon. Brackenfur is organizing them.”
“Right,” Brambleclaw mewed. His vision of Bluestar was fading, though her ominous message echoed in his ears.
Could it really be true that there was a new prophecy from StarClan? It seemed fairly unlikely. For a start, Brambleclaw could not imagine why she would choose to give it to him, of all the cats in ThunderClan. Medicine cats frequently received signs from StarClan, and ThunderClan’s leader, Firestar, had often been guided by his dreams. But they were not for ordinary warriors. Trying to blame his wild imaginings on too much fresh-kill the night before, Brambleclaw gave his shoulder one last lick and followed Cloudtail out through the trailing branches.
The sun was barely up above the hedge of thorns that surrounded the camp, but the day was already warm. Sunlight lay like honey on the bare earth in the center of the clearing.
Sorrelpaw, the oldest of the apprentices, lay stretched out beside the ferns that sheltered the apprentices’ den, sharing tongues with her den mates Spiderpaw and Shrewpaw.
Cloudtail had gone over to the nettle patch where the warriors ate and was already gulping down a starling.
Brambleclaw noticed that the pile of fresh-kill was very low; as Graystripe had said, the Clan needed to hunt right away. He was about to go and join the white warrior when Sorrelpaw sprang up and came bounding across the clearing toward him.
“It’s today!” she announced excitedly.
Brambleclaw blinked. “What is?”
“My warrior ceremony!” With a little mrrow of happiness, the tortoiseshell she-cat hurled herself at Brambleclaw; the unexpected attack bowled him over and they wrestled together on the dusty ground, just as they used to when they were kits together in the nursery.
Sorrelpaw’s hind paws battered Brambleclaw in the belly, and he thanked StarClan that her claws were sheathed. There was no doubt that she would make a strong and dangerous warrior, one that every cat would respect.
“All right, all right, that’s enough.” Brambleclaw cuffed Sorrelpaw gently over one ear and scrambled up. “If you’re going to be a warrior, you’ll have to stop behaving like a kit.”
“A kit?” Sorrelpaw meowed indignantly. She sat in front of him, her fur sticking up in clumps and covered with dust.
“Me? Never! I’ve waited a long time for this, Brambleclaw.”
“I know. You deserve it.”
Sorrelpaw had ventured too close to the Thunderpath while she was chasing a squirrel in newleaf. A Twoleg monster had struck her a glancing blow, injuring her shoulder.
While she lay in Cinderpelt’s den for three long, uncomfortable moons, under the gentle care of the medicine cat, her brothers, Sootfur and Rainwhisker, had become warriors.
Sorrelpaw had been determined to follow them as soon as Cinderpelt declared her fit enough to begin training again; Brambleclaw had watched how hard she had worked with her mentor, Sandstorm, until her shoulder was as good as new.
She had never shown any bitterness at being forced to train for several moons longer than the usual apprenticeship. She really deserved her warrior ceremony.
“I’ve just taken fresh-kill to Ferncloud,” she meowed to Brambleclaw. “Her kits are beautiful! Have you seen them yet?”
“No, not yet,” Brambleclaw replied. Ferncloud’s second litter of kits had been born only the day before.
“Go now,” Sorrelpaw urged him. “You’ve just enough time before we hunt.” She sprang up and danced a few steps sideways, as if all her energy had to go somewhere.
Brambleclaw set off for the nursery, which was hidden in the depths of a bramble thicket near the center of the camp.
He squeezed through the narrow entrance, wincing as thorns scraped against his broad shoulders. Inside it was warm and quiet. Ferncloud was lying on her side in a deep nest of moss.
Her green eyes glowed as she gazed at the three tiny kits curled up snugly in the curve of her body: one was pale gray like her, the other two brown tabbies like their father, Dustpelt. He was in the nursery too, crouched beside Ferncloud with his paws tucked under him, occasionally rasping his tongue affectionately over her ear.
“Hi, there, Brambleclaw,” he meowed as the younger warrior appeared. “Come to see the new kits?” He looked ready to burst with pride, quite different from his usual prickly, detached air.
“They’re beautiful,” Brambleclaw mewed, touching noses with Ferncloud in greeting. “Have you chosen names for them yet?”
Ferncloud shook her head, blinking drowsily up at him.
“Not yet.”
“There’s time enough for that.” Goldenflower, the oldest ThunderClan queen and Brambleclaw’s own mother, spoke from her mossy bed. She had no kits of her own to nurse, but she had decided to stay in the nursery and share the care of the new arrivals instead of taking up her warrior duties again; she was nearing the time when she would go to join the elders in their den, and was the first to admit that her hearing and eyesight were no longer sharp enough to keep up with the best hunting patrols. “They’re strong, healthy kits, that’s what matters, and Ferncloud has plenty of milk.”
Brambleclaw respectfully dipped his head to her. “She’s lucky to have you to help look after them.”
“Well, I didn’t do too bad a job with you,” Goldenflower purred proudly.
“There’s something you could do for me,” Dustpelt meowed to Brambleclaw as he was leaving.
“Sure, if I can.”
“Keep an eye on Squirrelpaw, would you? I want to spend a day or two with Ferncloud, while the kits are still so small, but Squirrelpaw shouldn’t be left without a mentor for too long.”
Squirrelpaw! Brambleclaw groaned inwardly. Firestar’s daughter, eight moons old, recently apprenticed—and the biggest nuisance in ThunderClan.
“It’ll be good practice for when you have an apprentice of your own,” Dustpelt added, as if he sensed his Clan mate’s reluctance.
Brambleclaw knew that Dustpelt was right. He hoped that Firestar would choose him to be a mentor before much longer, with an apprentice of his own to train in the warrior code, but he also hoped that his apprentice would not be some smart-aleck ginger she-cat who thought she knew it all.