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“Thanks.” Brambleclaw watched the ginger warrior as she padded across the clearing, then made his way to the remains of the warriors’ den. Every muscle in his body was aching, the scratch on his shoulder throbbed, and he felt almost too tired to put one paw in front of another. But his Clanmates needed him. He had to find the strength to help them.

  The thorn tree where the warriors had made their den grew close to the highest part of the cliff, not far from the tumble of rocks leading up to the Highledge. As he approached, Brambleclaw saw that although the outer branches were broken and trampled down, further in, towards the trunk, there seemed to be less damage. He hoped that there might be enough shelter left untouched, even if the warriors were a bit cramped until the tree put on fresh growth in newleaf.

  As he drew closer, sniffing cautiously at the wrecked outer branches, Stormfur appeared, hauling a tangled mass of thorns behind him.

  “Hi,” he panted, setting the thorns down to catch his breath. Narrowing his eyes, he added, “Shouldn’t you be resting? You look very battered, you know.”

  “We’re all battered,” Brambleclaw pointed out. “I can’t rest now; there’s too much to do.”

  Stormfur’s gaze travelled around the clearing. “There certainly is.”

  Brambleclaw rested his tail against Stormfur’s grey flank. “I’m glad to see you,” he meowed. “StarClan couldn’t have chosen a better time to bring you here.”

  “Well . . . the Tribe of Endless Hunting watch over me now.”

  “Some ancestors sent you to us. I don’t care whose, I’m just thankful.”

  Squirrelflight trotted up just then, carrying a couple of mice by their tails. She dropped the fresh-kill at their paws. “There you are,” she mewed to Brambleclaw. “Eat. You need your strength.” She patted the second mouse towards Stormfur. “You too, Stormfur.”

  “No thanks,” the grey warrior meowed. “Brook and I ate on the way here. I’m not hungry right now.”

  “OK, if you’re sure, I’ll take it to the elders. I’ve found plenty of fresh-kill,” she added to Brambleclaw. “It’s a bit trod-den on, but it’ll do until tomorrow.” With a whisk of her tail she picked up the spare mouse and headed for the elders’ den.

  While Stormfur went back inside the den, Brambleclaw crouched down to eat the mouse. It was flattened and covered with earth, as if a badger’s huge paw had trampled it into the ground, but he was too hungry to care. He devoured it in a few famished gulps. Then he went to help Stormfur shift the damaged thorns. Blood began oozing again from the scratch on his shoulder as he struggled to drag the broken branches away from the rest; thorns pricked at his paws and scraped against his side, adding fresh scratches to his pelt.

  As he was backing out of the den, tugging a particularly stubborn branch, Squirrelflight’s scent drifted around him. He dropped the end of the branch and turned to see her standing behind him with a dripping wad of moss.

  She set it down and meowed, “I thought you might need a drink.”

  “Thanks.” As he lapped water from the moss, he thought he had never tasted anything so delicious. It seemed to soak into every part of him, giving him new energy.

  When he had drunk as much as he wanted, Squirrelflight picked up the moss and gently dabbed it against his shoulder wound. Her eyes met Brambleclaw’s; he shivered at the closeness of her.

  “Squirrelflight, I’m sorry for everything—” he began.

  She swept her tail-tip across his mouth. “I know,” she murmured.

  Brambleclaw thought he could have stood like that forever, drowning in the depths of her green gaze. But a movement beyond her distracted him, and he looked up to see Ashfur staring at him.

  The grey warrior had left the vigil for his dead Clanmates and was crossing the clearing. After a few moments, he turned away and disappeared behind the brambles that screened the medicine cat’s den.

  Brambleclaw stepped back and faced Squirrelflight. “What about Ashfur?” he meowed. He didn’t need to say any more— Squirrelflight and Ashfur had become very close in recent moons, and the grey warrior might have good reason to feel that Brambleclaw was treading on his paws.

  Squirrelflight dropped the moss. “Don’t worry about Ashfur. I’ll talk to him.” There was regret in her eyes, but no uncertainty. Briefly she touched her nose to Brambleclaw’s. “I have to fetch water for the elders now. I’ll see you later.”

