Misha and Skipper dipped their heads coolly as Red and Harley approached: not welcoming Red, but making no attempt to chase her away, either. Stick’s ears strained to hear what they were saying. He managed to catch a few words; Harley was introducing Red to them.
“How do we know we can trust her?” Skipper asked.
“You know who her father is!” Misha put in spitefully.
Skipper said something else that Stick couldn’t catch; then Red stepped forward and laid her squirrel down at the two cats’ paws.
“Look, she caught us a squirrel!” Harley announced.
Memories flooded over Stick, of how he had taught his daughter to catch squirrels near their alley, and he sank his claws even farther into the roof. Why is she doing this to me?
Red stood watching while Misha and Skipper crouched down to eat the squirrel. Meanwhile, Dodge rose to his paws and emerged from the shadows, his gaze scorching Red’s ginger pelt. After a couple of heartbeats he mewed something to her; Red nodded.
“He’s asking her for information about us!” Stick snarled. “We have to stop them! Let’s get the others.” Spinning around, he jumped down from the den roof and headed back toward his own territory.
Shorty caught up to him in a swift patter of paws. “We can’t stop them,” he warned. “Not on our own.”
“We are on our own,” Stick snapped. “If Velvet is anything to go by, the kittypets around here aren’t going to be any help.”
“No, not kittypets,” Shorty replied. “But there are other cats we could ask, cats who are trained to fight and wouldn’t flinch at killing to protect their home.”
Stick halted.
“Do you remember those cats who came here just after the flood?” Shorty continued. “From a forest downriver? They were on their way to find other cats, weren’t they? Just like them.” His voice grew hopeful. “If we could find them, maybe they would help us to sort out Dodge.”
Stick stared at his friend. He remembered the tom with the flame-colored pelt, who had lost his mate in the flood and was looking for her, full of strength and determination, even though he was exhausted from battling the water. His muscles had been strong and lean under his fur, and there was a glint in his eyes that Stick had never seen in a kittypet.
“You’re right, Shorty,” he growled. “We must find those cats.”
Chapter 32
Leafstar sat in the shadow of the Rockpile; Sharpclaw, Stick, and his friends crouched around her as she listened to Stick describing battles and betrayals in his Twolegplace. She had sent Rockshade, Cherrytail, and Sparrowpelt back to the warriors’ den; the rest of the cats were asleep, except for Coal, still keeping watch from a ledge halfway up the cliff.
A chill night breeze whispered down the gorge, though at the top of the rocks Leafstar could make out the first pale streaks of dawn. The moon had set, and the warriors of StarClan were fading.
“Please, will you help us?” Stick asked, bringing his story to a close. “You’re the only hope we have.”
Leafstar felt like a twig whirled around and around in the pool where the river poured out from the cave. Her pelt prickled with annoyance at the way she had been distracted from her discovery that Sharpclaw was training her cats secretly at night.
There’s no way I’m letting that go unchallenged!
“I need to think,” she meowed. “Go to your den now, and I’ll let you know what I decide.”
Stick looked as if he was about to argue, but Cora touched him on the shoulder with her tail and jerked her head toward the path that led up to their den. Stick gave in and moved off, with Cora beside him; Shorty dipped his head to Leafstar and murmured, “Thank you for listening,” before he followed.
Leafstar was left with Sharpclaw; the ginger tom was flexing his claws impatiently.
“I can’t see that there’s much to think about,” he told her, once the Twolegplace cats were out of earshot. “We’re going to help them, aren’t we? We have the strength and the skills, and what Dodge has done is wrong.”
Leafstar fixed him with a hard gaze. “Where in the warrior code does it say that we have to use our skills to help other cats? I’m sorry for what has happened to Stick and the others, but I don’t see how it’s SkyClan’s responsibility.”
“What?” Sharpclaw gave a single lash of his tail. “Look at the way Stick and the others helped us with the rats! And they’ve hunted for us and carried out all the other warrior duties. Are you saying that SkyClan shouldn’t be loyal to them?”
“It’s not a matter of loyalty,” Leafstar pointed out, determined to keep her temper. “Stick and his friends never intended to stay with us for good. Surely that means they’re not warriors like us.”
Sharpclaw twitched his whiskers. “They’re not the only cats to have a life outside the gorge.”
“Why does it always have to come back to the daylight-warriors?” Leafstar snapped. She took a couple of breaths and continued, “I said I’d think about it, and I will. But it will be my decision, Sharpclaw.”
Her deputy met her gaze, then nodded and headed off toward the warriors’ den.
Leafstar watched him go, then climbed the trail to her own den and settled into her nest. But although she was tired, she couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the moss and fern. Her paws prickled with restlessness; leaving the den again, she wandered up the gorge in the growing light of dawn. As she rounded the spur of rock before the training area, she spotted Skywatcher sitting on the edge of the sandy circle; the warrior of StarClan looked up as if he had been waiting for her.
“Greetings, Leafstar,” he meowed. “You are troubled.”
Leafstar dipped her head. “Greetings, Skywatcher. Do you know what’s happening? What the Twolegplace cats want us to do?”
“I do.” Skywatcher swept his starry tail around, beckoning Leafstar to sit beside him. “You must feel as though these visitors have been using SkyClan for their own ends.”
“Yes!” Leafstar exclaimed, warmed by the spirit cat’s sympathy. “That’s exactly how it feels.”
“But they have been loyal to their adopted Clan,” Skywatcher went on. “They have hunted and fought for you. Remember the rats, and the cruel Twoleg, and the wounded Twoleg kit? Other Clans would help one another in times of great need.”
“You mean the forest Clans?” Leafstar checked. “They didn’t exactly help SkyClan in the end, did they?”
Skywatcher shrugged. “Maybe this is your chance to show forgiveness, to prove that SkyClan has recovered and grown stronger from that time, and can show mercy of its own.”
Leafstar didn’t have a chance to reply before she glimpsed a movement among the rocks above the training area, and a black tom bounded into the open. The fur on her neck started to rise, thinking that a rogue was invading the gorge, until she spotted the glitter of stars around his paws.
The newcomer stormed up to Skywatcher, his ears flat with fury, his eyes blazing. “No mercy!” he snarled. “SkyClan has to survive alone! These intruders do not deserve to be warriors if all they ever wanted was our strength and experience to fight their battle.” He spun around and fixed his burning gaze on Leafstar. “SkyClan cannot leave the gorge!”
Skywatcher reached out with his tail in a calming gesture. “Swallowflight,” he meowed, “you are blinded by the wounds that were given to you long ago.”
“It was a wound from which we never recovered,” Swallowflight hissed.
“But the Clan did recover.” Skywatcher nodded to Leafstar. “Look, it’s back where it belongs, in the gorge that you found.”
“This is not a true Clan!” Swallowflight spat. “How many of them are kittypets, refusing to leave their pampered nests of slop and Twolegs fawning over them? Their leader doesn’t even know where half of them are when she’s asleep.”