“And we get the mouse too,” Crag pointed out to Stormfur, swiping his tongue around his jaws.

  Stormfur’s eyes stretched wide with admiration at Brook’s hunting skills. What a warrior she would make, if she’d been forest-born! Briefly he imagined her in RiverClan, teaching them this new way of hunting, but he banished the picture almost at once. Brook belonged here in the mountains, and within the next day or two he would have to part from her. He felt a strange stab of regret at the thought and was surprised. How could he already feel attached to a cat he barely knew?

  Squirrelpaw was staring in disbelief at the dead falcon, all her indignation forgotten. “That was brilliant!” she meowed. “I want to try it.” To Brambleclaw she added, “Could we hunt like this at home, do you think?”

  “There aren’t as many hawks,” Brambleclaw pointed out. “WindClan might try, I suppose—Crowpaw said he’d seen eagles on the moors.”

  Stormfur noticed that instead of scraping earth over her prey until she was ready to collect it, Brook hid the mouse and the falcon by dragging both of them into a crevice in the rock. Then she set off again at the head of her group.

  This time she led them up the wall of the valley, bounding over some loose rocks and then along a ledge. Stormfur couldn’t think what prey she hoped to find out here, but by now he was content to wait and see, aware that these mountain cats had tricks he and his friends had never heard of.

  They came to a flattened heap of twigs and dried grass, blocking the ledge. There was a strong reek of stale prey. Brook sprang nimbly over it, and the rest of the cats followed.

  “This is a hawk’s nest,” she explained. “In the freed-water season, we can sometimes find hawk chicks.”

  “‘Freed water’?” Squirrelpaw echoed.

  “I expect she means newleaf,” Brambleclaw replied in a low voice. “When the water’s freed from ice, I guess. That’s when there would be chicks in the nest.”

  “Very good they are, too,” Crag added, coming up from behind. “And it means there are fewer hawks to grow up and prey on us. Like this one,” he added, with a massive leap into the air.

  Stormfur jerked his head up with a gasp. Just above him a huge hawk had swooped down, its talons extended, but as Crag leaped upward it veered off, shedding air from under its wings as it slid sideways.

  Crag came down perilously close to the edge of the rock, regaining his balance with the ease of long practice. Stormfur’s respect for him increased; the courage and speed with which the cave-guard had attacked the fierce bird matched any skills possessed by the best Clan warriors.

  “Thanks,” he gasped as he crouched on the ledge and watched the falcon swoop away, many tail-lengths below.

  Crag turned to him, amber eyes gleaming. “That’s the first thing a to-be learns,” he meowed with a purr of amusement. “Never forget to look up!”

  CHAPTER 12

  Stormfur crouched on a jutting spur of rock and looked down into the valley a couple of tail-lengths below. The sun was going down on the fourth day since he and his friends had come to the cave of the Tribe cats. Although the thought of what was happening in the forest hung over their heads like a swollen rain cloud, they had been unable to move on. Tawnypelt’s shoulder was healing again, thanks to the herbs Stoneteller had given her, but it was still too stiff for her to walk.

  Meanwhile, Stormfur was beginning to think he had gotten the hang of the Tribe cats’ way of hunting. It depended much more on keeping still and silent than on stalking prey, for among the rocks there was not as much cover as in the forest or even by the river where he used to fish.

  His ears pricked as he caught the faint sound of fluttering wings, and he peered down into the shadows. A bird had landed just below him and was pecking at the ground. Bunching his muscles, Stormfur sprang. His claws met feathers, and the bird’s frantic alarm call was cut off as he killed it with one blow of his paw.

  Stormfur stood up, his prey in his jaws, and saw the dim shape of one of the mud-covered cave-guards approaching up the valley. The fresh-kill in his mouth masked the scent, and he did not recognize Crag until the cat spoke.

  “Good catch! You’ll make a great prey-hunter.”

  Stormfur nodded his thanks, but Crag’s words made him slightly anxious; did he really mean “you will make a good prey-hunter,” or had he meant to say “you would”? The cave-guard sometimes seemed to assume that Stormfur intended to stay with the Tribe for good. But there was no opportunity to ask him what he meant; Brook and the rest of the prey-hunters had just appeared, and the whole patrol set off back to the cave, collecting the prey they had caught earlier on their way.

