Warriors: Legends of the Clans by Erin Hunter
Spottedpaw padded over to him. “Are you feeling all right, Stormtail?” she mewed.
Stormtail turned to look at her, his eyes bleary and ringed with sleep. “I’m fine,” he rasped, but Spottedpaw noticed that his muzzle was dry and his breath smelled like crow-food.
“I don’t think you are,” she meowed. “Why don’t you see Featherwhisker? I think you might be sick.”
Stormtail lashed his tail. “Don’t fuss. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
Bluefur overheard and came over. “My father knows if he is sick or not,” she told Spottedpaw. “Leave him alone. The patrol is ready to go.” She nodded to Stormtail, who followed her to the other warriors.
“I want you to head up past Snakerocks and then follow the border along the Thunderpath,” Tawnyspots ordered. “We’ve chased off a couple of rogues there recently and I want to be sure they haven’t come back. They didn’t look dangerous but our territory is full of prey at the moment and they might see it as easy pickings. Speckletail, you take the lead.”
The tabby she-cat nodded and trotted toward the gorse tunnel with the rest of the patrol bunched at her heels. Spottedpaw winced as Stormtail stumbled, but he gathered himself up and vanished into the gorse on Bluefur’s heels. His flanks were so pinched and bony that Spottedpaw could see Bluefur’s haunches clearly on either side of Stormtail’s lean shape.
She watched as the gorse stopped quivering behind the cats, then turned and padded into the medicine den. Featherwhisker was sorting a pile of tansy leaves and the air smelled green and fragrant. The space seemed larger now that Goosefeather had finally agreed to move to the elders’ den, and his ragged nest among the ferns had been cleared away.
“I think Stormtail is sick,” Spottedpaw blurted out.
The medicine cat put down the leaf he was unfurling and looked at her. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s not walking properly, his muzzle is dry, and his breath smells bad. And he drank nearly all the water from the elders’ moss before he went on patrol. I don’t know if he’s eating, either. He’s so thin!”
Featherwhisker’s eyes darkened. “You’re right. I’d noticed he was looking rather bony, but I assumed he’d had an upset stomach and not wanted to bother me. But if his muzzle is dry and he’s that thirsty . . . He shouldn’t have gone on patrol, that’s for sure. Do you know where they were headed?”
“Up past Snakerocks to the Thunderpath.”
“Right, I’ll go after them and bring Stormtail back. Thanks for letting me know, Spottedpaw.”
Featherwhisker was halfway through the ferns when there was a commotion in the clearing and a pale gray shape bundled into him.
“Whoa, White-eye!” Featherwhisker meowed. “What’s the rush?”
The she-cat bounced back onto her haunches. “I’ve got a thorn in my eye!” she spat. “It caught me as I was coming out of the den, would you believe it?”
“Okay, let me take a look,” Featherwhisker mewed, and he guided White-eye to the little space outside his den. The she-cat lurched beside him, letting out a little moan of fear. Spottedpaw felt her belly flip over. White-eye was already blind on one side, but it was her good eye that was closed and weeping from the thorn scratch.
Featherwhisker gently pried open her eyelid. “The thorn isn’t there now, thank StarClan. Let me bathe it with some marigold and you should be fine.”
White-eye sagged with relief. “I’m so scared of losing that one as well,” she murmured.
The medicine cat stroked her shoulder with his tail. “I would be, too.” He looked over White-eye’s head at Spottedpaw. “Can you get Stormtail, please? I want to treat White-eye first.”
“Of course!” Spottedpaw jumped up and pushed her way through the ferns.
Thrushpelt was washing his chest outside the warriors’ den. “Hey, Spottedpaw!” he called. “You need to clean out the elders’ den today, remember?”
“I’ll do it later,” Spottedpaw called back. “I have to do something for Featherwhisker first.”
Thrushpelt narrowed his eyes. “You’re not his apprentice.”
“This is really important,” Spottedpaw snapped. “Stormtail’s sick!”
