Эрин Хантер - Moonrise

Shuddering, Leafpaw curled deeper into the moss, trying to find comfort in its warmth while the last wisps of her dream hung in her mind like mist. She had been standing near the Thunderpath, watching the Twoleg monsters as they roared through the forest, crushing cats under their huge black paws. Blood had run like a river across the forest floor.

Spottedleaf had stood beside her, and Leafpaw had turned to her with a desperate plea. “Save them! Please! Why don’t you save them?”

Spottedleaf’s eyes had rested sadly on Leafpaw’s dying friends. “There is nothing more StarClan can do to help,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Then she had faded away, and Leafpaw had woken up.

She rose to her paws, staggering, and padded across to Cinderpelt’s den. The medicine cat was not there; Leafpaw could see an empty heap of bedding at the back of the cleft and wondered if some emergency had called her away, and whether there was yet another disaster they would have to face. A whimper rose at the back of her throat, and she firmly closed her jaws on it. Whatever fate was coming, even if their warrior ancestors were helpless, she would go on helping her Clan while she had the strength.

A rustle behind her made her turn to see Cinderpelt brushing her way through the fern tunnel. The medicine cat’s tail was drooping, though she tried to brighten up when she saw Leafpaw.

“What’s happened?” Leafpaw asked, bracing herself.

“I’ve been to see Frostfur,” the medicine cat replied.

“Don’t look like that; she isn’t dead. In fact she’s a little better. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t got greencough.”

“That’s good.” Leafpaw tried to sound pleased, but she couldn’t help adding, “It’s hunger, not greencough, that will be our real enemy this leaf-bare.”

Cinderpelt nodded. “True. And if more cats disappear, there won’t be enough warriors to provide food for the kits and elders, even if they could find prey.” She let out a discouraged sigh.

“Shall I try to catch something for Frostfur?” Leafpaw offered. “I could join a hunting patrol, unless you want more herbs.”

“No, we’re pretty well stocked now. That’s a good idea, Leafpaw—though I’m not sure you’ll find much out there.”

Leafpaw didn’t argue. She padded through the ferns into the main clearing, and for a moment she felt as if she had stepped into the camp as it used to be. Sandstorm and Rainwhisker had just appeared at the mouth of the gorse tunnel, both with fresh-kill in their jaws. Spiderpaw and Shrewpaw were lying in a patch of sunlight outside the apprentices’ den, while Dustpelt and Ferncloud shared tongues at the entrance to the nursery.

Firestar and Brackenfur were talking together at the base of the Highrock.

Then Leafpaw realized what she was really seeing. Her father and Brackenfur both looked worried. The two apprentices lay still, instead of scuffling playfully as they used to.

The fresh-kill pile where her mother and Rainwhisker dropped their prey was pitifully small. As Leafpaw padded past the nursery, she watched Dustpelt push a mouse toward Ferncloud. The she-cat’s appearance horrified Leafpaw; she was little more than a skeleton, every bone visible under her dull fur.

“You must eat,” Dustpelt meowed. “Hollykit and Birchkit still need you.”

The reek of monsters hung over the clearing, and their roar sounded even louder to Leafpaw. Her eyes filled with a vision of them breaking through the wall of thorns that surrounded the camp, the sun glittering on their bright pelts as they crushed the terrified Clan. She blinked, forcing the images away. She could not stop the Twolegs from doing what they wanted, but she could do something small to help her starving Clan.

As she headed toward Firestar and Brackenfur, she remembered her encounter with Hawkfrost the day before.

So far she had not told any cat about his plans to take over ThunderClan’s territory, and she had asked Sorreltail not to say anything either. She hardly knew how to load more trouble onto Firestar’s shoulders, when he had so much to bear already. How could she tell him that his greatest enemy, Tigerstar, lived on in Tigerstar’s son Hawkfrost, in a Clan not weakened by hunger or ravaged by Twolegs? She knew she had to find the words, but she wanted more time to think.

Drawing closer to her father, she heard him meow to Brackenfur, “You could try a hunting patrol near Twolegplace.

That’s about as far as you can get from the monsters.”

The anguished cry of a cat in pain interrupted him.

Leafpaw spun around to see Graystripe and Mousefur stumbling out of the gorse tunnel. Graystripe looked anxious, and Mousefur was limping along on only three legs, one of her forelimbs hanging useless. Her brown fur was sticking up as if she had been in a fight, though Leafpaw could not see or scent any blood.

Firestar bounded across to her, and Leafpaw followed.

“What happened?” Firestar demanded. “Who did this?”

Mousefur was in too much pain to answer. Her teeth were gritted, and she let out a wordless moan of agony.

“Twolegs,” Graystripe spat, terror stark in his eyes. “We went too close to the monsters, and a Twoleg grabbed her.”

Firestar stared in astonishment.

“Come and see Cinderpelt,” Leafpaw meowed before her father could delay them by asking more questions.

She padded close to the injured she-cat on the way to Cinderpelt’s den. Mousefur’s eyes were glazed with pain; though she struggled along bravely, the effort of making it back to camp had obviously exhausted her. Leafpaw tried to help by letting her lean on her shoulder.

Behind them, Graystripe walked beside Firestar. “The Twolegs usually stay inside their monsters,” he meowed.

“But today they were swarming all over the place—StarClan knows why. One of them yowled at Mousefur and she ran, straight into the paws of another one.”

“This is mouse-brained.” Firestar sounded utterly confused. “The Twolegs have always ignored us.”

“Not anymore,” Graystripe mewed grimly.

“At least I gave him a few scratches to remember me by,” Mousefur gasped.

Leafpaw raced ahead to alert Cinderpelt, who was sitting at the mouth of her den with her eyes raised to the sky as if she were trying to read some message from StarClan in the movement of the clouds.

“It’s Mousefur—she’s hurt!” Leafpaw gasped.

Cinderpelt leaped to her paws. “Oh, great StarClan!” she exclaimed. “What next?” She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could barely brace herself to carry on, but her voice was as calm as ever when she meowed, “Come and lie down here, and I’ll take a look.”

Mousefur lay down in front of the den, and Cinderpelt ran her nose along the injured leg, sniffing carefully at the shoulder. “It’s dislocated,” she meowed at last. “Cheer up, Mousefur. I can put it right, but it’s going to hurt. Leafpaw, fetch me some poppy seeds.”

Leafpaw obeyed, and Mousefur licked them up. As they waited a few moments for the seeds to dull the she-cat’s pain, Leafpaw listened to her father and Graystripe talking together near the mouth of the tunnel.

“I’ll have to forbid cats to go anywhere near the Twolegs,” Firestar mewed. “Soon there’ll be nowhere safe outside the camp. Already some of the cats are too scared to go out on patrol.”

“We’re not finished yet,” Graystripe retorted stubbornly.

“StarClan won’t let us be destroyed.”

Firestar shook his head, and stalked back down the tunnel into the main clearing. After a moment Graystripe, with a worried glance at Mousefur, followed him.

“Okay, Leafpaw,” Cinderpelt meowed. By now the brown warrior was growing sleepy, her head lolling forward onto her paws. “Let’s do it. Put your paws there,” she went on, pointing to Mousefur’s other foreleg. “Hold her still while I put her leg back. I don’t want to be clawed to death. And watch carefully what I do,” she added. “You haven’t seen this before.”