Erin Hunter - Starlight

Dustpelt emerged from the bramble thicket with another long tendril dragging behind him, and almost tripped over Birchkit as the kit hurled himself at the trailing end.

“Birchkit! You’re more trouble than a fox in a fit.”

“Don’t scold him,” Ferncloud murmured, following her mate into the open. “It’s great that he feels happy enough to play.”

Dustpelt purred agreement, his eyes shining as the two cats watched their kit growl fiercely at the bramble, gripping it between his teeth and shaking his head from side to side.

As Leafpaw looked on, the hollow place inside her got bigger. She would never feel for another cat what Squirrelflight felt for Brambleclaw, or enjoy the closeness of a mate and kits. She had never doubted her decision to give her life to StarClan and tread a medicine cat’s solitary path—but suddenly she couldn’t help wondering if she was missing something.

Cool grass swept against Brambleclaw’s pelt as he prowled through the undergrowth. He could hear the scuttering of tiny creatures underneath the bushes, and his senses were flooded with the scent of prey.

Before he could make a catch, he emerged into an open space. An almost-full moon hung in the clear sky, outlining every grass stem and leaf with pale silver rays. Just in front of him the ground fell away into a cleft, with rocks jutting from its steep sides.

Brambleclaw stared in astonishment. This was the ravine leading down to the old ThunderClan camp. He lifted his head and sniffed cautiously. There was no harsh tang of Twoleg monsters in the air, no noise louder than the gentle rustle of the wind in the trees. Their home was safe! The destruction of the forest, the fear and hunger, the long journey through the mountains, had been nothing more than a dream.

Brambleclaw pelted down the ravine to the gorse tunnel at the bottom, his heart nearly bursting with happiness. In a few heartbeats he would see all his Clanmates again: Graystripe would never have been captured by Twolegs; all Ferncloud’s kits would still be alive; the elders would be in their den, querulously ordering the apprentices to get rid of their ticks.

Trembling with excitement, Brambleclaw pushed his way through the gorse tunnel into the camp, his jaws parted to let out a yowl of greeting. Then he stopped dead. The clearing was completely empty, except for one cat sitting alone in the middle of the open space.

The cat raised his head and gazed at Brambleclaw with scorching amber eyes.

It was Tigerstar.

Brambleclaw almost choked with shock and disbelief.

Graystripe’s capture, the death of Ferncloud’s kits, the endless journey—all those things were real. This was the dream, and it had suddenly become a nightmare.

Tigerstar kinked his tail and beckoned Brambleclaw to come closer. Brambleclaw stiffened, then padded slowly forward. As he drew closer he saw his father more clearly, his muscular shoulders and broad head, his burning amber eyes.

“Welcome,” Tigerstar rumbled. “I have waited for many moons to speak with you.”

Brambleclaw stopped a couple of tail-lengths away. He had no idea what to say. All he could think was that he was the image of his father—the breadth of his shoulders, the shape of his head, the exact shade of his eyes. He could have been staring at his reflection in a pool.

“I have seen your courage and strength,” Tigerstar went on. “I am proud to call you kin.”

“Th-thank you.” Brambleclaw kneaded his forepaws on the ground. “Why have you come here? Did StarClan send you?”

“I do not hunt with StarClan,” spat Tigerstar. “There is more sky than Silverpelt, and there are hunting grounds that not even StarClan knows of.”

His gaze slid past Brambleclaw. “Welcome,” he meowed. “I hoped you would come. I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

Brambleclaw spun around to see Hawkfrost emerging from the gorse tunnel. He watched in stunned silence as the RiverClan warrior padded across the clearing and sat beside him. The moonlight cast a pair of identical shadows on the hard-baked ground in front of them, and Brambleclaw realized that a half-blind kit would know at once that all three were kin.

He told himself that he ought to feel something stronger than bewilderment and curiosity to find out more about his father and half brother. They came from three different Clans; beyond that, Tigerstar had murdered many cats and betrayed his own Clanmates to satisfy his hunger for power.

Yet Brambleclaw could not shake off the feeling that he had waited a long time for this moment. For all the differences between them, the same blood ran in their veins.

“Are you Tigerstar?” Hawkfrost asked, reminding Brambleclaw that Hawkfrost had arrived in the forest after his father was killed. “Are you my father?”

Tigerstar nodded. “I am. So, how are your new territories?”

“It’s hard being somewhere so different,” Hawkfrost admitted.

“We all miss the forest,” Brambleclaw added.

“Soon the land by the lake will seem like home to you,” Tigerstar promised. “Establish your boundaries and guard them with tooth and claw, because territory is what binds a Clan together.”

“Yes!” Hawkfrost’s eyes gleamed. “RiverClan has set its scent markers already. Yesterday Blackclaw and I drove out a badger that was living in our territory.”

“Good, good.” Tigerstar’s ears pricked, and he raised his head as if he heard a voice calling him. Above the trees, the sky was growing pale with the first light of dawn. “I must go now,” the dark tabby meowed. “Good-bye, Brambleclaw, Hawkfrost. We will meet again as we walk the path of dreams; of that I’m sure.”

He rose to his paws. At that moment a cloud drifted over the face of the moon, plunging the clearing into darkness for a single heartbeat. When it cleared, Tigerstar was gone.

“I must go too.” Hawkfrost touched noses with Brambleclaw and began padding back to the camp entrance.

“No—wait. Don’t go!” Brambleclaw called.

“I have to go; I’m on the dawn patrol. What are you talking about, Brambleclaw?”

Brambleclaw blinked and sat up. Cloudtail was looking at him with a puzzled expression as he groomed scraps of moss out of his pelt. “Is there something wrong?” he asked. “Do you want me to tell Brackenfur I can’t go on the patrol?”

Brambleclaw shook his head, dazed. “No, no, I’m fine.” He lay down again and closed his eyes tightly, as if he could force out the thorn-sharp grief that tore at his belly.

The dream had faded, and he was in the stone hollow again. Tigerstar, Hawkfrost, and the old ThunderClan camp were gone.

Brambleclaw slept dreamlessly for a while, and awoke feeling less confused and wretched. He padded out of the ferns and arched his back in a stretch. The sky was brighter now, outlining the bare branches at the top of the rock wall. A pulse of excitement ran through him as he remembered that tonight the moon would be full, and the Clans would meet for a Gathering.

He glanced around the camp. The clearing looked very different from the first time he had seen it. Many of the brambles had been uprooted to form a barrier blocking the camp entrance. The biggest thicket had been turned into the nursery. The apprentices were using a shallow cave in the rock wall as their den, while the warriors slept under the spreading branches of a thornbush almost as big as the one in the old camp. The elders still hadn’t found a den they could agree on; every night they would try a different spot, and wake up complaining that it was too damp or too drafty.