Nightstar let out a faint purr. “You are so kind,” he rasped. “May StarClan light your path, always.”
“Oh, they will,” Tigerclaw murmured as he turned and summoned his cats with a flick of his tail. Clawface drew reluctantly away from Rowanberry, and Stumpytail cast a yearning glance toward Dawncloud, but they all followed him as he padded out of the camp and into the pine trees.
“I’ll show you to the border,” Flintfang offered, but Tigerclaw shook his head.
“Stay and eat with your Clanmates,” he urged. “We know the way back.”
Behind him, the other cats whispered their shock to one another, at finding their former Clan so ill and weak. Snag was sympathetic, vowing to catch every squirrel in the woods if that’s what it took to make the cats well again. Tigerclaw listened with half an ear. He didn’t care if every ShadowClan cat got sick and died. For now, he had an entire Clan in his debt, and that could only work in his favor.
If mercy is power, then I have never been more powerful.
The following day, Tigerclaw let the others go off and hunt for ShadowClan again, on the understanding that after sunhigh they would have a session of battle training. When the cats had crashed noisily through the bracken, deeper into the woods, Tigerclaw headed in the other direction, toward Twolegplace. The memory of Mowgli nagged at him; the loner may have turned tail and fled during the clash with ThunderClan warriors, but there had been something about the young brown cat—his eagerness to learn about Clan life, his appetite for battle—that suggested he might still be useful. Tigerclaw pictured the last time he had seen Mowgli, grappling with Fireheart, aiming his claws at the kittypet’s throat, before Brackenpaw had caught him off balance and dragged him away. Tigerclaw knew he couldn’t judge Mowgli too harshly, not after Fireheart had overpowered him in Bluestar’s den. This Twolegplace rogue had skills that could be very helpful indeed. Tigerclaw decided that he was willing to give him one more chance. But if the brown cat failed again, he would regret it more than anything else in his life.
He reached a tall wooden fence and squeezed through a gap between the panels. His head spun as the cloying scents of Twolegplace crashed around him: flowers in colors that were rarely found in the woods, the sickly-sweet smell of too-short grass, and underlying everything, the stench of monsters, spewing their foul breath on the maze of Thunderpaths. Tigerclaw pushed through a bush with pale green leaves and jumped over a low stone wall. On each side, a narrow black path led between red stone Twoleg nests. He had a vague memory of being here before. If he went this way—he turned and trotted over the harsh stone, keeping to the shadow at one side—he could come to a dusty open space where strays came to bask in the sun. Ahead of him, the light grew brighter until he had to screw up his eyes. The sheltered path came to an abrupt end, and Tigerclaw peered into the bright white expanse. Several furry shapes lay on their sides, tails flicking lazily.
A head lifted up close to him. “We’ve got company,” the silver-furred she-cat mewed to her companion.
A fat brown tabby looked over at Tigerclaw. “He stinks.”
“That’s what forest cats smell like,” meowed the first cat. “What are you doing here, stranger? Did you forget how to catch squirrels?”
Tigerclaw ignored them. A flash of movement on the far side of the space had caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes and just made out a lean black shape with a distinctive pointed muzzle before it vanished behind a pile of stones. Pelt pricking, he padded around the edge of the space. Most of the strays paid no attention to him, though one growled at him to stop casting a shadow. Tigerclaw reached the place where he had seen the brown cat disappear and sniffed the broken rocks. He knew that scent…
“Mowgli?” he called softly.
He heard a rustle in the long grass behind the stones. “Tigerclaw?” came a cautious whisper. There was a pause, then a thin brown tom slid out. His eyes were huge and wary, and the fur pricked along his spine. “Did… did you come looking for me?”
Tigerclaw blinked. “I don’t make a habit of coming into Twolegplace,” he snarled.
Mowgli slunk closer, his head so low that his muzzle almost touched the ground. “I’m sorry, Tigerclaw,” he mewed. “I know I shouldn’t have let that cat chase me off. I know how much you wanted that ginger tom killed.”
“Mistakes belong to the past,” Tigerclaw growled. He wasn’t going to let Mowgli think he wasn’t disappointed with him. “I want to know if you’d let it happen again.”
The brown cat looked up at him, his green eyes hungry for approval. “Never!” he vowed. “I’d spill the last drop of my blood to fight alongside you again!”
“I won’t ask that of you yet,” mewed Tigerclaw. “Things have changed. The other cats and I are living near ShadowClan now, but I still intend to destroy ThunderClan one day. And kill that ginger cat,” he finished with a hiss.
Mowgli stood up straight, almost as tall at the shoulder as Tigerclaw. “Let me finish what I started,” he declared. “You won’t regret it, Tigerclaw.”
“I’ll make sure I won’t,” Tigerclaw meowed. “Come, we have a lot to do.” He turned and trotted straight across the open space, deliberately scuffing a small cloud of dust toward the dozing strays. He heard them cough and curse behind him, but he and Mowgli had vanished into the gap between the Twoleg nests before the cats could haul their lazy bodies up.
Chapter 5
When Tigerclaw returned to the fallen tree with Mowgli at his heels, Snag looked surprised but greeted his old friend warmly and showed him where he could make a nest. Blackfoot was more cautious.
“Are you sure you can trust him?” he mewed to Tigerclaw.
“If you think he might be a spy for ThunderClan, that’s highly unlikely,” Tigerclaw pointed out. “Last time ThunderClan saw him, he was trying to claw Fireheart’s throat.”
“I didn’t mean that he might favor ThunderClan now,” Blackfoot argued. “I just wondered how much we can rely on a cat who turned tail at the first sign of battle. What if he leaves us again?”
“Then he won’t come back,” Tigerclaw answered. “He knows this is his last chance.”
Tangleburr padded over to join them. “We’re ready for battle training when you are, Tigerclaw,” she mewed. “Oh, and Clawface and I saw some ShadowClan cats by the border while we were hunting. They wanted to know if they could hunt with us tomorrow.”
Tigerclaw frowned. “What, in these woods?”
“No,” meowed Tangleburr. “Inside ShadowClan territory. That’s where they know the best places to find prey. But they thought they might be more successful if we helped.”
Tigerclaw felt a ripple of satisfaction run through his fur. Had ShadowClan warriors already realized how much they needed him and his companions? He waited a few moments before replying. “Very well, but we will still hunt separately for ourselves. ShadowClan must understand that we can survive without them.”
Tangleburr nodded. “Of course. Thanks, Tigerclaw. I… er… told Wetfoot that we’d meet them at the border just before sunhigh.” She blinked nervously. “If you said it was okay.”
Tigerclaw flicked the tip of his tail, just enough to warn Tangleburr that he knew she had promised help too easily. The she-cat looked down at her paws.
Mowgli was looking confused. “I thought you hated the Clans,” he meowed.
“Only ThunderClan,” Tigerclaw growled. “ShadowClan is suffering from sickness and hunger. If we are strong enough to help them, we will.”