  Dazed, Brambleclaw watched her go before starting to tug at the branch again. He could hardly believe how quickly everything had changed, and how little he and Squirrelflight had needed to say to each other. Their quarrels, the way they had deliberately tried to hurt each other, all that was gone in the wake of the badger attack, now that they realised how much they cared about each other. They didn’t even have to apologise; they could just look forward to all the moons ahead of them.

  As he finally yanked the branch free, Stormfur emerged from the den, pushing a tangle of moss and thorns in front of him.

  “It’s good to see you and Squirrelflight are still getting on so well,” he meowed.

  “Yes, she’s a terrific cat,” Brambleclaw mumbled. He didn’t want to tell Stormfur that the closeness he shared with Squirrelflight had melted away for a time. “Why don’t we take some of these thorns over to Sandstorm for the entrance barrier?”

  “OK.” Stormfur looked faintly amused, as if he could tell Brambleclaw was deliberately changing the subject away from Squirrelflight. “You know,” he added, “I feel just the same about Brook.”

  He picked up the end of a long branch, but before they had gone more than a couple of paces Brambleclaw spotted the young Tribe she-cat heading towards them with a huge bundle of moss in her jaws.

  “The elders are going to be fine,” she reported, after setting her burden down beside Brambleclaw. “Leafpool has put cobwebs on Mousefur’s scratches, and given them all a few poppy seeds to help them sleep. Squirrelflight has gone to fetch them some water.”

  “Thanks for your help, Brook,” Brambleclaw meowed, nodding at the ball of moss.

  “I took it out of the elders’ den because it’s full of thorns. No cat could sleep on that. Can you tell me the best place to find some more moss?”

  “Are you sure you’re not too tired?” Brambleclaw asked. “You’ve travelled a long way.”

  Brook’s ears twitched. “I’m in better shape than you. Besides, we took it easy on the journey. It’s been more than a moon since we left the Tribe.”

  “We thought we would never find you,” Stormfur meowed.

  “How did you?” Brambleclaw asked. He jumped at a flicker of movement behind him, but it was only Brackenfur, padding across to the nursery with fresh-kill in his jaws. “Did the Tribe of Endless Hunting show you the way?”

  A glance flashed between Stormfur and Brook.

  “I wish they had,” Stormfur replied. “We might have got here sooner. We wandered around in the hills until we came across a rogue who knew some cats who live with horses. Do you know them?”

  “Oh, yes, the horseplace cats,” Brambleclaw mewed. “We’ve met them—in fact, one of them is here now, with her kits.”

  Stormfur looked surprised. “Well, the rogue said they told him a huge number of cats had moved into their area. We knew that had to be you, and the rogue told us which way to come.”

  “So you haven’t been to RiverClan yet?”

  Stormfur shook his head, but before he could say anything else, Brook prodded Brambleclaw in the shoulder with one paw. “Moss? Your elders will be waiting.”

  “Oh, sure. Let’s take these thorns over to the camp entrance, and I’ll show you.”

  Brambleclaw and Stormfur dragged the branches across to where Sandstorm, Dustpelt, and Firestar were working on the barrier. Brook followed with her bundle of moss.

  “Over there.” Brambleclaw pointed with his tail into the forest. His pelt prickled with horror as he remembered how the badgers had come roaring out of the shadows with death in their eyes. “Keep going straight
on, and you’ll find plenty of moss around the tree roots.”

  “I’ll come with you, Brook,” Stormfur meowed. “You never know, there might still be badgers around.”

  “I’ve posted guards,” Firestar called across. “It should be safe.” He flicked his ears towards the top of the hollow, where Brambleclaw could just make out the shadowy shapes of Cloudtail and Thornclaw.

  Stormfur followed his gaze, then turned back to Brook. “I’m still coming with you. We’ll need more moss for the warriors’ den.”

  He and Brook headed into the forest. As Brambleclaw turned back into the camp, he spotted Leafpool emerging from her den. When she reached Cinderpelt’s body she stopped, bowed her head, and rested her nose in her mentor’s soft fur.

  “Forgive me, Cinderpelt.” Brambleclaw was just close enough to hear her murmured words. “I want to sit vigil with you, but there’s too much to do. I know you would want me to care for your Clan.”

  Leafpool lifted her head, seemed to brace herself, and padded on towards Brambleclaw. “I want you in my den now,” she meowed. “Your wounds need treatment.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue, Brambleclaw. Just do it.” For a moment Leafpool sounded as forceful as her sister, Squirrelflight. “How much use will you be if your shoulder gets infected?”

