Эрин Хантер - Squirrelflight's Hope

The dark shape dipped beneath the heather. Another darted after it. “Is that a WindClan patrol?” Squirrelflight wondered.

Bumblestripe followed her gaze. “I think so.”

“They’re heading away.” Plumstone narrowed her eyes.

Squirrelflight shifted her paws. “We’d better check the border to make sure it hasn’t been crossed.”

Eaglewing padded forward and sniffed the edge of the stream. Plumstone headed along the bank.

Squirrelflight flicked her tail toward the stretch of prickly gorse beyond. “The border’s been moved,” she reminded them.

“Yeah, but the stream is where the forest ends.” Eaglewing blinked at her.

“We have to get used to our new borders, too.” Squirrelflight glanced at the ginger she-cat, surprised that a young warrior should already be so rooted in Clan traditions. Did her sister, Plumstone, feel the same way? “Have you ever marked the new border?”

“Thornclaw said there was no point,” Plumstone told her. “He says ThunderClan cats don’t hunt on moorland. We hunt in the forest.”

Squirrelflight widened her eyes, surprised. A strong Clan should adapt to change, not ignore it. Bramblestar would have to speak to his senior warriors. Has the peace only held because the Clans haven’t been trying to enforce our new borders? She padded downstream to where stones jutted out of the water, and hopped onto the first one. “ThunderClan cats hunt on ThunderClan land,” she called back to her Clanmates. “From now on we mark all our borders.” She scrambled onto the next stone, uncurling her claws as her pads slipped on the wet rock. Then she leaped onto the far shore. The air tasted peaty here and stringent with gorse scents. She was surprised that it could be so different only a few paces from the tree line. But the moor wind was brisk, always carrying fresh smells. In the calm of the forest, scents hung longer in the air.

Behind her, Eaglewing and Bumblestripe looked distrustfully at the crossing stones.

“Are you coming?” Squirrelflight whisked her tail impatiently.

Plumstone brushed past her sister and leaped onto the first stone. “Come on!” She pricked her ears. “We’ve never been on WindClan land before.”

“It’s ThunderClan territory now,” Squirrelflight corrected her. The stretch of moorland had clearly been left unhunted. The grass was untrampled, and no prey-scent sweetened the air. And yet ThunderClan hadn’t gone hungry since the border changes. It had been a good greenleaf. Prey had been plentiful. But when leaf-bare drove prey underground, they’d need this precious hunting territory. They had, after all, given a good swath of their forest to SkyClan.

Plumstone hopped onto the bank and stopped beside Squirrelflight. “It smells like WindClan here.”

Squirrelflight sniffed again as Bumblestripe and Eaglewing crossed the stream. There was a hint of WindClan, but the scent wasn’t fresh. “It’s probably the wind carrying the smell down from the high moor,” she told Plumstone.

Plumstone sniffed the grass. “ Everything smells like WindClan here.”

Bumblestripe reached them. “It was their land for a long time,” he commented, looking warily toward the moor. “I guess it’ll take a while for ThunderClan scent to take hold.”

Squirrelflight headed toward the line of gorse that marked the border. “It’ll take hold quicker if we leave scent marks.” She grazed her cheek along a branch, wincing as the prickles snagged her fur. Bumblestripe padded stiffly along the border, leaving marks as he went, while Eaglewing and Plumstone plucked at the grass, rubbing their scent into the earth.

“I can’t smell any WindClan scent markers.” Eaglewing looked puzzled. “They haven’t marked the new border.”

“Perhaps they’ve been busy. Remember, Whitetail died recently, and they would have had her vigil. Wait till the weather starts to turn,” Squirrelflight warned her. “They’ll be more careful about borders when prey is scarce.”

Bumblestripe jerked his muzzle toward the forest. His ears pricked with excitement. Eaglewing stiffened as she followed his gaze.

“Rabbit!” Plumstone darted toward the stream as a fat buck bounded from the forest.

Bumblestripe and Eaglewing pelted after her. They scrambled over the crossing stones that spanned the stream and raced into the trees toward their quarry. The rabbit squealed in panic as it saw them and fled for cover. But Bumblestripe was fast. With one leap, he crossed the stretch between hunters and prey and pinned the rabbit to the ground. He killed it with a bite before Eaglewing and Plumstone reached him.

Squirrelflight watched them as they took turns sniffing the juicy fresh-kill, their pelts fluffed with excitement. Her Clanmates were clearly happier hunting in the forest. She rubbed her cheek on another branch and padded back to the stream. Bramblestar would have to remind his warriors to keep the markers on this border fresh. If they didn’t make this land their own, there might come a day when the WindClan scent markers on this stretch of land wouldn’t be stale anymore.

“It won’t feel like a real Gathering.” Squirrelflight glanced at the night sky as she padded beside Bramblestar. “There’s no full moon.”

“It’s not a real Gathering,” Bramblestar reminded her. “Just a meeting of the leaders and deputies.”

Beside them, the lake lapped sluggishly over the shore. Beneath Squirrelflight’s paws, the pebbles were still warm from the day’s heat. She looked anxiously toward the island. Silhouettes moved across the tree-bridge. She couldn’t make out who they were. She tasted the air but smelled only moorland scents and remembered her patrol with Bumblestripe, Plumstone, and Eaglewing. Did Harestar want to challenge the markers they’d left? Surely he couldn’t complain. It was ThunderClan land now. “Why did Harestar call the meeting?”

“Emberfoot didn’t say.” The WindClan warrior had visited the ThunderClan camp while she’d been resting after her patrol. “He just brought the message. Harestar wants to talk.” Bramblestar moved closer, letting his flank brush hers. “The moon may not be full, but it’s very bright tonight.” He glanced at her affectionately. “It’s nice to be alone.”

She leaned against him. “I can’t remember the last time it was just us.”

“Do you remember when this territory still felt new?”

She did. “You’d just been made deputy.”

“We used to sneak out and explore after the camp had gone to sleep.”

Squirrelflight purred. “You were terrible at sneaking. I don’t know why we were never caught.”

“Probably because I was deputy,” Bramblestar whispered.

“More likely because our denmates were kind and pretended not to hear us. Even Dustpelt , and he was always a stickler about young warriors getting enough sleep.” Happiness warmed her pelt as she remembered her old mentor. It seemed countless moons since she’d been his apprentice. How young she’d been without realizing it. Recalling suddenly how she and Leafpool had planned great futures for themselves, she glanced self-consciously at her paws. I guess we haven’t done so badly. She didn’t feel old yet, but it had been a long time since she’d felt the rush of excitement she used to feel in her first moons as a warrior, whenever she was picked to go on patrol or attend a Gathering. She pressed closer to Bramblestar. “Do you miss being young?”

He shrugged. “I miss being irresponsible. Back then, the only thing we had to worry about was our next hunt. That was before we became leader and deputy, and before we had kits to look after.”

Squirrelflight felt a pang of longing. Sparkpelt and Alderheart were grown, and she’d never had a chance to know their littermates, Juniperkit and Dandelionkit, who had died. She’d been hoping to have a new litter by now—tiny kits to nurture and love. But they’d had no luck. “Having kits didn’t make me feel old. I liked the responsibility. It’ll be good to feel that way again.” She glanced hopefully at Bramblestar. When he didn’t comment, she prompted him. “Don’t you think?”