Эрин Хантер - Code of the Clans

“The battle has been won,” whispered the voice. “Sunningrocks is safe.”

Splashheart turned his head—the only part of his body he seemed able to move—and saw a faint, glimmering cat standing beside him. Her fur was the color of floodwater, almost black with streaks of pale gray, and her tail was so long the tip rested on the rock. RiverClan scent hung around her, but he’d never seen her before.

“Who are you?”

The cat dipped her head. “My name is Aspentail,” she replied.

“I am kin of your elders and of your elders’ elders. I fought for these rocks once, and I will fight for them again, for as many moons as it takes, until ThunderClan learns that Sunningrocks belongs to RiverClan.”

“I will fight with you,” Splashheart vowed. Aspentail nodded and started to fade so that Splashheart could see the gray of the rock through her fur.

“Splashheart? Who are you talking to?”

Blackbee was standing behind him, looking puzzled. “Didn’t you realize?” she demanded. “We won! Those fox-hearted ThunderClan cats won’t set paw on Sunningrocks now.”

“Not for this moon, at least,” Splashheart whispered. “But if they do, we’ll fight them again. Aspentail, too.”

“What was that?” mewed Blackbee. “Are you okay, Splashheart?

You’re not wounded, are you?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Splashheart promised.

“Cats of RiverClan!” Darkstar was summoning her warriors to the center of the summit. “Sunningrocks belongs to us once more! And in honor of our elders and their kin before them, who never stopped fighting to defend our borders, we will catch fish on our way home and feed it to the oldest and youngest cats of the Clan. This victory is for them!”

Some of the warriors looked surprised, but Splashheart nodded. He would catch the plumpest fish he could find in memory of Aspentail and take it straight to the elders’ den. And if he ever became leader of his Clan, he would make it part of the warrior code that elders and kits should be fed first, in honor of all they had done, and all they would do, for his Clanmates to come.

As you have seen, Clan cats are part of something bigger than ourselves, and that ensures we are as strong as our strongest warrior when trouble comes. But come see what can happen if this part of the warrior code is ignored.

Longtail winced as a cold drop of water splashed onto his neck.

“The den is leaking again,” he complained to Darkstripe, who was curled up beside him.

Darkstripe opened one yellow eye. “Better tell Redtail,” he murmured. “He’ll have to organize a cat to fix it before we drown in our sleep.”

Longtail slid out of his nest, shivering as the bead of water rolled down his back, and pushed his way into the clearing. Leaf-fall was giving way to leaf-bare, and the sky was flat and gray like water. Longtail picked his way over to the cleft in the rock where he could hear Redtail, the ThunderClan deputy, speaking quietly with Bluestar. His words were punctuated with coughs that racked the warrior’s body and left him breathless: The Clan was fighting off greencough, and Redtail had only just emerged from the medicine cat’s den where he had been treated.

“We need to send out a hunting patrol,” he wheezed to Bluestar.

“The fresh-kill pile was ruined by the rain last night, and the sick cats won’t get better if they’re weak with hunger.”

“Very well, but only send out healthy cats,” Bluestar warned.

“Which means you stay here, Redtail.”

The deputy started to argue but was interrupted by another bout of coughing.

“Longtail!”

A tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat, her pelt dappled like a glade in greenleaf, was calling him from the shelter of a clump of ferns. Longtail changed direction to join her.

“What’s up, Spottedleaf?”

“Has Redtail organized any hunting patrols yet?” The medicine cat’s eyes were dark with worry. “I can’t help sick cats when they’re so hungry. I know hunting is hard in this weather, but we have to find them something to eat.” Her bones shifted under her pelt as she moved, and Longtail guessed that Spottedleaf had been giving up her own share of fresh-kill to the cats she was trying to heal.

“I think he’s just about to send one out,” he told her.

“Good. Let’s hope they come back quickly. Poppydawn is hardly strong enough to eat the catmint.”

Longtail peered past her into the ferns, where he could just make out the dark red fur of the sick elder. Poppydawn told good

stories and was popular with all the kits in the Clan because she let them chase her tail, which was as thick as a fox’s.

Redtail nodded to Longtail, flicking drops of water from his feathered ears. “Are you free to go on a hunting patrol?”

“Yes,” Longtail replied.

“Good. Take Darkstripe with you. Try Snakerocks—there might be some prey sheltering there. You shouldn’t find any snakes at this time of year, but don’t go too deep into the caves.”

At least Darkstripe won’t order me around, Longtail thought as he squeezed back into the warriors’ den.

In spite of the leaky roof, Darkstripe had gone back to sleep. Longtail prodded him with his paw.

“Wake up! We’ve got to go on a patrol.”

Darkstripe raised his head and stared at him blearily. “In this weather? You must be crazy! Did you tell Redtail that the roof needs fixing?”

“I didn’t get a chance,” Longtail confessed. “Come on, it’s just us. Redtail suggested we try Snakerocks.”

“Great,” Darkstripe grumbled, heaving himself to his paws. “I can either drown or get bitten for the sake of my Clan.”

“It’s not raining that hard,” Longtail pointed out as they headed for the tunnel that led out of the camp. “It’s mostly just water being shaken from the trees.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Darkstripe muttered, but he sprang gracefully up the rocks that littered the side of the ravine and reached the top before Longtail.

The rain kept Twolegs and their dogs out of the woods, so the warriors had a clear run all the way to Snakerocks. Longtail shivered. Even if the snakes had gone for the cold season, this place still made him nervous. Darkstripe skirted the edge of the trees, sniffing at the dead bracken.

“I’m starving,” he meowed. “We’d better catch something. I haven’t found anything good on the fresh-kill pile for days.”

Longtail headed for the pile of rocks, telling himself that he wouldn’t go into any caves at all, not even a little way. His whiskers trembled as he picked up the scent of squirrel at the foot of the rocks. The trail led behind the stones and a little way into a clump of brambles. Crouching low, Longtail stepped paw by paw under the thorns. There was a patch of gray fur just visible through the tendrils. He gathered his haunches under him, wriggled to get his balance, then sprang. Blasting his way through the brambles, he landed squarely on the squirrel. Muttering a prayer to StarClan, and spitting out leaves, Longtail backed out of the thicket, dragging his fresh-kill.

“Good catch!”

Darkstripe was standing right behind him, making Longtail jump. The black-striped warrior padded forward, sniffing appreciatively. The squirrel’s fluffy gray fur rippled under his breath. Darkstripe glanced over his shoulder. “This won’t taste nearly as good once we’ve hauled it back to the camp.”

Longtail shrugged. “We should catch something else quickly; then it will still be fresh.”