Эрин Хантер - Path Of A Warrior

“I still think it would make more sense if Shadowkit were having a vision about something important to ShadowClan , though,” Cloverfoot mewed. “Where is there a waterfall?”

“Where the Tribe of Rushing Water lives!” Tawnypelt spat, irritated. Why were they all ignoring the clear answer?

“Calm down, all of you,” Tigerstar meowed in a level voice. “We have to think about this carefully, and not make any decisions in a rush.”

Tawnypelt growled softly. There was only one possible meaning in Shadowkit’s vision—why was every cat debating it?

“Was there something you wanted to say, Tawnypelt?” Tigerstar looked at her, sounding annoyed.

“Yes!” Tawnypelt replied. “It’s clear that Shadowkit is dreaming of the Tribe. Why won’t any cat in this Clan listen to me? I’m the deputy, and I’ve been part of ShadowClan longer than almost any of you!”

Scorchfur huffed, a small, sarcastic sound.

“What?” Tawnypelt asked, whirling to face him.

“You were more loyal to Rowanclaw than to ShadowClan,” Scorchfur said, just as fiercely. “Always. You stuck by his decisions when the Clan was torn between him and Darktail. Everything fell apart then, and you didn’t raise a paw to stop it. Maybe that’s why some of the cats here don’t want to listen to you. The ShadowClan you tried to hold on to didn’t work! We need to forget it !”

Tawnypelt gasped, feeling as breathless as if Scorchfur had just kicked her in the stomach. “I—I did everything I could for ShadowClan,” she gasped. “And so did Rowanclaw.”

All around the clearing, cats leaped to their feet, hissing and growling.

“It was the Clan who turned on Rowanclaw, not the other way around,” Oakfur, one of the elders, hissed at Scorchfur.

“We lost ShadowClan because Rowanclaw wasn’t strong enough to stand up to the rogues,” Strikestone snarled. “Things have to be different now if we’re going to survive.”

Cats were glaring into each other’s faces, less than a whisker’s length apart, looking as if they were only a heartbeat from attacking one another. The younger apprentices and the outsider cats who Tigerstar had brought with him from his journey were hanging back, wide-eyed, clearly unsure what to do about their suddenly hostile Clanmates.

“Quiet!” Tigerstar yowled, his voice rising above the chaos. Silence fell over the clearing.

Tigerstar looked around. “This is unacceptable,” he meowed coldly. “I am the leader of this Clan, and I’ve chosen Tawnypelt as my deputy. She will be respected.” His eyes traveled from one cat to another, and many dropped their gazes, their faces sullen.

Tawnypelt felt cold inside. So many of the cats resented her, resented Rowanclaw. She didn’t want to think about what Scorchfur had said: that the old ShadowClan, her ShadowClan, should be forgotten.

Rowanclaw, Dawnpelt, Flametail—all the lost cats of ShadowClan, forgotten.

Maybe I don’t belong in ShadowClan anymore.

“I’ll let you talk this over,” she murmured to Dovewing. “Just … I’ll be in the forest.”

The pale leaf-bare sun had begun to drop low in the sky by the time Puddleshine returned, leading Leafpool into the clearing. Tawnypelt watched from above, high in the branches of a pine tree overlooking the camp, as Dovewing, followed by Tigerstar, hurried forward to greet the ThunderClan medicine cat, relief clear on her face.

She looks happier, just from seeing Leafpool, Tawnypelt thought, scrambling down the rough-barked trunk as the four cats disappeared into the medicine-cat den. She remembered how hard it had been at first, leaving ThunderClan—including her littermate, Brambleclaw, who she’d missed desperately—and trying to find her place in the Clan she’d chosen. With a flick of her ears, Tawnypelt shook the thought away as she leaped lightly to the ground.

She waited patiently until the two medicine cats emerged from the den, Dovewing and Tigerstar close behind them.

“What do you think?” she asked, stepping forward and nodding a polite greeting to Leafpool.

The brown tabby medicine cat looked troubled. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said. “I believe you all when you say the kit has a connection to StarClan. But why would it make him shake and flail and lose consciousness?”

Puddleshine nodded in agreement, looking helplessly at Tigerstar and Dovewing. “I can’t find anything wrong with him. He doesn’t have a fever; he’s not sick to his stomach; nothing is swollen or broken.”

“So either he’s sick with something we’ve never seen before, or he’s being sent a message from StarClan that’s so strong it’s sending him into fits,” Leafpool suggested. “If that’s the answer, what does the vision mean?”

“Did Shadowkit describe his vision to you?” Tawnypelt asked. “The tree, and the river, and the waterfall?”

“He did,” Leafpool agreed. “But I’m not sure what it means.”

“How much do you remember of where the Tribe of Rushing Water lives?” Tawnypelt asked, watching Leafpool carefully. Leafpool had seen the Tribe’s home when the Clans had traveled from the forest to the lake, before Tigerstar or Dovewing had been born. She hadn’t spent as long there as either Tawnypelt or Dovewing had, but she must remember.

Understanding dawned in Leafpool’s eyes. “It could be,” she agreed. “There’s the cave behind the waterfall there, and plenty of cats with a connection to the Clans. But there’s no way to be sure.”

A shock of excitement ran through Tawnypelt. “Unless we go there.”

“No,” Tigerstar meowed immediately, his face stern. “Dovewing, our kits, and I just got here after a long journey. We’re not going anywhere. Especially not Shadowkit.”

“But Shadowkit’s vision must be telling him to go there,” Tawnypelt argued. Dovewing was looking thoughtful, and Tawnypelt turned to her. “The journey would be worth it if it helped him, wouldn’t it?”

Tigerstar hissed, his ears flattening. “He’s my kit, and he’s staying here.”

Tawnypelt stared at Dovewing, wondering how she would react. Tigerstar glanced at her, too, seeming a little surprised by the force of his own words. For her own part, Dovewing looked thoughtful, her green eyes dark until she raised her head and spoke. “I think Tawnypelt is right,” she said.

Tawnypelt blinked, pleased at the unexpected support.

Tigerstar’s eyes widened. “What?” he spluttered. “Shadowkit is too young to travel. He survived a hard trip here, and now you want to drag him away to some strange cats?” His fur seemed to bush out at the thought. “No, we should let Puddleshine take care of him.”

“He doesn’t know how !” Dovewing insisted. “Leafpool doesn’t, either! If we follow his vision, maybe it will help.”

“Or maybe he’ll be sick in the same way, but far from home, in the mountains, in leaf-bare,” Tigerstar retorted fiercely. “What do you expect, for this Tribe to look after him?”

“The Tribe is friendly,” Dovewing mewed. “I’ve been there. Tawnypelt and Leafpool have been there. They’d do whatever they could for Shadowkit, and maybe they’ll know something that can help him.”

“They were friendly then ,” Tigerstar pointed out. “If anyone knows how Clans can change, it’s us.”

“However they changed, the Tribe would never hurt a kit,” Tawnypelt mewed firmly. “If Shadowkit’s vision isn’t pointing us toward them, and if they can’t help him, we will just bring him home.”

Tawnypelt looked at Tigerstar pleadingly. Dovewing’s fur brushed against hers, and, for the first time, she felt united with her son’s mate. She was sure that traveling to the Tribe of Rushing Water would be the best thing for Shadowkit, and she knew that Dovewing agreed.