She brushed past her mentor and hurtled through the gorse tunnel. As she plunged into the trees above the ravine, she flashed back to her dream of fighting for her life in a dense, shadowed forest, and for a moment her paws froze. Then she shook herself. She was in her own territory now, and there were no enemies here. Just a sick warrior who needed her help.
She raced along the path that led past Snakerocks and skidded to a halt at the edge of a thick swath of brambles. She could hear monsters rumbling along the Thunderpath on the other side. She swiveled her ears, trying to pick up the sound of the patrol. A crackle of twigs made her spin toward Twolegplace and struggle through the long grass around the edge of the brambles. She burst through a clump of dead bracken and came face-to-face with Thistleclaw.
“Spottedpaw! Are you looking for me?” he meowed.
She shook her head. “No, Stormtail. Is he with you?” She peered past him.
Bluefur was renewing a scent marker on a crooked oak tree. “What are you doing here, Spottedpaw? You’re not on this patrol.”
“I need to find Stormtail,” Spottedpaw panted. “Featherwhisker sent me to get him.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thistleclaw’s eyes darken.
“You’re looking for Stormtail?” meowed Speckletail, joining them. She glanced over her shoulder. “I thought he was behind me, but he seems to have disappeared.”
“He must have stopped to check the scent marker beside the Thunderpath,” Bluefur mewed.
“Actually I’ve just done that one,” mewed Rosetail, popping up from a clump of grass.
“Where’s he gone?” muttered Speckletail.
“We have to find him!” Spottedpaw cried. She plunged past the warriors and followed the trail they had left, marked out by fresh scent and evidence of broken twigs and crushed grass. Behind her, she heard Speckletail ordering the rest of the patrol to spread out and look for their Clanmate. Spottedpaw paused at a spot where the trail seemed to separate and opened her muzzle wide to taste the air. The breeze carried the faintest tang of a rank, stale scent. Spottedpaw tensed. That’s Stormtail!
She bounded toward the smell, flattening her ears to keep them out of the way of the brambles. “Stormtail! Are you there?” she yowled.
She stopped to listen, but there was only the alarmed chack of a blackbird startled from a holly bush. Startled by what? Spottedpaw wondered. She headed toward the bush, and at once the stale scent grew stronger. A blue-gray shape was slumped beneath the holly, as still as a boulder.
“I’ve found him!” Spottedpaw screeched. She raced over to Stormtail and pressed her cheek to his muzzle. She felt the faintest stir of air against her whiskers. He’s alive! Bracken crackled as the rest of the patrol joined her.
“Great StarClan!” Speckletail swore. “Thistleclaw, Bluefur, get either side of Stormtail and prop him up. Rosetail, you take the weight of his haunches.” The tabby she-cat looked around. “Spottedpaw, you carry his tail, make sure it doesn’t catch on any thorns.”
Spottedpaw nodded and picked up the warrior’s heavy tail in her jaws. The other warriors clustered around him and boosted him to his paws. His head hung down and his eyes stayed closed, but at least he was breathing—ragged, gasping breaths that made his scrawny flanks heave.
It seemed to take a moon to get Stormtail back to the camp, with every root and tendril snagging his limp paws or clutching at his drooping muzzle. When they reached the top of the ravine, Speckletail ordered Spottedpaw to run ahead and let Featherwhisker know they were here. The medicine cat had already prepared a nest of soft moss, with more soaked moss close by for Stormtail to drink. The warriors eased the sick cat carefully through the ferns and laid him down in front of Featherwhisker, whose eyes darkened as he studied Stormtail’s limp shape.
“He has the t
Spottedpaw felt a flash of indignation. No thanks to Bluefur, who had insisted Stormtail was well enough to go on the patrol!
“Leave us alone now,” Featherwhisker mewed softly. He looked at Bluefur. “Don’t worry. I will take good care of your father.”
Spottedpaw followed the warriors into the clearing. Bluefur was standing alone beside the tree stump, her tail drooping. Spottedpaw marched up to her. “You shouldn’t have forced Stormtail to join the patrol!” she meowed fiercely.
The she-cat looked startled. “I didn’t force him!”
“You didn’t listen to me either,” Spottedpaw growled. “I told you he was sick.”
