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The forest had disappeared. He was inside a hot and airless kitchen, curled in his bed. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting shadows on the smooth, hard floor. The noise had been the rattle of hard, dried pellets of food as they were tipped into his dish. Rusty had been dreaming.
He heard his owners giving him one last call from the back door. If he went to them now, they would greet him with gentle words and caresses and welcome him onto their bed, where he would curl, purring, warm in the crook of a bent knee.
Rusty could feel spiked teeth pricking at his neck. He writhed and squirmed from whisker to tail, but he couldn’t free himself.
“You haven’t yet been taken by the Twolegs to see the Cutter,” meowed Bluestar gravely. “You would be very different then. Not quite so keen to fight a Clan cat, I suspect!” Rusty was confused. He suddenly thought of Henry, who had become fat and lazy since his visit to the vet. Was that what Bluestar meant by the Cutter?
Rusty’s head reeled. Bluestar seemed to be offering him the life he had lived so many times, and so tantalizingly, in his dreams, but could he live like that for real?
“Now Darkstripe,” Graypaw hissed to Firepaw under his breath, “is neither young, nor pretty. . . . ”
A massive dark brown tabby staggered through the gorse tunnel. Between his sharp teeth the warrior held not prey, but the lifeless body of another cat. He dragged the tattered creature into the center of the clearing.
“He died with honor, struck down by Oakheart. I couldn’t save him, but I managed to take Oakheart’s life while he was still gloating over his victory.”
“Twolegs put these trees here,” meowed Tigerclaw. “They cut them down with foul-smelling creatures, which spew enough fumes to make a kit go blind. Then they take the fallen trees to the Treecut place that lies near here.”
“Tonight, in fact. The Gatherings are very important because they allow the Clans to come together in peace for one night. But you must understand that longer alliances bring more trouble than they’re worth.”
Next moment he leaped back, his fur bristling, as a gigantic monster roared past. The branches of the trees on either side flapped madly in the wind that chased the speeding monster. Firepaw stared around at the other cats, his eyes wide, unable to speak. He had seen paths like this before near his old Twoleg home, but never this wide, nor with monsters so swift and fierce.
“Well, I’m more lopsided than a one-legged badger,” mewed Graypaw, breaking off from his careful stalking to stagger comically across the clearing. “I think I’ll have to settle for hunting stupid mice. They won’t stand a chance. I’ll just wander up to them and sit on them till they surrender.”
“You’ll need the whole of StarClan on your side for this one,” answered Graypaw. “Call out if you need a hand. If she looks like she’s going to get you, I’ll sneak up behind her and whack her on the head with a stiff rabbit.”
“TigerClan is one of the great cat Clans that used to roam the forest,” Graypaw explained quietly. “TigerClan is cats of the night, big as horses, with jet-black stripes. Then there is LionClan. They’re . . .” Graypaw hesitated, frowning as he tried to remember. “Oh! I’ve heard of them,” mewed the tabby. “They were as big as TigerClan cats, with yellow fur and golden manes like rays of the sun.” Graypaw nodded. “And then there is the other one, SpottyClan or something like that. . . . ” “I suspect you’re thinking of LeopardClan, young Graypaw,” meowed a voice from behind them.
But Firepaw was thinking of something else. What was it Ravenpaw had said? That Redtail had killed Oakheart? But according to Tigerclaw, Oakheart had killed Redtail and he, Tigerclaw, had killed Oakheart in revenge. “If Redtail killed Oakheart, who killed Redtail?” Firepaw hissed to Graypaw.
“WindClan failed to understand this. In the end, we were forced to drive them out of their territory.”
I have lost a life, but it wasn’t my ninth.”
Darkstripe was locked in a fierce tussle with a black warrior.
Firepaw joined them. He licked Lionheart’s neck and murmured, “Thank you for your wisdom. You taught me so much.”
“He’s wanted to be deputy ever since he took care of Redtail—” Ravenpaw mewed. He stopped abruptly. “Took care of Redtail?” Firepaw echoed. His mind suddenly raced with questions. What did Ravenpaw know? At the Gathering, had his account of the battle with RiverClan been true? Was Tigerclaw responsible for Redtail’s death?
“During the battle, our leader lost another life. Now that she has only four of her nine lives left,
“I think you ought to know that, in the battle with the rats, it was not my fifth life that I lost, but my seventh.”
“She has been killed by a warrior blow,”
SPOTTEDLEAF NOOO
“This isn’t over, apprentice,” he hissed before he turned and vanished into the forest after his broken warriors. Firepaw looked to Whitestorm. “Should we go after them?” he meowed. The warrior shook his head. “I think they got the message that they are not welcome here.”
“Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior names: Graypaw, from this moment you will be known as Graystripe. StarClan honors your bravery and your strength, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”
“Firepaw, from this moment you will be known as Fireheart. StarClan honors your bravery and your strength, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”
