Erin Hunter - Dawn

“Are you sure we wouldn’t destroy the Clan?” he growled.

“W-what do you mean?”

“Of course we wouldn’t!” Squirrelpaw rounded on Brambleclaw in anger and confusion.

“Not on purpose,” Brambleclaw meowed. “But it’s us, isn’t it—fire and tiger—who want to lead the Clan away from its home and on a long, dangerous journey when we don’t even know where we’re meant to be going?”

A cold shiver rippled down Leafpaw’s spine. Cinderpelt’s prophecy suddenly seemed more frightening than it ever had before. If the Clan left the forest, following Squirrelpaw and Brambleclaw, what terrible fate awaited them?

When the three cats returned to Sunningrocks, the leaf-bare sun was already low in the sky. Each cat carried a piece of fresh-kill: Leafpaw had caught a mouse; Brambleclaw held a starling in his jaws; while Squirrelpaw carried a plump thrush.

Leafpaw longed to go to sleep and forget Brambleclaw’s worrying warning. But she was a medicine cat, and she could not rest until she knew the Clan was all right. As she followed her sister up the slope, she wondered if Cody had managed to persuade Ferncloud to eat the poppy seed.

Brackenfur met them. “The fresh-kill pile is over there.”

He gestured with his tail to a meager heap farther up the rock. Ashfur sat guard beside it, scanning the sky for birds of prey. The days were gone when the fresh-kill pile lay at the edge of the camp, well stocked and unguarded.

As Leafpaw dropped her offering onto the pile she was shocked by how small it was. There would not be enough for a whole piece of prey each. Tonight she would go without, she decided. She felt too tired to eat anyway.

She padded toward Cinderpelt and Mousefur, who were lying underneath a shallow overhang. The medicine cat looked exhausted, as much in need of her healing herbs as any of her Clanmates.

“How’s Ferncloud?” Leafpaw asked.

Cinderpelt looked up. “She’s resting now. Cody’s taking good care of her.”

“Not bad for a kittypet, that one,” Mousefur added with a twitch of her tail. “She looked so nervous when she arrived I didn’t think she’d settle in. But it looks like she’ll be okay here—for a while, anyway.”

Leafpaw blinked gratefully at the dusky brown cat, then turned to Cinderpelt again. There was something she had to ask, even though she dreaded hearing the answer. “Will Ferncloud lose her other kit?”

“Birchkit is strong enough for now,” Cinderpelt reassured her. “And with only one mouth to feed, Ferncloud should be able to give him more milk.”

“He won’t last the winter if we stay here, though,” Mousefur commented. Her eyes betrayed alarm as she saw Dustpelt padding toward her. “I hope he didn’t hear that,” she whispered. “He’s mourned enough today.”

“I did hear, Mousefur,” Dustpelt meowed wearily. “And I agree. We must leave the forest.”

Leafpaw stared at him in shock. Hollykit’s death seemed to have crushed the last morsel of strength in him.

Duspelt raised his voice so that his deep meow rang around the rock. All the other cats stared at him in astonishment.

“We must leave the forest as soon as we can!” he insisted, his eyes blazing. He swung his head around to look at Brambleclaw. “Your message from StarClan is the only sign of hope we’ve had,” he meowed.

Mousefur stood up. “Before we can leave, we’ll need a new deputy.”

As she spoke, Firestar appeared from the edge of the forest, carrying a scrawny blackbird. He had clearly heard her words. His eyes glittered as he dropped the blackbird onto the fresh-kill pile and strode up the slope. “ThunderClan has a deputy. When Graystripe returns, he won’t find another cat in his place.” He turned to face Dustpelt. “I’m glad you agree we must leave,” he meowed. “But we cannot leave yet, not without the other Clans.”

“I have only one kit left,” Dustpelt meowed. “He will die if we stay. We will probably all die.”

“Then we must try harder to persuade the other Clans to leave,” Firestar growled.

“The other Clans can come when they are ready,” Dustpelt retorted. “We are ready now.”

Firestar returned the warrior’s gaze. “We cannot leave yet,” he repeated.

“Ferncloud still needs to rest,” Cinderpelt put in quietly.

Firestar acknowledged her support with a brief nod.

Brambleclaw faced Dustpelt. “I know you are mourning two kits,” he mewed. “And that you fear for the other. But Firestar is right. StarClan would not want us to leave without the other Clans.” He turned to the other cats. “StarClan chose a cat from each Clan to carry Midnight’s message back. We had to work together to survive, without ever thinking of the differences between our Clans. StarClan wanted us to share the journey, to learn how to help one another. They must want us to travel together now.”

Firestar padded across the rock to stand beside the young warrior. “We need to send out more hunting patrols,” he meowed. “We are under no threat from the other Clans now.

RiverClan have more food than we do. They have no need to attack.” He stared around at the gaunt, hungry cats. “We can devote all our patrols to hunting from now on. We will find enough food in the forest until it is time to leave. Yes, Dustpelt, we will leave. I will visit RiverClan and ShadowClan and try to persuade them once more.”

Relief washed over Leafpaw as the cats began to nod their acceptance. Then her heart lurched again as Mousefur stepped forward.

“But what about Graystripe?” When Firestar flinched, she went on: “Whether he’s coming back or not, we need to find another deputy for as long as he’s not here, someone to carry out his duties.”

“Yes,” Dustpelt agreed. “You haven’t named anyone yet.”

He glanced at Brambleclaw. “You should choose someone young. Some cat StarClan clearly approves of.”

Leafpaw looked around. Ashfur, Whitepaw, Frostfur, and Cloudtail were staring at Brambleclaw. Even Thornclaw seemed to be watching the young cat, as though he might be the one to fill Graystripe’s pawprints. Only Mousefur and Rainwhisker were looking elsewhere.

“Brackenfur has enough experience,” Mousefur suggested.

“He is young and strong and has earned his warrior name many times over.”

Rainwhisker nodded. “Brackenfur would be a good deputy.”

“Why are you talking like this? Graystripe is not dead!”

Firestar spat. “He is still our deputy.” The bristling fur along his spine warned the other cats not to argue. He shook himself and blinked, calming down. “But you are right. Someone must carry out Graystripe’s duties. So until he returns, the senior warriors shall share them.” He glanced at Brackenfur.

“You shall organize the new hunting patrols. Sandstorm can organize work within the camp. Brambleclaw, you can help me try to convince ShadowClan and RiverClan that we must leave the forest together.” He stalked toward the overhang, and as he passed Leafpaw he called to her, “I want to speak to you,” he meowed. “Alone.”

Leafpaw followed him uneasily to the hollow. She glanced down at Cody, who was still in the makeshift nursery. The kittypet was busy washing Birchkit, ignoring the tiny kit’s mews of complaint. Ferncloud lay sleeping beside them. Feeling relieved that the cat who needed it most was resting, Leafpaw ducked beneath the overhang into the shadowy cavern.

Firestar looked urgently into her eyes. “Leafpaw,” he meowed. “You must tell me if you have had any sign from StarClan.”

“No, nothing,” she answered, surprised by his intensity.

“What about Cinderpelt?”

“She has heard nothing either.” Firestar blinked. “I was hoping they might have spoken to you.”