“You’re not a medicine cat!” Bluefur retorted. “Why should I have listened to you?” She stomped away, flicking her tail in disgust.
Thrushpelt padded over to Spottedpaw. “I hear you’ve been a bit of a hero,” he meowed. “Stormtail will be very grateful when he’s better.” There was an edge to the warrior’s tone that made Spottedpaw glance warily up at him. Thrushpelt nodded toward the gorse tunnel. “I think we need to talk.”
In silence, Spottedpaw followed him out of the camp. Her legs ached from her frantic dash through the forest, and she was relieved when Thrushpelt led her to Sunningrocks and settled on a warm, flat rock. The sound of the river soothed her, and her eyelids began to feel heavy.
Thrushpelt sighed. “I have to ask you something, Spottedpaw.”
Her heart started to pound. Did Thrushpelt know she had been to the Dark Forest?
The sandy-gray cat looked at her. “Is your heart truly set on becoming a warrior?” he mewed.
Spottedpaw flinched. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a good cat, Spottedpaw, but you seem distracted in our training sessions, and lately you’ve been more interested in helping Featherwhisker.”
Spottedpaw felt her pelt burn. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll train harder from now on.”
Thrushpelt shook his head. “Spottedpaw, would you like to become Featherwhisker’s apprentice instead?”
She stared at him in astonishment. “Wh-what?”
“Would you like to train as a medicine cat? I’ve seen how good you are at recognizing the herbs, and you probably saved Stormtail’s life today. I know Featherwhisker has asked you before, and I want you to know that it would be okay. I like having you as my apprentice, but if your heart lies elsewhere, then I won’t stand in your way.”
Spottedpaw opened and closed her mouth like a fledgling waiting for food. “I-I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.
Her mentor tilted his head to one side. “Think about it,” he urged. “But remember that if you do become a medicine cat, it would mean giving up more than just your warrior training. Very few cats can make the commitment that Featherwhisker has. I think you’d be a great medicine cat, but you have to want it with all your heart.”
Spottedpaw blinked. How had Thrushpelt noticed so much, yet said nothing before now? Did he really believe she would be a good medicine cat? She shook her head. She had wanted to be a warrior since the day she was born. There was nothing more honorable than protecting your Clan, feeding your Clanmates, defending the borders. She had trained so hard alongside her littermates. They would stand side by side all their lives, fighting for ThunderClan.
And there was still Thistleclaw. . . .
She took a deep breath. “I appreciate what you’re saying, Thrushpelt, I really do. But I want to be a warrior.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Spottedpaw opened her eyes and saw greasy gray trunks looming around her, lit by a pale, unnatural glow. It worked! I dreamed myself into the Place of No Stars! With her heart pounding, Spottedpaw trotted along the narrow path between the dying bracken. This forest looked the same everywhere, so she couldn’t tell if she had returned to the place she had been before.
She peered into the undergrowth. She had to find Thistleclaw and tell him that she had made the decision to be a warrior, not a medicine cat. And she wanted to give him one more chance to prove to her that he was learning valuable battle skills here, nothing more. . . .
Something black and slippery swooped overhead, and Spottedpaw ducked. She craned her neck to see where the flying thing went but it vanished into the shadowy branches. She padded on, her pelt crawling as rotten ferns clutched at her fur. Suddenly she heard crashing and a muffled screech, followed by a sickening thud.
She crept through the trees to the edge of a steep-sided hollow. Below her, Mapleshade watched a group of cats grappling with each other. Blood spattered the sandy ground, and Mapleshade’s eyes gleamed like pale stars. Spottedpaw winced as she recognized Thistleclaw’s lean gray shape wrestling with a fox-colored she-cat whose ears were shredded to tattered stumps. White hairs on her muzzle suggested that she was older than the others, and her paws seemed to lose their grip too frequently on the slippery ground.
Spottedpaw waited for Thistleclaw to flip the she-cat onto her back and claim his victory, but he seemed to be playing with her as if she were a wounded bird, letting her scramble back to her paws after every blow. In horror, Spottedpaw realized that the she-cat wasn’t fox-red at all, but a light brown tabby stained scarlet with blood. There was a deep wound on her flank and teeth marks along her spine. Spottedpaw sank her claws into the earth. Had Thistleclaw made those wounds?