  When they reached the pool, Stormfur set down his load for a brief rest before climbing the rocks and negotiating the ledge behind the waterfall. The sun had set and the peak was outlined against a sky the color of blood. Stormfur shivered, trying not to picture blood being shed back home in the forest. However happy he felt to be hunting with the Tribe, they had to move on as soon as they could.

  Brook padded up beside him, her eyes shining in the evening light. “A good day’s hunting,” she purred. “You have learned our ways well, Stormfur.”

  A warm glow spread through him from ears to tail-tip. Even more than before, he knew how much he would miss her when he had to leave. In these last few days she had become a friend; even her strange accent had begun to sound familiar. He guessed she felt the same; at least, she always asked him to go hunting with her, while the rest of the forest cats, if they hunted at all, went with other groups. Stormfur wondered what Brook really thought of him. Would she miss him when he had to go?

  He opened his jaws and picked up a strong rank scent. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before: a bit like a cat’s, but harsher and tinged with carrion. He felt his neck fur rise with a premonition of danger.

  “What’s that?”

  Brook’s eyes stretched wide with fear, but she did not reply. Already the rest of the hunting patrol were gathering up their prey, hurrying for the safety of the cave. Crag bounded over and almost pushed Stormfur up the rocks. Glancing up, Stormfur thought he spotted a shadowy movement near the top of the waterfall, but he wasn’t sure. Then he had to concentrate on keeping his footing on the slick, wet stones of the ledge, struggling to see around the half-grown falcon in his jaws. No cat tried to explain the reason for the sudden panic, and Stormfur had learned by now that there would be no point in asking.

  In the cave, he carried his prey over to the fresh-kill pile and went to find his friends. Spotting them near their sleeping hollows, he headed toward them, dodging around a couple of to-bes who were training with one of the cave-guards. They were using unfamiliar fighting moves; Stormfur’s pelt itched to join in and learn, and teach the Tribe cats a few RiverClan tricks too. Maybe later, he promised himself.

  The other Clan cats were all gathered around Tawnypelt, who was on her paws, twisting her head to examine her shoulder. Feathertail’s tongue rasped busily over her fur.

  “It’s much better,” she meowed. “There’s no swelling at all, and the wound’s healing cleanly. How does it feel, Tawnypelt?”

  The ShadowClan warrior flexed the injured shoulder, then dropped into the hunter’s crouch and crept a few tail-lengths along the cave floor. “Stoneteller certainly knows his stuff,” she reported. “I don’t know the herbs he used, but they’re just as good as burdock root. The shoulder’s a bit stiff, that’s all,” she added, springing up again. “It’ll be fine if I keep exercising it. I just wish I could get my claws on that rat!”

  “Then it’s time we were leaving,” Brambleclaw mewed. “I’ll have a word with Stoneteller, and we’ll set off first thing tomorrow.”

  “Right!” Crowpaw’s eyes flashed. “And they’d better not try to keep us here.”

  “They won’t.” Feathertail pressed her muzzle against his side. “I’m sure you’re worrying about nothing. The Tribe cats have been nothing but kind to us ever since we got here.”

  “They’ll probably be glad to see the back of us,” Squirrelpaw agreed cheerfully. “They’re bound to be short of prey when leaf-bare comes.”

  “It’s nearly here,” mewed Feathertail. “The rocks were white with frost this morning.”

  “Right.” Squirrelpaw waved her tail. “So they won’t want us sitting here stuffing ourselves.”

  Stormfur could see from the look Brambleclaw gave his Clanmate that he was still worried, but he said nothing. Instead, it was Crowpaw who spoke, noticing for the first time that Stormfur had padded up to join them.

  “There you are!” he exclaimed, his lip curling unpleasantly. “Decided to join us, have you? Getting bored with your new friends in the Tribe?”

  “Don’t,” Feathertail murmured, flicking him with her tail.

  Stung, Stormfur stalked up to the young WindClan apprentice. “If he’s got something to say, let him say it.”

