Эрин Хантер - Goosefeather’s Curse

Some warriors broke off a piece of ice at the edge of the river and brought it back to the camp. It contained a fish, stone-cold and dead. But when the warmth of the dens melted the ice around it, the fish was perfect fresh-kill. Somehow the ice had kept it fresh.”

Goosefeather tipped his head on one side. “Are you saying we should wait for the river to freeze, and eat fish?”

“No. I think we should find a way to keep our own prey fresh for when we have nothing else to eat,” Cloudberry mewed.

“But we don’t have enough water on our territory,” Pineheart pointed out.

“Maybe not,” meowed Doestar, flicking her tail. “But what if the same thing happens in the ground? We know the earth freezes when it gets very cold. If we buried the fresh-kill, wouldn’t it freeze too? Then we could dig it up when we need it.”

Goosefeather nodded, his fur bristling with excitement. “If we send out extra hunting patrols for the next moon, we could store enough food to last until newleaf!”

“I’ll split the dawn patrol and send half out to hunt,” Pineheart meowed. “And the apprentices can hunt instead of battle training later on.”

“We don’t want to risk the strength of our Clan in battle,” Doestar warned.

Her deputy looked at her. “The greatest risk is starving to death, wouldn’t you say?” he mewed softly.

Doestar nodded, her eyes troubled. “Goosefeather, tell no one else about your vision. I don’t want any cat to panic. We can say that we are preparing for the chance of a hard leaf-bare, but no cat must know what you have foreseen.”

Goosefeather dipped his head. As usual, he thought. Doestar and Cloudberry were always concerned about how his Clanmates might react to his powers. What about me? Don’t they worry about how I feel, carrying the weight of ThunderClan’s future all by myself?

Within three sunrises, the camp had been transformed. The clearing was dotted with large holes, each a full fox-length across, dug by the cats with sharpest claws and strongest front legs. As

Goosefeather was weaving between the holes to the gorse tunnel, Stormtail looked up from his freshly turned pile of soil.

“Is this something to do with you?” he growled, flicking earth from his whiskers.

Goosefeather stepped out of the way as Adderfang staggered past with a dead squirrel, which he dropped into Stormtail’s hole. “Doestar wants to be sure we are prepared for leaf-bare,” Goosefeather meowed. “Have you forgotten how many kits have been born this moon?”

The gray warrior began scraping soil over the squirrel. “We’ve never done anything like this before. Have you been seeing things?” He glanced sideways at Goosefeather.

Goosefeather leaned close to him. “You’d better believe I can see the future, Stormtail. Aren’t you curious about what’s going to happen to you ?” Without giving the warrior a chance to reply, he turned away.

He had to wait for a hunting patrol to bring in the latest catch before he could enter the gorse tunnel. He watched Flashnose and Rainfur deposit a pigeon and two mice into a hole dug by Rockfall and Heronpaw. The dark brown apprentice was dusted with earth, and one of his claws was bleeding. Goosefeather reminded himself to check all the apprentices’ paws at the end of the day.

He slipped through the gorse and climbed out of the ravine. For a while, Beetail padded beside him, the StarClan cat keeping him silent company through the bracken. The air was dry and cold, with heavy yellow clouds looming over the tops of the trees. There was a light wind that rattled the bare branches and ruffled Goosefeather’s fur.

Tucking his nose into his chest fur, he trotted along the path that led to Snakerocks, where one remaining patch of catmint grew. Cloudberry wanted to preserve some leaves before they were spoiled by frost. He could hear a hunting patrol near the border with Twolegplace; one of the apprentices was chasing a squirrel, cheered on by Moonpaw and Rabbitpaw. Goosefeather stayed away from the squirrel’s route and padded into the grassy space at the foot of the smooth gray boulders known as Snakerocks.

As he looked at the deep cracks and clefts in the rocks, his ears started to buzz, and he felt the ground dip under his feet. Two she-cats were hissing at each other. Goosefeather recognized one of them as Mapleshade, the cat who had taught him how to fight after the badger attack. The other had speckled golden fur and sad, haunted eyes. She was accusing Mapleshade of betraying her brother.

She lunged at Mapleshade; the tortoiseshell-and-white cat stepped back, sending the golden cat stumbling into a pile of stones. There was a flicker of movement as something long and sinuous rose up from behind the nearest rock. The golden she-cat leaped away with a shriek.

“Adder! It bit me! Help!”

Mapleshade let out a hiss. “Like you helped my kits? Never! I hope you die in agony!”

Goosefeather watched in horror as the gold-furred cat writhed on the ground. Mapleshade turned and walked into the bracken. The golden cat faded away and the clearing was empty once more.

Goosefeather felt eyes burning into his pelt. He spun around. Mapleshade was watching him from on top of a rock. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look like you just saw a fox eat your own mother.”

“Did you really let that cat get bitten by an adder?” Goosefeather demanded. “And leave her here to die?”

Mapleshade looked surprised. “Of course. I hate every cat in ThunderClan, and will not rest until

I have had vengeance on every last one.”

“But—but you helped me,” Goosefeather stammered. “You showed me how to fight after the badger attacked me, remember? That wasn’t vengeance.”

Mapleshade’s eyes gleamed. “I have no need to punish you,” she growled. “You are doomed already. StarClan has seen to that.”

“What do you mean?” Goosefeather demanded. Mapleshade started to walk away. “Come back!

Why do you think I’m doomed? You have to tell me!”

But the she-cat had vanished, and Goosefeather was standing alone in the clearing, shivering and breathless with fear. All these visions, he thought. And yet I’ve never seen my own future…

“I am proud to announce three new litters of kits in ThunderClan.” Doestar’s voice rang through the hollow above the heads of the listening cats. Behind her, the other leaders were outlined in silver from frosty moonlight.

Houndstar, the ShadowClan leader, leaned over to Volestar of RiverClan. Goosefeather heard him mutter, “So close to leaf-bare? Those warriors won’t like having to catch prey for so many hungry mouths!”

Doestar must have overheard, because she continued. “ThunderClan is well prepared for leaf-bare. My Clan will grow strong through the coldest moons, and I will bring you our new apprentices when the warm weather returns!”

There were cheers from the ThunderClan cats, and Chiveclaw, the WindClan medicine cat, mewed to Cloudberry, “You’ll be busy with all those little ones!”

Cloudberry nodded. “Thank StarClan, they are all fit and well. Noisy, though!”

Echosnout of RiverClan snorted. “In my day, kits knew when to keep quiet.”

Cloudberry flicked her ears. “In your day, Echosnout, I was one of those kits under your care, and I don’t remember being quiet at all!”

The old she-cat huffed and turned away. Above them on the Great Rock, the WindClan leader, Heatherstar, had stepped forward and was reporting a black-and-white dog loose on the moor. Her warriors had chased it down to the Thunderpath, where a Twoleg caught it.