Erin Hunter - Midnight

He wondered briefly what he would do if Feathertail was so spooked that she refused to move, but the gray she-cat nodded determinedly.

“Now?” she asked.

“Yes—I’ll be right behind you.”

At once Feathertail dived out of their refuge, raced along the bottom of the fence, and took a flying leap into the tree.

Brambleclaw, hard on her paws, heard the Twoleg kit shout again. Then he was clawing at the trunk, scrabbling hard until he reached the safety of a branch and the shelter of thick leaves. He caught Feathertail’s scent and saw her blue eyes peering worriedly at him.

“Brambleclaw,” she mewed, “I think we’ve found the dog.”

She twitched her whiskers to point down into the next garden. Brambleclaw peered out of the leaves and saw the dog—a huge brown brute—leaping up and scraping the fence with blunt claws in its efforts to climb up and attack them. As Brambleclaw peered down it let out a flurry of hysterical barking.

“Fox dung!” Brambleclaw spat at it.

He wondered what their chances would be of escaping along the top of the fence, but it was flimsier than the ones he had scaled at the edge of ThunderClan territory, and the dog was shaking it so much that any cat trying to balance there was likely to be flung off into the garden. Brambleclaw imagined those teeth meeting in his leg or neck and decided they were better off staying put.

“We’ll never find the others at this rate,” Feathertail whimpered.

Then Brambleclaw heard the door of the Twoleg nest open. A full-grown Twoleg stood there, shouting at the dog.

Still barking wildly, the creature kept up its attack on the fence. The Twoleg shouted again and strode into the garden, grabbed the dog by its collar, and dragged it, protesting, into the nest. The door slammed shut; the barking continued for a moment longer and then stopped.

“See?” Brambleclaw meowed to Feathertail. “Even Twolegs have their uses.”

Feathertail nodded, her eyes filled with relief. Brambleclaw slipped out of the tree to the top of the fence and, balancing carefully, padded along it until he reached the hedge that bordered the Thunderpath. From here he had a good view of the gardens on either side. Everything seemed quiet.

“I can’t see or hear the others,” Feathertail mewed as she joined him.

“No, but that could be a good sign,” Brambleclaw pointed out. “If the Twolegs had caught them, they would make such a racket we’d be bound to hear.”

He wasn’t sure that was quite true, but it seemed to reassure Feathertail.

“What do you think we should do?” she asked.

“The danger is inside these gardens,” Brambleclaw decided. “We’ll be safer on the other side of the hedge, beside the Thunderpath. The monsters won’t bother us if we stick to the verge, and once we get to the end of these Twoleg nests there won’t be any more problems.”

“But what about the others?”

That was the question Brambleclaw couldn’t answer. It was impossible to look for their companions with dogs and Twolegs all around. Anxiety stabbed deep in his belly when he thought of Squirrelpaw alone and bewildered in this strange and frightening place.

“They’ll probably do the same,” he meowed, hoping he sounded convincing. “They might even be waiting for us. If not, I’ll come back and have a look after dark, when the Twolegs will be in their nests.”

Feathertail nodded tensely and both cats jumped down from the fence, landing lightly on their forepaws on short, bright green grass. They slipped back through the hedge and along the Thunderpath, keeping well away from its smooth black surface. Monsters passed from time to time, but Brambleclaw was so worried about the missing cats that he hardly noticed the guttural roar and the rush of wind that rocked him on his paws.

Eventually they came to the end of the hedge. The Thunderpath curved away to join another one a little way ahead. Between the two was a wedge of open ground, almost covered by a tangle of hawthorn bushes. On the other side of the Thunderpath, fields stretched away into the distance. A cold breeze ruffled the fur on Brambleclaw’s flank as he gazed across the fields to where the sun was beginning to sink.

“Thank StarClan!” Feathertail breathed.

Brambleclaw led the way into the bushes. They would be safer there, and some of their friends might already be waiting. Leaving Feathertail to keep a lookout, he plunged deeper, searching and calling out their names in a low voice. There was no reply, and he could not pick up any familiar scents.

When he returned to Feathertail, she was sitting with her tail wrapped around her paws. A dead mouse lay beside her.

“Do you want to share?” she mewed. “I caught it, but I don’t really feel like eating right now.”

The sight of prey reminded Brambleclaw how hungry he was. He had eaten well that morning in Ravenpaw’s barn, but they had traveled a long way since then.

“Are you sure? I can catch one for myself.”

“No, go on.” She shoved the mouse toward him with one paw.

“Thanks.” Brambleclaw crouched beside her and took a bite, the warm flavors flooding his mouth. “Try not to worry,” he mewed as Feathertail bent her head to take a halfhearted mouthful. “I’m sure we’ll meet up with the others soon.”

Feathertail stopped eating to give him an anxious look. “I hope so. It feels weird being without Stormfur. We’ve always been closer than most littermates. I suppose it comes from having a father in a different Clan.”

Brambleclaw nodded, remembering how close he had felt to Tawnypelt when they were kits, as they struggled to make sense of their bloodstained heritage from their father, Tigerstar.

“Of course, you’ll understand that.” Feathertail invited him with a twitch of her ears to take more of the mouse.

“Yes,” Brambleclaw replied. He shrugged. “But I don’t miss my father as much as you must miss Graystripe. I wish I could honor his memory, but I can’t.”

“That must be very hard.” Feathertail pressed her muzzle against his shoulder. “At least we see Graystripe at Gatherings.

And we were so proud when he was made Clan deputy.”

“He’s proud of you, too,” mewed Brambleclaw, glad to leave the subject of his father behind.

He took his remaining share of the mouse, and while Feathertail forced herself to finish hers he began to plan what they should do next. Venturing out of the bushes he could see the sun setting in rays of fire, blazing out the path that they must take. But there was no hope of continuing until they had found the others.

“They’re not here,” Feathertail murmured, padding up to join him so that her breath was soft against his ear.

“No, I’ll have to go back. You stay here in case—”

A furious yowling interrupted him: the voices of angry, frightened cats, coming from the last garden in the row.

Springing to his paws, he met Feathertail’s startled glance.

“There they are!” He gasped. “And they’re in trouble!”

Leafpaw opened her eyes to see fronds of fern above her head, outlined against a paling sky. At once she remembered that this was the day of the half-moon, when all the medicine cats and their apprentices made the journey to Highstones to meet with StarClan at the mysterious Moonstone. A shiver of excitement ran through her; she had traveled there only once before, when StarClan had received her as a medicine cat apprentice, and the experience would stay with her for the rest of her life.

Leaping up from her comfortable mossy nest, she stretched and yawned, blinking away the last traces of sleep.