  “Only that you spend all your time with them. Maybe you’d like to stay with them for good. After all, things are going to be pretty tough when we get back to the forest.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Stormfur retorted. Turning his back on Crowpaw, he saw that all the others were looking at him gravely, as if they half agreed with what the WindClan cat had said. “Come on,” Stormfur went on, alarmed. “What have I done? Gone out hunting a couple of times, that’s all. You said yourself, Brambleclaw, that we should catch our own prey while we’re here. What makes you think that I care any less than you about what happens to the forest?”

  “No cat thinks that,” Feathertail mewed soothingly.

  “He does.” Stormfur twitched his ears at Crowpaw. “This isn’t about the dreams, is it? Just because I wasn’t chosen by StarClan…You haven’t had more dreams, have you, and not told me?”

  He unsheathed his claws, hating that they scraped against stone rather than soft riverside earth or a tangle of reeds. Crowpaw he could understand; the apprentice had always been difficult, and he would fight with StarClan themselves. But that the others might think him less than loyal—even his own sister…It was almost as bad as the time when Tigerstar had merged two Clans together, and he and Feathertail had nearly been killed for being half-Clan. Feathertail at least should remember that and understand. Stormfur stifled a flash of guilt as he remembered how comfortable he felt among the Tribe, but he was determined to remain loyal to RiverClan.

  “No, we haven’t had any more dreams,” Brambleclaw replied. “Settle down, Stormfur, and Crowpaw, stop annoying him. We have problems enough without that.”

  “It’s that waterfall,” Tawnypelt meowed unexpectedly. “The noise of it, day and night, is driving me mad. StarClan could be sending us every sign under the sun, but we’d never hear them. I’ll be glad when we’re out in the open again, and well away from this place.”

  There was a soft snarl in Crowpaw’s voice. “We need to go back to the forest, and defend it like warriors should. Stormfur can come or not.”

  “Shut up, mouse-brain,” Squirrelpaw snapped. “Stormfur’s just as loyal as you.”

  Stormfur blinked gratefully at her. “Of course I’m coming with you,” he meowed.

  “Then let’s eat, and get a good night’s sleep,” Brambleclaw growled. “It might be our last chance for a while.”

  Stormfur looked up and flinched, surprised to see that while they had been talking several of the Tribe cats had gathered and were watching them with serious faces.

  Crag stepped forward. “Why do you talk about leaving?” he meowed. “You’ll never make it through the mountains in the season of frozen-water. Stay with us until the sun returns.”

  “We can’t do that!” Squirrelpaw exclaimed. “There’s trouble back home—we told you that when we arrived.”

  “We’re grateful for the offer,” Brambleclaw meowed more diplomatically, brushing his tail across Squirrelpaw’s mouth to silence her. “But we have to go.”

  The Tribe cats glanced at one another, their neck fur starting to bristle. Suddenly they looked threatening. Several of the powerful cave-guards moved to stand between them and the entrance, and two or three of the kit-mothers began anxiously herding their kits toward the nursery tunnel. The meaning was clear; Stormfur knew that if they tried to leave now they would have a fight on their paws.

  Spotting Brook near the back of the group, he thrust past a cave-guard to stand in front of her. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why are you treating us like prisoners?”

  Brook would not meet his eyes. “Please…” she murmured. “Are you so unhappy here that staying is such a terrible thing?”

  “‘Unhappy’ isn’t the point. We’re on a mission; we don’t have any choice.” Stormfur whirled around to question Crag, but the cave-guard avoided his gaze, and he knew that their friendship was being brushed aside out of loyalty to the Tribe, for reasons he could not begin to guess. He had believed that the Tribe cats liked him for himself, and pain at their betrayal tore him like an eagle’s talons.

  “Fox dung to this!” Crowpaw muttered, trying to force his way past the cave-guards.

  Crag raised his paw, and another cave-guard thrust Crowpaw back with a furious hiss. The WindClan apprentice’s bristling fur and lashing tail showed that he was ready to attack both of them at once.

  “Wait,” Feathertail murmured, pushing between Crowpaw and the guards. “Let’s find out what all this means.”

  “It means trouble,” Crowpaw snarled. “No cat is going to stop me from leaving.”

  He shouldered his way past Feathertail and leaped on Crag, bowling the huge cave-guard over. Crag’s hind paws battered his belly, but before the fight could go any further, Brambleclaw fastened his teeth into Crowpaw’s scruff and dragged him off.