For a moment the she-cat flickered against the ground, and Spottedpaw glimpsed sand and pools of blood through her fur. She blinked. Thistleclaw had one foot on the she-cat’s neck now, pressing her down to the sand. The old cat’s hind paws scrabbled to find a grip, but she was too weak. She started to sink to her belly.
Spottedpaw threw herself down the side of the hollow. “Stop, Thistleclaw! You’re killing her!”
Thistleclaw looked up at her, blood dripping from his muzzle. “Get away from here!” he snarled.
Around him, the other cats stopped fighting and bristled, bloodstained and claw-scratched fur rising along their spines. Spottedpaw ignored them and threw herself at Thistleclaw, knocking him backward. She sprang to the side of the old cat and desperately pressed her paws against the wound on her flank, where blood was pulsing out relentlessly.
But it was getting harder to see the she-cat; her fur was fading against the bloodstained sand, and her body felt like mist beneath Spottedpaw’s pads. Then she was pressing against nothing but the cold wet ground, and the old cat had vanished.
Spottedpaw stared at Thistleclaw in horror. “Where has she gone? What happened?”
There was a heavy thud of paw steps across the hollow and Mapleshade loomed above her, clouded in the stench of blood and crow-food. “This whiny little apprentice again, Thistleclaw?” she hissed. “Get rid of her, before I do.” She turned and stalked toward the other cats, gathering them to her with a flick of her heavy white tail.
Spottedpaw was too furious to feel afraid. She stood up and faced her Clanmate, ignoring the stickiness beneath her paws. “I came to tell you that Thrushpelt asked me if I wanted to train as a medicine cat, and I said no!” she meowed. “How could I, if that meant losing you? But this place . . . this has done something terrible to you. You are not just training to be a loyal ThunderClan warrior. You’re murdering helpless cats!”
“That cat wasn’t helpless!” Thistleclaw spat. “She fought as hard as I did!”
“No, she didn’t,” Spottedpaw mewed. “She died.” She looked around. “At least . . . she bled so much that she vanished. I cannot be with you if this is where you spend every night—if this is what you do here. If yo
There was a flash of pain in Thistleclaw’s eyes and Spottedpaw felt her heart leap with hope. Then he lifted his head. “This is my destiny, Spottedpaw. I am going to be the greatest warrior ThunderClan has ever known. I will be the next deputy, and the next leader of our Clan. Every cat in the forest will fear us! There will be no battle we cannot win! How can I possibly give that up?”
Spottedpaw felt a crack open up in her heart. “Being a warrior is not about destroying our rivals,” she whispered. “It is about making our Clan strong and safe alongside the other cats in the forest. Please, Thistleclaw. I will give you everything.”
Thistleclaw turned away from her so she couldn’t see his face. “You don’t get it, Spottedpaw,” he meowed. “I can’t turn away from my destiny. Nothing is more important than this. The rip of flesh beneath my claws, the taste of blood, the scent of my enemy’s fear . . . I am hungry for all of it, and I will keep fighting until ThunderClan rules the entire forest!”
“Then you have made your choice,” Spottedpaw told him, feeling as if she were falling into a deep, deep hole.
“There is no choice to make,” Thistleclaw growled. “I have dedicated my whole life to becoming the greatest warrior ThunderClan has ever known. And if you won’t help me, there is no place for you in my life.”
“But what about the things you said to me before? What about love?”
“Love doesn’t win battles!” Thistleclaw spat.
“You’re wrong,” Spottedpaw mewed quietly. “Love is stronger than everything.” She turned and looked back over her shoulder. “Good-bye, Thistleclaw. May StarClan light your path, always.” Wherever your path leads, she added silently.
As she padded out of the hollow, the forest faded around her and she was lying in her own nest, her fur smelling of the old she-cat’s blood. There was a pain in her heart sharper than the bite of fox teeth. I have loved foolishly, and my heart has been blind.