  Brambleclaw sighed. “All right. I’m on my way.” As the young medicine cat brushed past him, he rested the tip of his tail on her shoulder. “Thanks, Leafpool. I mean, thanks for coming back. ThunderClan needs you.”

  Leafpool flashed him a glance filled with sorrow before padding on towards her father and mother by the camp entrance. “Firestar!” he heard her call. “I haven’t had a chance to look at your wounds yet.”

  As Brambleclaw was approaching Leafpool’s den, he spotted Ashfur emerging from behind the bramble screen. His torn ear was wrapped in cobwebs, and more of them were plastered along his flank and on his foreleg.

  “Are you OK?” Brambleclaw asked as Ashfur padded past him.

  Ashfur didn’t look at him. “Fine, thanks,” he mewed curtly.

  Brambleclaw watched him cross the clearing to the nursery, where Brackenfur and Spiderleg were dragging out the broken bramble tendrils. Ashfur set to work beside them.

  Just outside the cleft in the rock wall where Leafpool had her den, Birchpaw was curled up asleep in a nest of bracken, one paw over his nose. Though he was only an apprentice, he had fought bravely in the battle and helped to protect Daisy and her kits as they escaped from the hollow. The wounds on his haunches, where fur had been ripped away, were covered with a poultice of marigold; Brambleclaw’s nostrils twitched at the sharp scent of chewed-up herbs.

  On the other side of the cleft, Rainwhisker lay among more bracken. As Brambleclaw appeared around the screen of brambles he raised his head and blinked drowsily. “Hi, Brambleclaw.” His voice sounded blurred with sleep. “Is everything OK?”

  “It will be. How’s your leg?”

  “Not broken, thank StarClan. Just dislocated.” He let out a sleepy purr. “Leafpool put it back in place.” His eyes closed again and he rested his nose on his paws.

  Brightheart emerged from the cleft in the rock with a mouthful of herbs. She nodded to Brambleclaw, then bent over Rainwhisker and Birchpaw to give each a quick sniff.

  “They’re doing fine,” she meowed. “Brambleclaw, when Leafpool comes back, tell her I’ve taken some marigold to Brackenfur. He’s working on the nursery so he doesn’t have to leave Sorreltail.”

  “OK,” Brambleclaw agreed.

  He sat down beside the two sleeping cats. Leafpool arrived a few moments later with Firestar following her. Carefully she looked Brambleclaw over, then gave the deep scratch on his shoulder a lick.

  “That’s the only serious wound,” she meowed. “I want to take a look at it every day, OK? Wait there while I fetch you some marigold.” She paused, staring into the distance for a couple of heartbeats before taking a deep breath and disappearing into the cleft.

  “Will she be all right?” Brambleclaw murmured to Firestar. “No medicine cat is looking after her.”

  “I’ll tell Squirrelflight to keep an eye on her.”

  Leafpool came back with the marigold leaves, and began chewing them up for a poultice.

  “We’re down to the last scraps,” she mewed, glancing up with the end of a leaf poking out of her jaws. “Some cat will need to fetch more first thing tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Firestar promised. “Or—Brambleclaw, maybe you could organise that? Find a cat who isn’t too badly hurt.”

  Brambleclaw dipped his head. “OK, Firestar.”

  Leaving the cleft in the rock, he spotted Stormfur beside the warriors’ den, beckoning to him with his tail.

  “I think we’re done for tonight,” the grey warrior meowed. “We’ve shifted the worst of the thorns, and I’ve put down some fresh moss. It might be a bit cramped, but you can all get some rest now.”

  “What about you?” Brambleclaw asked.

  “Brook and I are still fresh. We’ll guard the camp for the rest of the night.”

  “Thanks.” Suddenly Brambleclaw felt his legs start to give way beneath him; the prospect of curling up to sleep made him realise just how exhausted he was. He touched Stormfur on the shoulder with his tail-tip, then slid past him into the warriors’ den.

  There was a clear space near the trunk of the tree, good enough for cats who were too tired to be fussy about where they slept. Spiderleg and Ashfur were already asleep; just beyond them, Dustpelt and Ferncloud were drowsily sharing tongues. Brambleclaw muttered a greeting to them, and sank into the moss and bracken. A heartbeat later, sleep crashed over him like a black wave.

