Erin Hunter - Sunset

“Great catch!” he exclaimed. “You’re getting really good at hunting among trees.”

Brook twitched her tail. “It’s a bit strange, after the mountains,” she confessed. “But I’m starting to get the hang of it.”

In the Tribe of Rushing Water, where Brook had been raised, duties were organized differently: instead of being warriors, cats were either prey-hunters, responsible for gathering fresh-kill—which involved hunting the swift and sharp-clawed birds that swooped above the rocks—or cave-guards, who protected their Tribemates and defended their home behind the waterfall. Brambleclaw knew that Brook was one of the most skillful of all the prey-hunters. She had taught him and Stormfur how to track mice and voles, not as prey, but as a lure for a bigger, winged piece of fresh-kill.

Stormfur padded over to join them. “Good work, Brook,” he meowed. “Remember, you won’t catch much in the forest by keeping still and waiting. There are too many places for prey to hide. You need to stalk it instead. See—over there?”

He twitched his ears toward a spot where a squirrel was scuffling among the roots of a tree. “Watch this.”

Keeping low, so that his belly almost brushed the grass, Stormfur crept up on the squirrel, careful to stay downwind.

But he was a RiverClan cat, more used to snatching fish out of fast-flowing water, and in the mountains he had pursued his prey over bare rock. He had forgotten how much debris lay on the forest floor. A twig snapped under his paws; alerted, the squirrel sat up. Stormfur let out a hiss of frustration and hurled himself forward, but the squirrel was faster.

It scurried nimbly up the tree trunk and sat chittering for a moment on a branch before vanishing into the leaves.

“Mouse dung!” Stormfur exclaimed.

Squirrelflight’s tail curled up in amusement. “So, Brook, think of that as a lesson in how not to do it.”

“Be fair,” Brambleclaw meowed. “Any cat can make a mistake. Stormfur and Brook have already brought back loads of prey.”

“We were glad to help,” mewed Brook.

Brambleclaw froze as he spotted a vole slipping through the curled stems of newly growing fern. He twitched his whiskers. “My turn now.”

Setting each paw down carefully—Squirrelflight would never let him forget it if he snapped a twig—he glided across the grass and killed his prey with a single swipe.

“Well-done!” meowed Stormfur.

I wish life could always be like this , Brambleclaw thought. Warm sunshine, lots of prey, the company of friends—right now, they meant far more to him than dreams of power. But even as the thought crossed his mind he felt once more the irresistible tug of ambition. He would give anything to be Clan deputy, wouldn’t he? And after that, leader, with responsibility for the whole Clan.

What do I really want ? he wondered, and for once he couldn’t answer.

The sun was high above the trees when the hunting patrol returned to camp, laden with prey. As he emerged from the thorn tunnel, Brambleclaw saw that the dawn patrol had just got back as well. Dustpelt, Cloudtail, and Thornclaw were standing in the center of the clearing, with several cats clustered around them: Rainwhisker, Daisy and her kits, Mousefur, and Sandstorm. Firestar was there too, listening to Dustpelt’s report.

Curiosity clawed at Brambleclaw; he deposited his prey on the fresh-kill pile and padded across to listen.

“…a couple more fox traps,” Dustpelt was meowing.

“One on the WindClan border and another near the old Twoleg nest. We sprang them both.” He nodded to Squirrelflight as she bounded up alongside Brambleclaw.

“Your stick idea works well.”

“And we heard a buzzing noise from the lake,” Thornclaw put in.

“Buzzing? Was it bees?” asked Rainwhisker.

Cloudtail’s whiskers twitched. “No, it was much louder than bees. It came from some kind of Twoleg monster. The lake is swarming with them.”

Brambleclaw’s belly churned. Since the Clans first arrived at the lake they had seen very little sign of Twolegs; now it sounded as if their peace was being invaded again. He was still haunted by the way Twolegs had destroyed the old forest.

Could the same thing happen here?

“What were they doing?” he demanded, shouldering his way to the front to stand beside Firestar.

“Hurtling across the lake in some kind of water-monster,” Dustpelt replied. “That’s what made the noise. And other Twolegs were floating in things like upturned leaves, with white pelts that caught the wind.”

“Those are boats,” Daisy mewed. “There’s a boatplace at the far side of the lake from here. Twolegs go there all the time when the weather is warm.”

“What?” Mousefur’s neck fur began to bristle. “Does that mean we’ll have them bothering us all through greenleaf?”

“Probably.” Daisy sounded apologetic. “They like sailing in boats, and swimming in the lake.”

“Twolegs swim for fun?” Sandstorm sniffed. “How mousebrained is that?”

Dustpelt flicked his ears dismissively. “If the boatplace is across the lake, then it’s RiverClan’s and ShadowClan’s problem. With any luck, the Twolegs won’t come this far around the shore.”

Brambleclaw glanced at Squirrelflight, aware that her green gaze was fixed on him. Did she think he was worrying about Hawkfrost again?

“All the patrols had better keep watch,” Firestar meowed.

“And we can discuss this with all the other Clans at the next Gathering. Don’t forget—a problem for ShadowClan and RiverClan can easily become a problem for us, especially if the other Clans decide it should be.”

All day, anxiety had nagged at Leafpool like a thorn snagging her fur. She couldn’t forget how exhausted Brambleclaw had looked when he came to her for cobwebs to put on his wound. Had he been walking in dreams with Tigerstar again?

When her duties were done and she settled down in her den to sleep, she tried to send her dreaming paws along Tigerstar’s dark paths. The shadowy forest, with its pale light that didn’t come from moon or stars, terrified her, but she owed it to her Clan to discover what Brambleclaw was doing there. It wasn’t just for the sake of her sister; this must be part of her duty as a medicine cat.

She opened her eyes to find that tall, leafless trees loomed around her. Whispering shadows flickered between their trunks, and a path lay in front of her, winding between thick clumps of ferns. Her paws falling as lightly as if she were stalking a mouse, she began to follow the path.

She had not gone far before she scented more cats ahead.

Cautiously she slid into the shelter of the ferns and crept forward, her pelt prickling with fear that Tigerstar might discover her spying on him.

Heartbeats later she halted, bewildered. Three cats stood on the path, but they were not Tigerstar and his sons.

Starshine sparkled at their paws and in their fur. One of them turned her head and Leafpool recognized Bluestar, who had been leader of ThunderClan before Firestar. She had died before Leafpool was born, but the medicine cat had met her sometimes in dreams.

“Come out, Leafpool,” she meowed. “We have been waiting for you.”

Leafpool padded out of the ferns to stand in front of the blue-gray she-cat.

“You took your time,” one of the other StarClan cats rasped; it was Yellowfang, a former ThunderClan medicine cat who had been Cinderpelt’s mentor. Her yellow eyes were narrowed in her broad, pale gray face, and she twitched her thick tail with annoyance.