Erin Hunter - Starlight

Swallowing his last bite of fresh-kill, Thornclaw rose to his paws, but Tornear spoke first.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “This is WindClan territory.”

“What do you mean, WindClan territory?” Thornclaw stared at him in surprise. “The boundaries haven’t been marked yet.”

“We’re marking them now,” Whitetail explained, sounding faintly embarrassed. “Firestar said the stream that runs along the foot of the hill would be the boundary, and this is on WindClan’s side.”

“Firestar also said that was only a suggestion,” Thornclaw reminded the WindClan warriors. He waved his tail around.

“Look. Trees. This is the sort of place where ThunderClan are best at hunting. You need moorland and rabbits, right?”

“There’s not as much moorland here as there was in the old place,” Tornear explained. “We need to extend the territory into these woods, or we won’t be able to support our Clan.”

“Well, you’re not extending it here,” Thornclaw meowed firmly, but the fur along his spine bristled, and Leafpaw guessed he felt very uncomfortable. It was impossible for any cat to forget how close the Clans had been on their journey.

Back in the forest, claws would have been unsheathed by now, but here, there was no instinct to fight over territory they hadn’t finished exploring.

“Do you think StarClan will send a sign to show us where the boundaries should be?” she asked Cinderpelt.

The medicine cat shook her head. “StarClan would never favor one Clan above another, or get involved in disputes.

This is something the Clans have to sort out for themselves.”

The warriors stood around awkwardly for a few more moments. Whitetail spotted the pile of water mint stems.

“Are those for bellyache?” she asked.

“Yes,” Leafpaw replied. “Are some of your cats ill too?”

Whitetail cast a swift glance at Tornear before she replied.

“Yes,” she answered. “Morningflower and Darkfoot.”

“Morningflower?” That was worrying. Leafpaw knew the WindClan queen had always been a friend to ThunderClan.

“What is Barkface doing for her?”

“There’s not much he can do without herbs,” Tornear meowed. “The last I heard, he’d gone looking for juniper. I just hope he doesn’t take too long. Morningflower looked pretty sick to me.”

Leafpaw spun around to face her mentor. “I can take some water mint to WindClan right now,” she mewed. “These cats can show me the way, and Thornclaw can go back to the hollow with you.”

“Of course,” Cinderpelt meowed. “Be as quick as you can.”

All the warriors looked relieved to have something more urgent to think about than the issue of boundaries.

Thornclaw and Cinderpelt set off toward the stone hollow, while Leafpaw went in the other direction with the WindClan cats. They led her to the edge of the trees—just as they had said, the stream curved into the woods here, away from the foot of the hills—and across open moorland. Then they climbed more steeply beside another stream that fell in a series of tiny, bubbling waterfalls. A few stunted thorns grew along the banks, with traces of rabbit scent clinging here and there. So there was prey for WindClan here, Leafpaw thought. Had Tornear been telling the truth when he said it might not be enough?

At last they came to the top of a rise, fringed by bushes, and Leafpaw found herself looking down into the WindClan camp. The sides weren’t as steep as the cliffs around ThunderClan’s hollow, but the smooth, bare slopes gave no cover for attackers.

Leafpaw spotted Onewhisker and Ashfoot talking with a couple of the warriors near a scatter of boulders in the center of the dip.

“I’ll take you straight to Morningflower,” Whitetail meowed.

“And I’ll let Onewhisker know you’re here,” Tornear added, heading down the slope with Owlpaw.

Whitetail led Leafpaw to a knot of gorse bushes at the far side of the hollow. Leafpaw’s pelt pricked under the stares of WindClan warriors as she padded past, but they were curious rather than hostile.

Morningflower lay on a bed of ferns in the shelter of the bushes. Darkfoot was curled up a tail-length away, but Leafpaw couldn’t take her horrified gaze from the old she-cat. Morningflower lay limply stretched out, her breathing harsh and shallow. Her belly was distended, and a sour smell of vomit came from her. Her eyes were closed, and she was still except for the occasional twitch of her flank. To Leafpaw, she looked as if she were barely a pawstep away from joining StarClan.

Setting down the water mint stems, Leafpaw bent her head closer to Morningflower, but before she could do more than set one paw gently on her belly, she was interrupted by a furious snarl.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Fox!

Brambleclaw lifted his head to taste the air more carefully.

The scent clung to the bramble thicket beside him, strongest around a rough-edged tunnel that looked as if it had been made by slender bodies pushing regularly through it.

“It was here not long ago,” he warned Brackenfur. “There might be an earth nearby.”

They were leading a patrol to find landmarks for the boundaries of the new territory, and to put down the first scent markers. Rainwhisker was with them, and Dustpelt had come too, leaving Whitepaw and Spiderpaw dragging thorns into place to block the camp entrance.

“We’ll report it to Firestar,” Brackenfur decided. “We need to be careful until we find out whether it lives here or was just passing through.”

Brambleclaw nodded. His fur tingled with excitement, all his doubts about the hollow forgotten now that it was daylight and the cats could see what a good place it made for a camp. He had been glad when Firestar chose him to patrol the new boundaries; every pawstep made the woods feel more like ThunderClan territory, and he deliberately brushed against brambles and tree trunks as he walked along, to leave a scent trail that was unmistakably theirs.

He let Brackenfur take the lead as they padded on. As they skirted a clump of hazel, Dustpelt stopped to sniff a low-hanging branch. He looked up, and his eyes were so full of concern that the other three went over to examine the scent as well. They looked apprehensively at each other as they scented Twolegs.

“At least it’s stale,” Brackenfur pointed out. “Days old, I’d say.”

“But they come here.” Dustpelt curled his lip. “If I never see another Twoleg, it’ll be too soon.”

Brambleclaw took a deep breath to stop his heart pounding. He felt exactly the same way, but it would be a sign of weakness to show his fear in front of these warriors. This was their home now, and they couldn’t live every day expecting to have it snatched away from them. He let his tail-tip rest briefly on the older warrior’s shoulder. “This is the first scent we’ve picked up since leaving the hollow,” he pointed out.

“And we’re a long way away from a Thunderpath. There won’t be any monsters.”

Dustpelt flicked his ears and padded on without speaking.

The others followed, Brambleclaw keeping to the back, half-afraid the others would see the terror in his eyes as he tried to push away images of the forest crashing down around them.

“Let’s hunt!” Brackenfur suggested.

“Good idea,” Rainwhisker agreed. No cat mentioned that it would be a welcome diversion from thoughts of Twolegs and monsters, but they all concentrated on tracking prey as if they had been starving for a moon.

Brambleclaw slowed down to drink in the mingled scent of squirrel and rabbit and birds. He jumped when he heard an alarm call, and saw that Rainwhisker had brought down a starling. Nodding appreciatively, he headed past the young warrior, farther into the forest, until he spotted a thrush pecking among the gnarled roots of a dead tree. Crouching low enough for his belly fur to brush the fallen leaves, he crept forward until he could pounce on it and dispatch it with a swift blow to the neck.