Brambleclaw’s tail curled up with satisfaction. Making a new warrior was one of the most important things a Clan could do, and Spiderpaw’s ceremony would be one more thing to make the stone hollow feel like home. It would be something to report at the Gathering, too.
Firestar wished them luck in their hunt and padded off, while Brackenfur went to fetch the two apprentices. Soon the five cats were climbing the slope around the edge of the hollow before striking off into the trees above the camp. They had almost reached the highest point of the cliff when they heard a plaintive mew behind them.
“Wait for me!”
Brambleclaw looked back to see Birchkit struggling after them, stumbling over tussocks of grass in his efforts to keep up.
“Birchkit!” Dustpelt exclaimed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The kit looked up at his father with pleading eyes. “I want to go hunting too. Please, can I?”
Brackenfur rolled his eyes at Brambleclaw. “Kits!”
Dustpelt didn’t share their amusement. “No, of course not,” he meowed sharply. “You can’t go hunting until you’re an apprentice.”
“But I’m good at hunting!” Birchkit boasted. “Look, I’ll show you. I’ll catch that bird.”
He nodded at a robin that was perched on one of the thornbushes at the very edge of the hollow. Before any cat could stop him, he wriggled his haunches under him and launched himself at it.
“No!” Dustpelt and Brambleclaw yowled, springing after him.
Brambleclaw reached him first and fastened his teeth in his scruff, just as the thornbush gave way under Birchkit’s weight and he began to slide down into the hollow. Another heartbeat and he would have tumbled over just like Squirrelflight, except at this point the cliff was twice as high, and no cat who fell that far could expect to survive.
Scrambling backward, Brambleclaw dropped Birchkit on solid ground, well away from the edge. The kit crouched there shivering; Dustpelt stood over him, bristling with fury.
“Are you completely mousebrained?” he hissed. “Don’t you think there’s a reason kits stay in the nursery with their mother until they’re apprenticed?”
Birchkit nodded, his eyes huge and scared. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered.
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Brackenfur urged. “He didn’t mean any harm.”
Dustpelt whirled around to glare at him. “What difference does that make? He would be dead if it hadn’t been for Brambleclaw.” He prodded Birchkit with his tail. “I haven’t heard you thank him yet.”
Birchkit flattened his ears and ducked his head. “Th-thank you, Brambleclaw. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Brambleclaw meowed. He felt very sorry for the frightened kit—the scare had been enough to keep him in the camp for several moons, judging by Birchkit’s terrified face.
“Come on, stand up; you’re not hurt.” Dustpelt bent over his kit and gave him a few fierce licks. Brambleclaw knew that he had been so angry only because he had nearly lost the last kit of his litter. “Go home to Ferncloud, and let’s have no more of this nonsense.”
Birchkit nodded, and Dustpelt pressed his muzzle comfortingly against his side before the tiny cat set off back toward the camp entrance. His father watched him until he was out of sight.
“We’ll have to make a rule,” he decided. “No kits anywhere near the edge of the cliff. That goes for apprentices too,” he added, flicking his ears at Whitepaw and Spiderpaw, who had watched the near-miss in wide-eyed silence.
Whitepaw nodded; Spiderpaw’s tail curled up as if he were reminding himself that the rule wouldn’t apply to him after sunhigh. He seemed to have forgotten that he had nearly fallen over himself when the Clan first approached the camp.
“We could put scent marks along the edge,” Brambleclaw suggested. “That way every cat would be reminded.”
“Good idea,” mewed Dustpelt. “Have a word with Firestar when we get back. Come on; let’s hunt before Spiderpaw misses his warrior ceremony.”
As Brambleclaw padded after the others, his paws still tingled with the sense of danger. He glanced back at the thornbushes and pictured Birchkit’s tiny body, battered and broken in the clearing below. Have I really brought the Clan somewhere safe? he wondered.
Since they had arrived nearly half a moon ago, there had been no sign from StarClan to suggest they were still being watched by their warrior ancestors. Was this really the place where they were meant to be?
Brambleclaw led the patrol across the stream into the stretch of woodland that Onewhisker had given to ThunderClan. It was not long before he spotted a squirrel scuffling at the foot of a tree. Brambleclaw crept forward and brought it down with a skilful blow that snapped its neck.
“Well done!” Dustpelt called.
Brambleclaw began scratching earth over the squirrel, pausing as Whitepaw padded up to him.
“Do you think we should really take that?” she asked nervously. “Territory on this side of the stream was supposed to be WindClan’s.”
“But Onewhisker gave it to us.” Brambleclaw went on covering the fresh-kill. “This is our prey.” His fur prickled with irritation that an apprentice was suggesting he would steal food from another Clan. It wasn’t his problem if WindClan wanted to give away their hunting grounds.
Whitepaw didn’t protest again when he led his patrol farther into the trees.
By sunhigh the whole Clan had eaten well, and there was a good pile of fresh-kill left over. When they had finished their meal, they stayed in the center of the hollow, where bushes had been cleared away to make a space for the Clan to gather. It was time for Spiderpaw’s warrior ceremony.
There was no Highrock like the one in the old camp.
Instead, Firestar had found a ledge a few tail-lengths above the heads of the other cats, which he reached by leaping up a tumble of broken rock that made rough stepping-stones up the cliff. Just below the ledge—already cats were beginning to call it the Highledge—there was a narrow cleft that opened into a cave where Firestar had decided to make his den. Of all the dens in the new camp, this was most like the one in the ravine, enclosed by lichen-covered walls and with a dry, sandy floor.
Firestar raised his voice in a yowl, his pelt a splash of orange flame against the blue-gray rock. “Let all those cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the ledge for a Clan meeting.”
Brambleclaw’s pelt tingled to hear the familiar words ring around the hollow. He watched the leggy black figure of Spiderpaw, his pelt groomed until it was as glossy as a raven’s wing, cross the clearing to stand beside his mentor, Mousefur.
She looked thin and shaky, as if she were still not quite recovered from her bellyache, but her eyes shone with pride as her apprentice joined her.
Brambleclaw wriggled forward, hoping to sit beside Squirrelflight, but he stopped when he saw that she was sitting with Ashfur, Sootfur, and Rainwhisker. Their heads were close together and their shoulders shook gently as if they were sharing a joke. Brambleclaw curled his lip, suddenly feeling hollow and cold. He sat gloomily beside the nearest cat, who happened to be Cloudtail, and tried to concentrate.
“Trouble?” murmured the white warrior. He glanced past Brambleclaw and flicked his ears toward Squirrelflight.
“What have you done to ruffle her fur?”
“Nothing,” Brambleclaw replied stubbornly. The reasons for their quarrel were too complicated and private to share with any cat.
“Hey, don’t worry.” Cloudtail gave him a sympathetic flick with his tail. “It’ll blow over.”