  The apprentice spun around to face him, eyes blazing. “Get off me!” he snarled.

  “Then stop being so mouse-brained!” Brambleclaw hissed, just as furious. “These guards could turn you into crowfood. We have to find out what they want.”

  Stormfur hated to admit defeat, but if they fought their way out tonight—even supposing they could—they would have to face a cold night on an unfamiliar mountainside. And looking around at the lean, well-muscled cave-guards, barely out of breath from the tussle with Crowpaw, Stormfur knew they could not hope to survive a fight without injury, and that would make their journey harder than ever. Why didn’t Midnight foresee this? he wondered desperately. Or had she foreseen it, and kept it hidden from them?

  He saw that Stoneteller had emerged from his tunnel. Now perhaps we’ll get some answers, he thought.

  The cave-guards stepped back to allow their leader to come closer to the Clan cats; Brambleclaw padded forward to face him. “I think there must be some misunderstanding,” he began. Stormfur could see his efforts to stay calm. “We have to leave tomorrow, and your Tribe doesn’t seem to want us to go. We’re grateful for your help and shelter, but—”

  He broke off; Stoneteller wasn’t listening. His eyes glimmered like pebbles on a streambed as he gazed around the group of cats. Raising his voice, he meowed, “I have received a sign from the Tribe of Endless Hunting. It is time for a Telling.”

  “A Telling? What’s that?” Squirrelpaw mewed.

  “Maybe it’s like a Gathering,” Stormfur murmured.

  “But there aren’t any other Tribes to meet with.”

  “Then maybe it’s something to do with the Tribe of Endless Hunting.” In spite of his fears that they would not be allowed to leave the cave, Stormfur couldn’t help feeling curious about discovering more of the Tribe’s strange beliefs.

  The cave-guards gathered more closely around the Clan cats and began to herd them toward the tunnel from where Stoneteller had just emerged.

  “Back off!” Tawnypelt snapped at one of them. “Where are you taking us?”

  Stormfur wondered that too. Until now he had assumed that the second tunnel just led to Stoneteller’s private den.

  “To the Cave of Pointed Stones,” Stoneteller replied. “There, many things will be made clear to you.”

  “And what if we don’t want to go?” Without waiting for a reply, Crowpaw launched himself at the nearest cave-guard, a cat almost twice his size. The cave-guard casually swatted him with a huge paw, sending him half stunned to the floor of the cave. Feathertail spat at the guard and lashed out a paw, claws extended.

  Stormfur felt his neck fur stand on end, but before a real fight could break out Brambleclaw hissed, “No! If we’re going to get an explanation, we’ll listen to it. Then we’ll decide what to do. Do you hear me, Crowpaw?”

  The apprentice, scrambling to his paws with his fur torn and his tail fluffed out, glared at him but said nothing.

  “Get a move on,” growled one of the guards.

  Stormfur stumbled, almost losing his balance as the nearest guard butted him toward the tunnel. It took all his self-control to move on quietly. Then he realized that Brook was beside him. There was something like relief in her eyes as she mewed, “Don’t worry. Everything will become clear soon.”

  “I’m not worried.” Stormfur’s voice was cold. He had thought they were friends, and she had betrayed him. “You can’t keep us here forever.”

  He was almost pleased when she winced. “Please…” she whispered. “You don’t understand. It’s for the sake of the Tribe.”

  Stormfur curled his lip and turned away. He padded after Tawnypelt into the passage, with a couple of cave-guards close behind.

  In the darkness he heard Stoneteller’s voice raised in a soft chant. “When the Tribe of Endless Hunting calls, we come to listen.”

  More voices answered him from behind Stormfur, not just the cave-guards but more of the Tribe cats pressing into the tunnel. “In rock and pool, in air and light on water, through fall of prey and cry of kit, through scrape of claw and beat of blood, we hear you.”

  The voices echoed through the shadows. Stormfur saw moonlight filtering in from somewhere ahead, and Tawnypelt’s pricked ears outlined in gray. He stepped out into another cave, and for a moment all his fears and frustrations vanished and he stood with his mouth dropped open in awe.

 

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