Эрин Хантер - Battles of the Clans

I told myself that it would be better to stay away from the Clan cats, to lead my own life without fear of having my tail bitten off or my eyes scratched out. But I couldn’t forget the courage of the ThunderClan warriors as they united against us, the looks in their eyes as they turned their skills in pouncing and killing prey to protect their Clanmates and their home. I wanted to be a part of that, to know that other cats cared about what happened to me—and would spill their own blood for my sake.

That awful, screeching battle had shown the best in these cats. And they were better than I could ever be.

When Tigerclaw came to the Twolegplace again, this time looking for cats to help him take over ShadowClan, I went with him. I don’t know if he remembered me from the first battle, but he let me join his group of rogues, and together we proved our strength to ShadowClan until they let us become their Clanmates, and raised no argument when Tigerclaw announced that he would be their leader. I had found my place at last, and I will never regret the path that led me there. I took a warrior name, Nightwhisper.

Though my paws are stained with blood, and I once tried to kill the cat you know as Firestar, I would do it all again to live in the Clans. There is no life better than being a warrior, and no better way to prove your loyalty or your courage than in battle.

Really, you’d like to hear about the foxes? Great StarClan, that was moons ago, when we still lived in the forest! Firestar and Sandstorm had left the territory for a while, so as ThunderClan’s deputy, I was leading the Clan. I had good warriors helping me, but there were whispers of trouble. A pack of foxes had made their dens beneath the roots of the Great Oak at Fourtrees, our normal Gathering site.

To make matters worse, the foxes were stealing our prey. Usually foxes lived on their own, or with a pawful of skittish cubs, but these foxes seemed to have their own Clan, with patrols to keep us out and make raids for food.

Things came to a head at a Gathering like this, under a cold full moon early in leaf-bare. We were forced to meet that night at Snakerocks on ThunderClan’s territory, not far from Fourtrees, but far enough inside our borders to make all the Clans nervous. All four Clans needed to deal with the foxes, and I had an idea…

“Cats of all the Clans,” I announced, feeling the stone of Snakerocks ice-cold and slippery beneath my paws. “I believe we can drive out the foxes if we work together.”

“Since when did deputies take over the Gathering?” muttered a voice below me. It was Tornear of WindClan.

Blackstar stood up, his white coat glowing in the moonlight. “Graystripe speaks for ThunderClan while Firestar is…away.”

I knew the ShadowClan leader was trying to find out where Firestar and Sandstorm had gone; I couldn’t tell him because I didn’t know, but I trusted Firestar when he told me that they would return, and in the meantime, I wasn’t going to let any of the other Clans suspect that I had no idea where my leader was.

“We all know that foxes are most aggressive in their dens, when they are protecting their cubs,” I began. My voice sounded as feeble as a kit’s squeak on the still night air. “They are more vulnerable when they are hunting and their attention is fixed on something else. We should strike then, and show them that the forest belongs to us and us alone.”

“You’re suggesting a battle against foxes?” sneered a cat from the back of the crowd. I peered into the shadows but couldn’t see who was speaking. “We’ll be eaten alive!”

There were murmurs of agreement, and for a moment I felt a flash of anger. Were these cats willing to lie around and do nothing while foxes stole our prey and drove us out of the place where our ancestors had gathered for countless full moons?

“I’m not saying we should confront them in a regular battle. We will use each Clan’s strengths to teach them a lesson,” I pressed on. “We have the advantage of more training, more skills, more knowledge of the forest than these intruders.”

I could see nods of interest, and a couple of my Clanmates called out encouragingly. There was no turning back now. I was about to lead all the Clans into a battle for survival in our own homes.

“I’ve picked up a scent!” Cloudtail hissed. His thick white fur stood out like a splash of snow against the withered bracken, but his difficulty in hiding had made his nose keener than most of his Clanmates’. The wind rattled the brown stalks around us, filling my ears with whispers, but at least it would hide our noise from our prey as well.

For once, this patrol wasn’t in search of fresh-kill. Instead, we were hunting foxes. Above our heads, the gray sky was darkening with nightfall, and the air was filled with the echoing calls from a pair of owls. This was the time when the foxes went looking for food to steal; tonight they were about to find out that they had become the hunted!

Keeping his head low and his tail straight up, Cloudtail followed the scent trail along the bank of the stream at the top of ThunderClan’s territory. I followed, with Mousefur, her apprentice, Spiderpaw, and Brightheart treading softly behind me. So far the trail had led toward the river, but I knew the foxes were no fonder of getting their paws wet than we were, so I wasn’t surprised when Brightheart picked up the scent on the far side of the border, in the stretch of RiverClan territory that led from the bridge by the gorge to Fourtrees. The ground here was covered with rocks and scrubby bushes rather than trees, a good place for rabbits and low-roosting birds. I let out a sigh of relief. I had hoped the foxes would come here to hunt; that meant the other Clans were in the right place. I was beginning to realize how much of my plan depended on the foxes doing what I wanted them to.

A rustle up ahead warned us that we were nearly on their tails. Soon, a flash of glossy red fur behind a hawthorn thicket revealed our targets.

“Mousefur, have you got the rabbit?”

The dusky brown warrior padded forward, carrying a young rabbit, still warm and blood-scented.

“Away you go,” I ordered.

Mousefur skirted the hawthorn thicket and let the rabbit’s hind legs drop to the ground. As she walked away, the limp bundle of brown-and-white fluff left a pathetic trail in the dust, and the air quivered with the scent of the kill. I led the rest of the patrol in step with Mousefur, under cover of some bushes. Foxes, foxes , I called silently. Can you smell this tasty meal?

The branches of the hawthorn thicket crackled as if something large were turning around underneath. I held my breath. Would the foxes take the bait? I was using a trick I had learned from Tigerstar, when he lured the pack of dogs right into the ravine by laying a trail of dead rabbits.

Brindleface had died in their attack; Mousefur was risking her life now, not just for ThunderClan but for every Clan in the forest. I had volunteered to carry the rabbit first, but Mousefur had insisted. She was faster than me, she said, adding that she had no qualms about dropping the rabbit and running for her life if the foxes got too close.

The softest crunch of sand told me that the foxes had picked up the scent trail and were beginning to stalk Mousefur. I hoped they were too dumb to wonder why a dead rabbit would be moving. I signaled with my tail to Mousefur, who was watching me with one eye, and she started to walk faster, keeping the rabbit dragging on the ground. The paw steps behind her sped up. Mousefur curved away from the ThunderClan border, heading for a copse of trees on the WindClan border. The foxes followed, and I had to break into a run to keep pace with them.