Эрин Хантер - Tallstar’s Revenge

Familiar pelts were streaking down the slope toward them. Reedfeather hared across the grass, his limp vanishing now that his blood was up. Hareflight, Cloudrunner, Redclaw, and Shrewclaw raced at his heels. Beside Talltail, Blizzardwing’s eyes stretched wide as Redclaw smashed into him, hissing. With a hefty blow, Cloudrunner sent Newtspeck staggering away from Dawnstripe while Reedfeather and Hareflight raced to help Plumclaw.

Shrewclaw glared at Cedarstar as the ShadowClan leader pinned Dawnstripe to the ground. Talltail saw hate gleam in his denmate’s gaze as Shrewclaw sprang onto Cedarstar’s back and dragged him off Dawnstripe. His claws sank deep. “This is for my mother! Remember Brackenwing?” Shrewclaw snarled. Jerking Cedarstar around, he slammed a hefty paw against the leader’s cheek. Blood spattered the grass as Cedarstar fell. Eyes blazing, Shrewclaw lunged at him again.

Talltail stared, shocked by the savagery of Shrewclaw’s attack. That’s what revenge is. There was nothing cold or planned about Shrewclaw’s rage. In the heat of battle, it drove him like fire through bracken. This was a true warrior’s battle.

Heart pounding, Talltail jumped in beside Shrewclaw, pummeling Cedarstar down as the ShadowClan leader tried to struggled free. Shrewclaw glanced in surprise at Talltail.

“I’ll help you kill him,” Talltail hissed.

Shrewclaw lifted his forepaws and together they swiped at the blood-spattered tom, driving him toward the Thunderpath.

“Cedarstar!” Newtspeck’s yowl split the air as the tabby warrior rushed to help her leader. She dived for Shrewclaw, ears flat, lips drawn back. She sank her yellow teeth into Shrewclaw’s shoulder, thrusting her paws around the WindClan warrior and hauling him off Cedarstar. Shrewclaw snarled and thrashed with his paws as he tried to reach for Cedarstar. But Redclaw had grabbed Cedarstar and was pinning him to the ground.

“Retreat!” Cedarstar fought free of Redclaw and fled for the tunnel.

At his cry, his warriors followed. As the last tail disappeared into the tunnel, Talltail heard a groan. He turned. “Shrewclaw!”

Hareflight was crouching over the WindClan warrior. Talltail raced to his side, slipping on the wet grass. He glanced down and saw his paws turn red. The wetness was blood. It pumped from Shrewclaw’s belly like water from the spring. “Fetch Barkface!” he shrieked to Dawnstripe. She met his gaze, her eyes glittering with horror, then dashed up the slope.

“Hang on, Shrewclaw.” Talltail leaned over his denmate, his heart twisting.

Hareflight crouched stiffly beside him. “He’ll die like his mother.” The warrior’s mew cracked. “Killed defending the moor against ShadowClan.”

“He won’t die!” Talltail growled. “He can’t! Not like this. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Life isn’t fair. Jake’s words rang in his ears.

Shrewclaw shuddered, another groan escaping his lips. Talltail pressed his paws against Shrewclaw’s wounds. Blood ran over his fur. “It won’t stop!”

“Wormcat?” Shrewclaw rasped weakly. “Avenge Brackenwing for me.”

“You can avenge her yourself!” Talltail gasped. “Don’t die, Shrewclaw. There are too many battles to fight.”

Shrewclaw twitched, his eyes rolling, then fell still.

Hareflight’s shoulders drooped. “Shrewclaw.” The word came out as a sob. Trembling, the brown warrior leaned forward and closed Shrewclaw’s eyes with a soft lap of his tongue. “You were a good apprentice,” he murmured. “And a great warrior. WindClan honors you.”

Talltail turned away, his gaze blurring. This battle had been fought over rabbits—and now Shrewclaw was dead. Were ShadowClan’s warriors so hungry they were willing to kill for stolen prey, or did their hatred for WindClan run deeper than he’d ever imagined?

Talltail stretched, enjoying the warmth of the newleaf sun on his pelt. Beside him the heather was bright with green bud. Overhead, a blue sky stretched, cloudless, across the moor. In another half moon, the gorse would be aflame with yellow flowers.

He could hear Hopkit purring outside the medicine den as Hawkheart picked fleas from the young tom’s spine. Hopkit was well enough to groom his own pelt and should have moved back to the nursery by now. His fever had healed in the moon since the battle with ShadowClan, but the nursery was overcrowded. Pigeonkit and Sorrelkit were too big to share a nest, Meadowslip was restless, and Ryestalk had just moved in, her belly swelling with the promise of new kits.

“Sit still,” Hawkheart growled, cracking a flea between his teeth and spitting it onto the grass.

“Hawkheart?” Hopkit rolled lazily over. “If Heatherstar says I can’t become a warrior, do you think I could be a medicine cat?”

“No.” Hawkheart sat up. “You’re too fidgety.” He gazed across the clearing to where Barkface was making sure that Dawnstripe’s battle wounds had properly healed. “Besides, WindClan doesn’t need another medicine cat.”

Hopkit held up his paw. Although the infection had gone, his foot was limp and flat, and he had no feeling in it. “But how can I be a warrior with this?”

“You can walk on it, can’t you?” Hawkheart wasn’t giving a drop of sympathy.

“I can limp. ”

Hawkheart snorted. “If you can limp, you can walk. If you can walk, you can hunt.”

“What about fighting?” Hopkit persisted. “What if I can’t fight?”

“Then you’ll just have to argue your enemies to death.” Hawkheart settled onto his side and half closed his eyes. “You’re great at arguing.”

“No, I’m not.”

Talltail’s whiskers twitched. He wondered if Hawkheart was mellowing now that gray whiskers were showing on his muzzle. But he suspected it was Hopkit’s warmth that had thawed the stern, old medicine cat.

Barkface headed across the clearing. Talltail sat up as he neared. “Is Dawnstripe okay?”

“She’s fine. An extra scar on her muzzle, but it’s healed cleanly.” Barkface settled down beside Talltail, narrowing his eyes against the bright sun. “I’m worried about Reedfeather’s shoulder, though,” he mewed. “The battle made it worse and he’s not getting any younger. If he strains it again, he could be lame for life.”

Talltail gazed across the Meeting Hollow to where the WindClan deputy lay beside Heatherstar, sharing a plover. Reedfeather’s pale tabby pelt looked as ragged as an elder’s. Talltail felt a pang of sorrow for the old warrior. He’d served his Clan loyally for moons. He deserved to be leader one day, but he’d never survive for another eight lifetimes.

The heather shivered as Palebird padded into the camp. A mouse hung from her jaws. Wrenkit looked up from where she was stalking Flykit behind the Hunting Stones. She bounded toward her mother. “Is that for us?”

Flykit chased after her, Bristlekit and Rabbitkit popping up from the grass and scrambling over the tussocks. Palebird dropped the mouse at Wrenkit’s paws. Wrenkit hooked it toward her with a claw. “Don’t worry, Palebird,” she told her mother earnestly. “I’ll make sure everyone gets a fair share.”

“You’re a good little warrior,” Palebird purred, before heading toward Talltail.

Talltail lifted his chin. “Hello, Palebird,” he meowed. “Good hunting?”

Palebird licked her lips. “Very good.”

Talltail was pleased to see Palebird catching her own prey again. She seemed a lot more cheerful now that she had begun to leave the camp to hunt.