Эрин Хантер - Dark River

“Hollypaw!” Brackenfur was calling her from the clearing.

Feeling slightly relieved, she hurried out of the medicine den. A small patch of blue had opened in the clouds above the hollow.

“We may as well do some training in the forest while the rain holds off,” Brackenfur meowed. “Cloudtail’s taking Cinderpaw out to explore and I thought we could join them.

Get to know the territory a bit better.”

Cinderpaw came bouncing toward them, followed by Cloudtail and Birchfall.

“Firestar wants us to check out the old fox den,” Birchfall called. “Make sure those fox cubs haven’t returned.”

Hollypaw shivered. She still remembered the awful day when she and Jaypaw and Lionpaw had set out to chase the fox cubs from the den and had ended up being chased themselves. In his terror, Jaypaw had fallen over the side of the hollow and nearly died.

“Don’t worry, Hollypaw,” Cinderpaw whispered. “I’ll watch your tail.”

Hollypaw brushed gratefully against her friend as they padded out of the camp after the three warriors. “And I’ll watch yours.”

As they neared the narrow glade that sloped down to the den, Hollypaw sniffed the air. Her paws tingled. Fox!

“Young, female, but it’s stale,” Cinderpaw interpreted, nose twitching.

“How can you be sure?” Hollypaw asked in surprise. As far as she knew, Cinderpaw had never met a fox, and couldn’t know their scent well enough to distinguish all that.

Cinderpaw shrugged. “I just know,” she mewed.

“She’s right about it being stale,” Cloudtail meowed.

“There’s been no fox here since leaf-fall.”

Hollypaw glanced at her friend. Cinderpaw sometimes said or did things that suggested she knew more than she let on. But holding back secrets was not like Cinderpaw. The gray apprentice was usually three paw steps ahead of herself and would rather leap in, whiskers first, than stop and think.

Perhaps she had been here before and just forgotten.

Cloudtail was obviously wondering the same. “Have you been here with another patrol?”

Cinderpaw shook her head. “This is definitely the first time,” she mewed.

Cloudtail and Brackenfur exchanged glances, and Hollypaw guessed that they were as puzzled as she was.

An owl screeched far above the hollow, and Hollypaw rolled over in her nest, half-woken by the noise. She stretched her forepaws, feeling for the reassuring warmth of Lionpaw, and found emptiness.

She blinked open her eyes.

“Lionpaw?” she hissed under her breath.

No reply.

She reached farther into his nest, wondering if he had rolled to the far side but no, he was definitely gone.

“Are you looking for Lionpaw?” Poppypaw yawned from the other side of his nest. “He left the den a while ago.”

Hollypaw sat up, her heart racing. Lionpaw had gone missing once too often.

“Is something wrong?” Poppypaw’s eyes gleamed in the darkness.

“N-no.” Hollypaw didn’t want to arouse the suspicions of the other apprentices.

“Has Lionpaw gone to make dirt again ?” Cinderpaw’s mew sounded behind her. “It must be that stale old thrush he ate.”

Hollypaw felt a wave of gratitude toward her friend. She was clearly covering for Lionpaw, stopping Poppypaw from answering any more awkward questions. The thrush had been perfectly healthy, caught fresh that day.

“I’ll go and check if he’s okay,” Hollypaw mewed.

She crept from the den and hurried as silently as she could around the edge of the slumbering camp, keeping to the shadows. Lionpaw’s scent led to the entrance, following the same furtive route. Let me find him making dirt, Hollypaw prayed.

Paw steps sounded behind her.

Hollypaw froze and glanced over her shoulder.

“It’s just me.” Cinderpaw’s mew sounded from the darkness, and the gray tabby stepped out of the shadows. “I thought you might want company.”

“Thanks.” If Lionpaw was really making dirt, there was no harm in Cinderpaw’s knowing, but if he wasn’t and, as Hollypaw feared, he was out in the forest, she would be pleased to have a friend with her.

One after the other, they squeezed through the small tunnel to the dirtplace.

“He’s not here,” Cinderpaw whispered.

Hollypaw sighed, her heart heavy. “No.”

“What do you think he’s up to?”

Hollypaw didn’t dare reply. She could guess why he might have left the camp under cover of night, but she didn’t want to believe it.

“His trail leads this way,” Cinderpaw announced, pointing with her nose up the lakeward slope.

Hollypaw’s belly tightened. The trail led up over the ridge and then around onto the moorland: WindClan territory. Perhaps he’s just exploring . Hope stirred in her chest, but beneath it, like a rock, lay the dark suspicion that he was meeting Heatherpaw.

“We’re going to follow him, aren’t we?” Cinderpaw was staring at Hollypaw, her eyes clouded with worry. Had she guessed, too? Surely not. How could she know?

“Perhaps it’s none of our business,” Hollypaw suggested feebly.

“Of course it’s our business! Our denmate is out there alone. What if something happened to him?”

“Is that the only reason you want to follow him—because he might be in danger?”

“No.” Cinderpaw sat down. “I think he may be doing something he will live to regret.”

Hollypaw was taken aback by her friend’s serious tone.

“Do you know something I don’t?” she asked.

Cinderpaw shook her head. “It’s just a feeling I have. I can’t explain it. A feeling that Lionpaw is making a mistake that’s been made before, that should never be made, that only leads to trouble…” Her mew died away but her eyes were shining with emotion.

“Okay.” Hollypaw could not ignore the strength of her friend’s feeling. Nor could she ignore her own. All her instincts told her that Lionpaw was breaking the warrior code, and it was her duty as a Clan cat to stop him. She charged up the slope, sniffing the twigs and brambles for Lionpaw’s scent, following the path he had taken to the top of the ridge. Cinderpaw bounded after her and they quickly reached the edge of the trees. The ground sloped away in front of them, down to the shore where the lake sparkled in the moonlight. Hollypaw scanned the distant moorland, half hoping to see Lionpaw, half hoping she wouldn’t. If Lionpaw was roaming around at night, she wanted it to be on ThunderClan territory.

There was no sign of movement in the shadowy heather.

Hollypaw plunged down the slope, following an old rabbit track through the coarsening grass. Underpaw the ground grew more peaty as they neared the WindClan border.

Heather bushes sprouted on either side of the track as the slope flattened and the sound of water lapping the shore grew louder.

“Did you hear that?” Cinderpaw’s hiss startled Hollypaw.

She pricked her ears. A small hollow, ringed by heather, lay in shadow ahead of them. From it came the sound of voices.

Hollypaw’s tail bristled as she recognized Lionpaw’s mew. He sounded happy; happier than she had heard him in days. She crept forward, keeping low, and ducked into the swath of heather that shielded the hollow. Setting the bushes rustling, she wriggled between the bare stems and peered over the top of the slope.

Her brother was charging after a ball of moss like an excited kit. He dived at it as it landed and, with a tremendous swipe, sent it flying back in the other direction. A lithe shape leaped up from the grass to catch it. Its tabby pelt glowed in the moonlight. Hollypaw’s heart sank like a rock.

Heatherpaw!

“You don’t seem surprised.” Cinderpaw had slid in beside her and was peering down into the grassy dip.