Splash nodded. “Stormfur told us about that. But surely it makes sense for each cat to specialize in what they do best?”
Dovewing was beginning to feel embarrassed. She wasn’t trying to say that Clan life was so much better than Tribe life, even though Splash seemed determined to defend her Tribe.
“Cats have survived here for many, many seasons,” Splash meowed quietly, as if she had guessed Dovewing’s thoughts. “I couldn’t live anywhere else. This is where I belong, between the snow and the sky.”
“I feel the same way about the forest,” Dovewing admitted. “I need grass and earth beneath my paws, and the rustle of branches over my head.”
Splash gave her a long, considering look. “I think you’d do just fine if you lived up here,” she meowed. “Look at the way you heard that vole under the snow!”
“I couldn’t leave my home,” Dovewing replied. “Not forever.”
Splash sighed, pausing for a moment to gaze out over the snow-covered peaks. “I might have to leave mine,” she mewed sadly.
“You mean if Stoneteller dies without choosing a successor?” Dovewing asked. “Can’t you just choose one yourselves?”
Splash stared at her, eyes stretched wide with shock. “Never! That’s for the Tribe of Endless Hunting to decide. Do they watch over you as well?”
Dovewing shook her head. Quickening her pace so they wouldn’t get left behind by the rest of the patrol, she explained, “No, we have StarClan to watch over us. They’re the spirits of our warrior ancestors. They send signs to our medicine cats, and when a cat dies they go to join them.”
Splash blinked. “That sounds just like the Tribe of Endless Hunting. Are they the same cats?”
“I don’t think so,” Dovewing meowed. “And among the Clans, StarClan doesn’t exactly choose the new leader. They give nine lives to the leader the Clan chooses.”
“Well, it doesn’t work like that for us,” Splash argued, sounding defensive again. “Stoneteller will look after us. He always has.” Glancing around, she spotted a bunch of feathers lying on the snow. “Oh, look! The kits will love those,” she mewed, darting away.
She doesn’t want to talk about Stoneteller, Dovewing thought as she watched her go. But it’s clear that she’s terrified of what will happen to the Tribe if he doesn’t choose a successor.
Chapter 15
“That’s enough.” Stone Song stepped between Jayfeather and Broken Shadows. His voice was firm but his eyes were sympathetic as he gazed at the grieving she-cat. “You were one of the cats who chose to come, Broken Shadows. And we all abide by the casting of the stones.” Laying his tail over her shoulder, he drew her away to the edge of the cave. “Let’s find you some fresh-kill,” he meowed. “And then you should rest. We’ll all feel better after a good sleep.”
Rising Moon followed them and stayed with Broken Shadows, while Stone Song returned to Jayfeather. “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding friendlier. “You must have had a hard time, following us on your own. Whatever made you stay behind by yourself?”
“I got scared.” Jayfeather offered the same lie that he had given to Half Moon.
“You?” Stone Song sounded incredulous. “But you were the one who wanted to leave! You convinced me that there was a place for us among these stone hills.”
“I know.” Jayfeather scraped his forepaws across the hard rock of the cave floor, hoping that his confusion would be put down to guilt and embarrassment. “That’s what scared me. I’d sort of taken responsibility, and I couldn’t face it. I’m sorry.”
“But you’re here now,” Half Moon murmured. “You didn’t want to leave us after all.” There was hope in her voice.
“That’s right. And even though I was scared, I never doubted what we were doing. This is the place where we’re supposed to be.” Suddenly a wave of exhaustion swept over Jayfeather. The light in the cave was gray; it could have been dawn or twilight for all he knew. He had no idea how he had come to be here among the ancient cats, or what he was supposed to do now.
While he stood trying to collect his chaotic thoughts, Chasing Clouds came plodding up, his fur still damp and clumped from the storm outside. “We need more fresh-kill,” he announced. “That means going outside to hunt.”
Jayfeather thought that the gray-and-white tom looked tired enough for a mouse to knock him over, but there was a look of determination in his blue eyes.
“And what about nests?” Whispering Breeze demanded. “Where’s all the moss? Or grass, or feathers? Are we supposed to sleep on bare rock?”
“We’ll take a look when the storm is over,” Stone Song promised. “But I don’t know what we’ll find up here to make nests.”
Whispering Breeze gave her whiskers an angry twitch, but said nothing more. Looking at her, and at all the other cats milling about in despair, Jayfeather felt a flash of panic. How will they survive here? Because they’re meant to stay, aren’t they? They’re Rock’s descendants; they have to settle here and form the Tribe of Rushing Water.
As if the thought of Rock had summoned him, Jayfeather was suddenly aware of the ancient cat’s presence at his shoulder, though he could see nothing. Soft breathing stirred the fur around his ear. “You helped them leave the lake,” Rock murmured. “This is their home now. You must make them stay.”
How? Jayfeather wanted to yowl the words aloud, but he knew better than to expect a straight answer from Rock. Besides, the presence of the ancient cat faded as soon as he had spoken. Jayfeather looked around once more. He couldn’t imagine how this pitiful collection of exhausted, dispirited cats could be transformed into the Tribe who made these mountains their home. Where do I begin?
“What about this hunting patrol?” Chasing Clouds’s voice broke in on his musing.
“I’ll come with you,” Stone Song meowed. “Half Moon?”
The white she-cat nodded. “I’m up for it.”
“I’ll come, too,” Jayfeather added, surprised at himself. You can’t hunt, mouse-brain, he reminded himself. But I can see here, he argued. And how hard can it be?
Half Moon gave him a glowing look and padded beside him as they headed out of the cave. In front of the screen of falling water, Jayfeather turned and looked back. The two elders, Cloudy Sun and Running Horse, were both stretched out, asleep or unconscious. Shy Fawn lay panting on one side, her belly swollen; Jayfeather could see that her kits weren’t far from being born. There’s no way she can travel any farther.
As Jayfeather watched, a small gray she-cat padded up and mewed something to Shy Fawn; Jayfeather recognized Dove’s Wing, who was his sister in this time. Something about her anxious sense of responsibility seemed familiar to Jayfeather, but he was distracted by Half Moon prodding him in the shoulder with one paw.
“Are you feeling up to hunting?” she mewed. “You look as if a badger fell on you.”
“I’m fine,” Jayfeather responded, and followed her along the path that led behind the falls.
Outside, the storm was still raging. Shiny gray ice held the mountains prisoner and the wind whined around the peaks, flinging ice crystals against the cats’ faces. Shards of it flew into their eyes and clung to their fur. Keeping his head down against the stinging blast, Jayfeather followed Chasing Clouds as he scrambled up a steep slope of loose pebbles opposite the waterfall. There was a terrifying moment as they crossed the ridge when Jayfeather was sure that the wind would carry him off his paws; he scrambled thankfully into the shelter of a rock, and the rest of the patrol huddled around him to catch their breath.
Jayfeather tried to remember what he could about the way the Tribe hunted. “What do they catch?” he muttered to himself. “Do they use regular hunting skills?”