Эрин Хантер: Ravenpaw’s Farewell

For a moment he was back in his dream, standing on top of Sunningrocks and looking down over the forest where he had been born. I wonder where Firestar and Graystripe are now? It had been a long, long time since they were apprentices together. When Ravenpaw had first left ThunderClan, they had visited him sometimes, but then Firestar had led all four Clans out of the forest when the giant Thunderpath came. Graystripe had disappeared before that, stolen by Twolegs. After the Clans had gone, Ravenpaw had seen Graystripe once, escaped from the Twolegs and looking for ThunderClan, and he’d pointed him in the direction they had gone. He hoped Graystripe had found them.

Ravenpaw shivered. Wherever you are, I hope you are safe, well fed, and at peace. May StarClan light your paths, always.

“Come on!” Barley bounded back to him. “Let’s check that the tunnel isn’t flooded.”

The Thunderpath was much broader than it had been when Ravenpaw had first crossed it as an apprentice. The hill on the far side had been gouged out, leaving huge scars in the earth. Even this close to dawn, the Thunderpath teemed like a river of gleaming fish, with monsters growling up and down. It was too wide for cats to cross, so instead

Barley and Ravenpaw used a narrow tunnel that ran underneath. It was dark and damp, and just big enough for a badger to squeeze through; mercifully Ravenpaw hadn’t come face-to-face with one of those in the narrow space.

The tunnel did sometimes fill with water after heavy rain, but today there was nothing more than a muddy trickle running along the bottom. Taking a deep breath, Barley plunged in. Ravenpaw gritted his teeth and followed, hating the way the tunnel wrapped around him. The air thrummed with the noise of the monsters overhead, and it was impossible to think of anything but pressing forward to the cold, clean air on the other side.

Ravenpaw burst out at a run and almost crashed into

Barley. They were at the edge of a wall of dense brambles.

There was no way through; instead they had to creep along the edge, following the land as it rose steeply above the Thunderpath. The earth had been ripped away here to make way for the new stone path, and the broad sweep of moor had become a sheer cliff that echoed with the roar of monsters.

Ears flattened against his head, Ravenpaw set off up the slope. The noise faded a little as he scrambled to the top of the cliff, where a strip of short, windblown grass led down to the trees. The breeze was stronger up here, tugging at Ravenpaw’s black fur. Familiar scents filled his mouth, bringing memories tumbling into his mind: the ravine, Gatherings, the scent of the medicine cat’s den, training with Tigerclaw…

Ravenpaw shook himself. There was a reason he had left the forest.

He padded to the edge of a shallow dip surrounded by gorse and small boulders. Ravenpaw had a feeling this used to be the WindClan camp, but the images in his mind were hazy, and there was no trace of cats here now. Behind him, Barley growled as a gust of wind almost knocked him off his paws.

“Let’s get into the shelter of the trees,” he called. He ran across the stretch of grass, his black-and-white fur distinct against the green. Ravenpaw glanced into the dip once more before following. Had WindClan survived the journey? Had any of the Clans?

The bracken under the trees felt still and quiet after the open moor. Ravenpaw paused to catch his breath, listening to the tiny rustles of unseen prey. Above his head, tangled branches hid the sky. The cats pushed their way through the brittle fronds until new sounds assailed their ears: the rumble of monsters moving more slowly, as well as the shouts of Twolegs.

Ravenpaw reached the edge of the trees and looked down. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had stood here and seen four huge oaks in moonlight. The hollow had vanished, flattened out to make room for squat, silver dens and a broad expanse of black stone filled with rows of silent monsters.

The air was thick with fumes and the stench of something hot and almost prey-like but unappealing, and Ravenpaw’s stomach curdled.

Barley started pushing his way into the bracken along the top of the slope. Ravenpaw knew he was following an ancient path that had once led around the top of the hollow and down through the trees to the ThunderClan border.

When the Clans had been here, Barley wouldn’t have dreamed of walking confidently through this territory. Now that the Twolegs had taken it over, there were no borders left, no patrols for a loner to fear.

They left the silver dens behind and pushed deeper into the trees. The paths once used by ThunderClan were faint and overgrown. A huge mound of brambles covered pale gray boulders that jolted Ravenpaw back to his dream: This must be Snakerocks, though the snakes seemed long gone as well. A few pine trees began to appear among the oaks and beeches, and something about the curve of the almost invisible path felt achingly familiar beneath Ravenpaw’s feet.

“Watch out!” yowled Barley, springing forward and blocking Ravenpaw with his shoulder. Ravenpaw blinked and looked down. The ground gave way a mouse-length in front of him, plunging into a narrow hollow filled with thorns and half-grown trees.

“It’s the ravine,” Ravenpaw whispered. “The place where I was born!”

“Do you think we can get down?” mewed Barley. He started to push his way under the brambles.

“Wait,” Ravenpaw ordered. “There should be a path.”

He trotted along the slope until he found a tiny gap between two bushes. “Here it is.” He hesitated for a heartbeat, wondering what memories might be waiting for him below.

The past can’t hurt me now. He ducked and squeezed into the space, tucking in his tail to avoid catching it on brambles. He could hear Barley following.

The slope beneath Ravenpaw’s paws felt instantly familiar. There was the half-buried flint with a sharp edge; here was the narrow trench worn by the flow of rainwater.

The ravine! In all his visits to the forest since the Clans had left, Ravenpaw had never come back to this spot before. The noise of the monsters was so faint he could barely hear it, and for a moment Ravenpaw wondered why Firestar had abandoned his home. There was still room for ThunderClan to live here!

But Firestar had wanted to save all four Clans. One Clan alone will always struggle, he had told Ravenpaw in a quiet moment in the barn. Something in his words had made

Ravenpaw question him; it was as if Firestar knew exactly how difficult it was for a single Clan to survive on its own.

And that had led to one of the most extraordinary stories

Ravenpaw had ever heard: about a vision that had sent

Firestar and Sandstorm on a journey to save a long-forgotten fifth Clan. Ravenpaw wondered if SkyClan had survived without the protection of other Clans around it. In his mind’s eye he could almost picture the sandy gorge as Firestar had described it all those moons ago.

Barley jolted Ravenpaw back to the present. The black-and-white tom had pushed ahead as they picked their way through the remains of a long-dead gorse bush— I think this was the entrance, Ravenpaw recalled with a thrill—and now he was standing in a tiny space, not much bigger than their combined nests.

“Was this your camp?” Barley asked in astonishment.

Ravenpaw looked at the densely packed brambles, the brittle ferns that surrounded a small gray boulder, and the larger rock that was half swallowed by ivy. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, this was our home.”