Snag blinked. “It’s just more trees,” he meowed. “What were you imagining? A Clan of foxes and badgers, waiting to rip your fur off?”
Tangleburr flicked her tail. “I was a loyal ShadowClan warrior,” she huffed. “It wasn’t my business to know what went on beyond the Clan boundaries.”
“Well, that’s changed, hasn’t it?” growled Tigerclaw. “Come on.” Brushing past Blackfoot, he climbed over a gnarled silver branch and wriggled into the center of the tree. He couldn’t see through the dense leaves to the other side, but there was a surprising amount of room among the twisted trunks. He heard the others follow him, and continued to scramble forward, ignoring the tearing pains in his belly. Soon he was surrounded by shiny leaves again, but he forced a way through and plunged into clear space on the other side. The wild part of the woods stretched out in front of him, looking more like ThunderClan than ShadowClan territory, with ancient moss-clad oaks and dappled ash trees rather than straight rows of pine.
The other cats lined up beside him, panting. “So, this is our territory now,” murmured Clawface.
Blackfoot pricked his ears. “That fallen tree over there looks as if it could be a den,” he meowed. He bounded over the mulch-covered ground, leaping twigs and clumps of fungus growing in the damp soil. He vanished behind the fallen oak for a moment, then reappeared on top of the trunk. “It’s perfect!” he yowled. “Come and see!”
Tigerclaw followed the others as they ran like excited kits to explore the oak tree. Finding shelter wasn’t a challenge. Even hunting would be easy here, with nothing but the occasional bold kittypet for competition. They needed to begin battle training as soon as possible—and Tigerclaw needed to find others to join them, because he wasn’t going to trust victory to these few cats again.
When he reached the far side of the fallen tree, Tangleburr and Stumpytail were already dragging ivy out of a scoop in the ground. “This will make a great nest,” meowed Tangleburr through a mouthful of trailing vines.
Snag trotted around the dying branches of the tree. “There’s a puddle of water here,” he announced. “It tastes fresh enough.”
Blackfoot looked at Clawface. “Shall we hunt, and get started on a fresh-kill pile?”
Clawface nodded, but Tigerclaw stepped forward and stopped him in his tracks. “This isn’t a game of mini-Clans,” he warned. “You don’t think I’ve given up on taking over ThunderClan? Bluestar is weaker than she has ever been, and she weakens the whole Clan by putting so much faith in a kittypet. As soon as we are strong enough, we will attack again!”
There was a flash of uncertainty in the other cats’ eyes, and Tigerclaw noticed Blackfoot glance at his belly, as if the white tom was concerned that Tigerclaw’s wound would never heal enough to let him go into battle. Are you sure these cats know that you are in charge? whispered the voice in his head. If they don’t believe that they need you as much as they need food and shelter, you are nothing to them.
Tigerclaw unsheathed his claws and let them sink into the soft earth. “Hunt, prepare nests, and make sure we cannot be seen by ShadowClan patrols,” he ordered. “Tomorrow we start our training.”
“Snag, don’t be afraid to use your weight against your opponent. If he can’t breathe, he’ll be easier to hit.” Tigerclaw put out his paw and nudged Snag forward so that he was hanging over Clawface, who was starting to look worried.
Stumpytail pricked his ears. “But now Snag is balancing on three paws, so I could knock him over, couldn’t I?” he suggested.
“Yes, but be careful where he lands. You don’t want to crush Clawface.” Tigerclaw stepped back and watched as Snag swiped his paw down toward Clawface at the same moment Stumpytail barged into his haunches. The big ginger tom lurched sideways with a hiss, leaving Clawface to scramble free on the other side. While Snag was on the ground, the other two cats leaped on him.
“Much better,” meowed Tigerclaw. He scanned the trees. “Where are Blackfoot and Tangleburr? They should have been back from hunting ages ago.”
They had been in the wild woods for three sunrises. All the cats were healing well now—even Tigerclaw’s wound had stopped oozing whenever he stretched it—and their temporary den had provided good shelter during a couple of heavy rainfalls. The trees were lush and heavy all around them, and hunting was easy as prey came out to eat the seeds and nuts that had been washed down by the rain.
Stumpytail glanced at Clawface. “They’ll be back soon,” he mewed.
Tigerclaw pounced on the note of uncertainty in his voice. “Where are they?” he growled.
“They haven’t crossed the border, I promise,” mewed Clawface, his ears flattened in distress. “But… but we’ve been taking turns to patrol on our side, looking for some sign that ShadowClan is all right. We’re worried about our Clanmates. We’ve been here for a while and haven’t heard or seen any border patrols. What if something terrible has happened?”
Tigerclaw narrowed his eyes. “Why should that matter to you? They are not your Clanmates now.”
Stumpytail lifted his head. “But they were close to us once. We have not stopped thinking about them just because we no longer live among them.” There was a note of defiance in his words that Tigerclaw appreciated. That kind of loyalty could serve you well, commented the voice inside his head.
“I’ll go look for them,” he meowed.
Clawface’s eyes widened. “You won’t punish them, will you?”
Fear is the key. “That depends on what they have done.” Tigerclaw padded away from the training area, a clear, smooth space defined by a tree stump, a row of brambles, and a tiny, gritty stream. He plunged into the undergrowth and followed a half-flattened trail to the wall of tangled trees. He guessed the former ShadowClan cats wouldn’t spend time patrolling here because it was impossible to see through the dense green leaves, so he trotted along the edge of the barrier until it yielded to more open woodland, where gnarled mossy oaks gave way to tall, whisker-straight pine trees.
It wasn’t long before he spotted Blackfoot’s white pelt slinking between the trunks. Tangleburr was a few steps behind, better hidden among the foliage. Tigerclaw stayed where he was, just within scenting distance of the ShadowClan border marks, and waited. They seemed to be following the line of the border, not crossing over, but close enough to be seen by any passing cats. They were talking to each other in low, anxious voices.
“Did you forget about battle training?” Tigerclaw meowed when they were within earshot.
Both cats stared at him, guilt shining in their eyes. “We… we were just on our way,” Blackfoot stammered.
“Don’t lie,” mewed Tigerclaw, padding up to them and sniffing their fur. “You smell of ShadowClan—more than you did already, I mean. Who have you been talking to?”
Tangleburr flattened her ears. “We didn’t cross the border, I promise. We just wanted to see how they were.”
Tigerclaw flicked his tail. “How who were?” He wanted to force them to admit that their loyalties still lay with their former Clan, that he would never be able to trust them, that all his training had been for nothing. You should kill them where they stand, encouraged the voice.
Blackfoot stepped forward, and Tigerclaw almost flinched as he realized the white tom was as tall and broad-chested as he was. “We have done nothing wrong,” Blackfoot insisted. “We just wanted to know why there were so few border patrols. We met Dawncloud and Rowanberry hunting on their own. There is a terrible sickness in ShadowClan, and almost every warrior has been affected. Without hunting patrols, the whole Clan is starving.”