Эрин Хантер: Bramblestar’s Storm

“Be careful,” the golden tabby tom murmured.

Bramblestar led the patrol into the forest. By now it was almost sunhigh, warm and breezeless, and everything was still under the warm rays. But Bramblestar was too concerned about ShadowClan’s trespass to enjoy the signs of life returning to his territory.

“I think we should double the patrols on the ShadowClan border,” Squirrelflight suggested as they walked side by side through the trees. “And maybe hunt over there more regularly, too. Let ShadowClan know that our eyes and ears are open.”

“Good idea,” Bramblestar agreed.

As they trotted past the abandoned Twoleg den, Bramblestar spotted Leafpool tending to the herbs that she and Jayfeather had planted before leaf-bare. Tiny green shoots were beginning to sprout from the dark soil. Leafpool had her nose buried deep in a clump of catmint, and was unaware of the patrol.

“I’m glad Leafpool has found her place within the Clan again,” Squirrelflight murmured with a warm glance at her sister. “I—I think she lost a bit of herself when she stopped being a medicine cat.”

“We’re lucky to have her,” Bramblestar mewed. He was careful not to comment on Firestar’s decision to send Leafpool to the warriors’ den when the truth about Jayfeather, Lionblaze, and Hollyleaf came out. The fact that Leafpool had broken the medicine cats’ code could not be ignored, and Bramblestar was relieved that he had not been forced to make the judgment.

Thinking of other cats whose lives had been transformed by the Great Battle, he fell back to walk beside Brackenfur, out of earshot of the she-cats.

“How are you doing?” Bramblestar asked. His fur felt hot with awkwardness, but he pictured Firestar gently making sure he knew how each of his Clanmates was coping with great change. “I know it’s tough for you, facing the return of newleaf without Sorreltail.” Somehow, grief had seemed easier to bear when the skies were dark and a cold wind kept cats and prey inside their nests.

Brackenfur nodded, his eyes clouding. “I can’t bear knowing that she needn’t have died,” he muttered. “If only she’d let Jayfeather treat her wounds straight after the battle… But she insisted on taking care of our kits first, and then it was too late.”

“She was a great warrior, and a brilliant mother,” Bramblestar meowed. “None of us will forget her.”

“Every leaf and every blade of grass reminds me of her,” Brackenfur told him, his voice steady. “I know she’s watching over me and her kits from StarClan. One day we’ll meet again.” He paused, then added quietly, “I would wait forever to see her face once more.”

Bramblestar nodded, too full of emotion to speak. He ran ahead to give Brackenfur a few moments alone with his memories.

As they approached the border, Bramblestar picked up the reek of ShadowClan scent. “This is well inside our territory,” he remarked with a lash of his tail. “What was Blackstar thinking?”

“Who knows?” Squirrelflight let out a sigh of frustration. “I should have thought every cat in the forest has had a bellyful of trouble by now.” Bramblestar watched her green eyes gleam. Bellyful of trouble or not, she would run into battle today to protect her Clan. No leader could ask for a better deputy .

The last few fox-lengths of their territory seemed full of ShadowClan scent, almost swamping the ThunderClan scent markers.

“Keep together,” Bramblestar warned as the patrol crossed the open space where Twolegs brought their pelt-dens in greenleaf. This had been ShadowClan territory for a long time, until the battle in which Russetfur had died. “If we meet a ShadowClan patrol, remember we’re here to talk, not fight.”

“You mean we let them tear our pelts off?” Brackenfur asked. He sounded grim and focused, as if he had put aside his memories of Sorreltail.

“I mean that we should defend ourselves if we have to, but we won’t strike the first blow,” Bramblestar replied. “You know ShadowClan as well as I do. They’ll do their best to provoke us, but we don’t have to let them.”

Brackenfur snorted as Bramblestar led the way across the border and into ShadowClan territory.

The bare trees of ThunderClan territory, with their swelling green buds, gave way to the gloomy ShadowClan pines, pierced by rare shafts of sunlight. The patrol’s paw steps fell softly on the thick layer of needles that covered the ground. Here and there Bramblestar spotted places where the needles had been churned up to expose the soil below. Clots of earth lay scattered on the disturbed ground like forgotten pieces of fresh-kill.

“Cats fought there in the Great Battle,” Cinderheart murmured, angling her ears toward a wide stretch of scarred earth. “Will the forest ever recover?”

“One day,” Squirrelflight responded, sturdily optimistic. “We have to believe that.”

Undergrowth was sparser here than in ThunderClan territory, and Bramblestar felt more uneasy with each paw step. He kept glancing around, aware that they could be seen from some distance, and anxious not to let a ShadowClan patrol surprise them.

But he was still unprepared when a ShadowClan patrol raced around a nearby bramble thicket, moving almost silently over the ground. The warriors skidded to a halt with startled yowls as they came face-to-face with the ThunderClan cats.

Bramblestar’s sister Tawnypelt, who was leading the patrol, bristled with a mixture of shock and anger. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. She glared at her brother, her claws working among the pine needles.

“We’re on our way to see Blackstar,” Bramblestar replied peaceably. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

“Chase them off!” A young brown tabby she-cat bounced excitedly up and down. “They can’t trespass here!”

“Clan leaders are allowed to visit one another, Grasspaw,” Tawnypelt meowed. “You don’t have to react to everything by unsheathing your claws.”

The apprentice looked disappointed; she took a step back but glared at Bramblestar from behind Tawnypelt, letting the tips of her claws peek out against the dark soil.

Tawnypelt looked wary as she faced Bramblestar. “We’ll escort you to our camp,” she meowed. “To make sure you don’t run into any of the trouble you say you’re not looking for.”

“That’s fine by us,” Bramblestar told her.

The ThunderClan patrol drew closer together as they followed Tawnypelt through the trees. Owlclaw and Scorchfur, the other members of the ShadowClan patrol, flanked them on each side. Grasspaw brought up the rear, growling softly.

Bramblestar noticed more patches of torn earth, and in one place a clump of brambles that had been completely trampled down, as if fighting cats had rolled over it, oblivious to the sharp thorns. ShadowClan’s territory had suffered more than ThunderClan’s in the battle, it seemed.

The ShadowClan camp lay in a hollow, concealed by a tangle of brambles and the low-growing branches of the pine trees that clustered around it. Tawnypelt trotted ahead of them down a narrow tunnel through the brambles; Bramblestar felt the tendrils scraping his sides as he followed.

Blackstar was standing in the middle of the clearing when the ThunderClan patrol emerged from the tunnel. Rowanclaw, his deputy, stood at his shoulder, and more of the ShadowClan warriors had gathered around them. Littlecloud, the medicine cat, sat at one side of the open space, looking worried. Bramblestar was shocked to see how frail Blackstar looked. But then, the ShadowClan leader was much older than Graystripe and Dustpelt, and had led his Clan through the most terrible battle in their history, so perhaps it was no surprise that the seasons were showing in his patchy fur and gaunt frame.