  Chapter 3

  Leafpool opened her eyes, sticky with sleep, and blinked. She was crouched in the middle of the stone hollow beside Cinderpelt’s body. Next to her, Firestar lay with his nose pushed deep into his friend’s grey fur, his eyes narrowed to slits as if he were lost in memories of the cat who had once been his apprentice. Above the hollow, the sky was milky pale with the first light of dawn.

  Opening her jaws, Leafpool tried to draw in the last of her beloved mentor’s scent, but all she could taste was death. She had come to sit vigil with Cinderpelt after all the injured cats had been treated. But exhaustion had overwhelmed her and she had fallen asleep. I couldn’t even stay awake for you, she thought despairingly.

  She would never forget the dream she had had on her journey with Crowfeather, in which she had heard Cinderpelt’s terrible cry of pain as the badger struck its killing blow. I should have stayed here, she told herself, guilt tearing at her sharper than a badger’s claws.

  But even though she had come back to her Clan, her thoughts were still haunted by Crowfeather. The glow in his amber eyes when he told her how much he loved her. The pain in his voice when he realised that her heart lay here, as ThunderClan’s medicine cat, and not with him. Leafpool had been faced with a terrible choice, but in the end she knew her place was here, in the stone hollow. She had given up Crowfeather, and had lost Cinderpelt too. All that remained was her duty to her Clan.

  As she sat up, stretching cramped limbs, careful not to disturb her father at his vigil, she saw Stormfur keeping watch just outside the warriors’ den. Brook guarded the camp with him, sitting closer to the entrance. Other cats were beginning to stir now; Brackenfur put his head out of the nursery, then vanished back inside. A moment later, Brambleclaw and Dustpelt emerged from the warriors’ den and stood tasting the air.

  Soon it would be time for the elders to carry the bodies of Cinderpelt and Sootfur out of the camp for burial. Leafpool bent her head over Cinderpelt, touching her muzzle to her mentor’s shoulder and brushing against her soft grey fur. She closed her eyes to try to sense Cinderpelt’s spirit, but above her the warriors of StarClan were disappearing as the sky grew brighter.

  Cinderpelt? Tell me you’re still with me!

  Leafpool tried to imagine herself padding thr
ough the stars with silvery pelts brushing against her on either side, but she couldn’t smell any trace of Cinderpelt’s familiar scent. Had Cinderpelt rejected her because she left ThunderClan with Crowfeather? Would she never hear her mentor’s voice again, not even in dreams?

  Cinderpelt, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! she cried. Don’t leave me alone like this.

  “I can manage. I don’t need to be able to see to carry my Clanmates.”

  Longtail’s voice interrupted Leafpool’s desperate prayer. She opened her eyes to see the three elders approaching, Mousefur in the lead and Goldenflower guiding Longtail.

  “Of course you don’t,” Mousefur agreed. “We’ll carry them together, don’t worry.”

  Firestar rose from Cinderpelt’s side, his movements stiff from wounds and weariness. Whitepaw crept out of the remains of the apprentices’ den, glancing around nervously as if she wanted to make sure no more badgers had appeared. Thornclaw, who had been Sootfur’s mentor, padded up to him and pushed his nose one last time into the cold, grey-black fur.

  “You taught him well,” Leafpool mewed softly, sharing his grief for the young warrior. “He died bravely, fighting for his Clanmates.”

  Rainwhisker slid between the cats who were clustering around the bodies. Leafpool saw that he was able to put weight on his injured leg, though it would be a while yet before the torn muscles were fully healed.

  “Take it easy,” she warned him. “You’ll be limping permanently if you strain that leg.”

  Rainwhisker nodded and spoke to Mousefur. “I want to help, please. Sootfur was my brother.”

  Mousefur dipped her head. “Very well.”

  She and Rainwhisker took up the body of Sootfur, while Goldenflower and Longtail carried Cinderpelt. With a wrench of grief, Leafpool had to step back and let them take her mentor away. Her sister’s scent drifted around her and she felt the warmth of Squirrelflight’s pelt against her side. Leafpool leaned against her shoulder, grateful for the comfort of her presence.

  The rest of their Clan stood with bowed heads as the elders made their way past the shattered thorn barrier and into the trees beyond.