Эрин Хантер: Ravenpaw’s Farewell

He spun around, the brambles disappearing in his mind, uncovering the expanse of the clearing fringed by tidy dens and the lush green ferns that led to Yellowfang’s store of herbs. He saw Bluestar spring to the top of the Highrock, her blue-gray fur thick and lustrous in the sun, her voice clear and steady as she summoned the Clan.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here for a Clan meeting!”

“What did you say?” Barley half turned from where he was sniffing at a blackberry-studded thicket. Ravenpaw thought that might have been the nursery, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I was just remembering,” he meowed. To his relief, nothing about the camp reminded him of the troubles that had driven him out of the forest. Instead he felt excited, full of barely contained energy, the way he had felt when he had first been made an apprentice. “Did I tell you about my first hunting session? I tracked a scent all the way to Sunningrocks, but it turned out to be a Twoleg and his dog!

Dustpaw dared me to attack them, but Graypaw said

Tigerclaw would be furious if I filled the fresh-kill pile with my first-ever catch!”

Ravenpaw rolled a piece of moss under his paw as more memories surged inside him like leaves unfurling. “Once, I was cleaning out the elders’ nests and I picked up a tick on my muzzle. Graypaw had to sit on me while Spottedleaf put mouse bile on it! That stuff was disgusting!”

He paused when he noticed that Barley was looking at him strangely. “What’s wrong?”

Barley flicked the tip of his tail. “I’m happy that you have some good memories from your time with the Clan. But…

but don’t forget why you left. Tigerclaw would have murdered you if you’d stayed. He knew you had seen him killing Redtail.”

Ravenpaw was startled by the emotion in Barley’s voice.

He ran over and pressed his shoulder against Barley’s warm flank. “Don’t ever think that I regret leaving the forest!” he hissed. “Firestar and Graystripe saved my life when they brought me to you. Since then, I’ve never wanted to be anywhere but by your side. It’s just… I never expected to be able to come back and remember the good things about being in ThunderClan. If it helps block out some of the bad memories, then I’ll be glad.”

Barley licked the top of his head. “I’ll be glad too. Where do you want to go next?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see where we end up!”

Ravenpaw cast one glance back at the Highrock, then scrambled back up the steep slope. A spatter of rain penetrated the branches, so he decided to stay under the trees rather than follow the trail that led out of the forest to Sunningrocks. Part of him didn’t want to see if it had been swallowed up by greenery like the rest of the familiar landmarks; he preferred to remember it as it had been in his dream: a perfect, clear viewing point for the whole of the territory.

They trotted side by side along a path marked by deer hooves and the occasional sweep of a fox’s tail. Pine trees took over the woods, and through the tidy lines of their trunks Ravenpaw glimpsed the pale swath of wooden fence that marked the boundary with Twolegplace. As they drew closer, pungent scents of Twoleg dens, monster fumes, and kittypets washed over them.

“They still don’t come very far into the forest,” Ravenpaw commented as he paused by a tree stump to sniff a kittypet mark.

Barley glanced over his shoulder at the dense tangle of trees. “I can’t imagine it looks more inviting now than it did when the Clans were here. Kittypets have everything they want from their Twolegs, don’t they? Food, shelter, company, all without having to make any effort.”

Ravenpaw looked sideways at his friend. “Kind of like us, then,” he teased.

Barley bristled. “At least we catch our own prey!”

Ravenpaw purred, though another jab of pain in his belly reminded him that he needed to be more careful about what he ate. The barn provided good hunting, but he couldn’t assume that every catch would make good fresh-kill.

They padded side by side through the long grass at the base of the wooden fence. It felt cool and welcoming under Ravenpaw’s feet, and he reflected that it had been a long time since he had walked this far. Life on the farm had made him soft!

Suddenly there was a hiss above their heads.

“Oi! You down there! What are you doing?”

Ravenpaw and Barley looked up. A ragged-furred brown tabby was crouched on top of the fence, glaring down at them. A scar across his muzzle and notches in his ears suggested that he wasn’t afraid of a fight.

“We’re just passing through,” Barley called. “Don’t worry.”

In a flash the tabby tom sprang down from the fence and blocked their path. His tail lashed. “I’ll decide what I worry about, thank you,” he growled. He stretched out his neck and sniffed. “You’re not from around here. You don’t smell like kittypets, but you don’t smell like the woods, either.

Who are you?”

“We live on a farm,” Barley began, but Ravenpaw cut him off.

“Calm down. We’re not doing anyone any harm,” he meowed.

The tabby curled his lip. “I don’t like the look of you,” he snarled. “This is my home”—he nodded to the Twoleg den on the other side of the fence—“and I claim all hunting rights in this part of the woods. You’re not welcome.”

And you’re ridiculous, thought Ravenpaw. But he was tired and his belly hurt, and a fight was the last thing he wanted. “Come on,” he muttered to Barley. “Let’s go.”

They started to walk around the kittypet, but he sprang after them, claws unsheathed. “You don’t think you’re getting away that easily, do you?” He let out a yowl, and in a heartbeat more faces popped up along the fence.

Ravenpaw scanned them in alarm. Kittypets, yes, but also one or two who looked too mean and scrawny to share Twoleg dens.

“I think we should get out of here,” he whispered to Barley, who nodded.

“No need for a fight,” Barley announced. “We’re leaving.”

Ravenpaw and Barley set off again, but the wooden fence rattled behind them as several cats jumped down into the forest.

“Run!” screeched Ravenpaw, and without looking back, he and Barley pelted along the edge of the trees. Ravenpaw felt his chest start to burn, and the ache in his belly sharpened with every footstep. From the noises behind them he could tell that some of the cats had given up, but enough stayed in pursuit to keep Ravenpaw in flight. His fighting days were long gone; all he wanted to do was get out of this place, back to the safety of the barn.

They followed the long curve of the fence until the woods fell away and the ground dropped down beside them to the vast, stench-filled Thunderpath. They were running along a narrow strip of earth now, trapped by the high fence on one side and a cliff on the other. The barn lay in the other direction, and Ravenpaw started to wonder if they would ever find their way back.

Ravenpaw felt his legs start to slow. Beside him, Barley slowed too. “Keep going, Ravenpaw!” he panted. There was a joyful yowl behind them, as if the tabby tom could tell his prey was weakening.

“What is going on?” The air was split with a shriek from the top of the fence, and an orange shape slammed onto the ground at Ravenpaw’s heels. He stumbled to a halt and spun around to see a she-cat arching her back and hissing, her eyes furious slits. Oh, great. Another angry kittypet.

“Violet!” Barley gasped.

Ravenpaw blinked. It’s Barley’s sister!

“Barley!” cried the orange cat. In a heartbeat, she whipped around to face the cats in pursuit. “Stop right there, Madric!” she ordered.

To Ravenpaw’s surprise, the brown tabby skidded to a stop. The two cats behind almost crashed into him. “Go away, Violet,” he snarled. “These cats were trespassing!”